[x]

time travel (continued)
i.
precious moments-
featherweight.

ii.
time heals, remember?

iii.
burying despair: death.

iv.
grandfather time, immortal?

silver-tinged twilight owls

nestle,

hooting

along

with the help of lofty, fresh leaves

so too, do the summer's evening

winds whistle around

the empty park bench passing

through the p

stargazersShe lives in a river of stars, intricately weaved into the eyes of Eden
it's just
the way his roses find beauty in her bramble-berry eyes
watching the sun sink into the ocean
together
waiting for the night sky

I will always remember him, eyes dancing, hiding her broken heart

Rainwater, hurricanes of lonely gray spilling onto the cloudy sidewalk. The stars are gone tonight.

Gray MasqueradeStriding through this gray, empty world,
I peer upon the hard faces of my peers.
False laughter rings in my ears,
Strained smiles depict something's amiss.
They all fit in,
Just a bit too much.
Robotic and stiff,
They are unidentifiable.
Caught up in the crowd and judgment,
They have lost their identity and their pride,
And their emotions are as flat and cold as those disguises they sport.
The world has come to this.
Even they don't know who they are any longer,
And everynight
Is like a masquerade ball.
I would rather die
Than live a lie.

living misslethis was once the center of things
a garrison of mustard seed and sedulous
one-armed scissors

but now summarily surrendered
to the direction of those bred to push buttons
like Theseus throwing

himself to the Aegean
half dissolved and resolved
to be a better reagent

currently disclosable informationthey're naked ships on the horizon
smuggling the tender metal-armed children
who will untie our knots and
tend to our fields
raised on impunative
alchemy and indignant occamy

there is quite a strange
thing doing quite strange things
somewhere entrained by the eyes paregoric
a spate of pro-
biotic indifference

and there are some beasts
you can't catch with tackle and bait
ones you must lure
with more orwellian versions of the truth
and those are the ones to keep
locked in small skeleton closets
to smother with pillows and bury

in the basement on christmas eve

in vitro meatsloth;
sill diffusing the bombs

the crime sorcier of hyper-
sexual plants

this air is so dirty
the sophists are sweating

while eating their supper, while
scratching their slogans

'to the spine of our eyes
shorthand-surreptitious

and the future assured
on the whim of synthetics

oneironautstereoisomers
we were proclaimed as the founders of feasts
not the same decaudate dogs
bred by the public domain

cool as the absolute/value of absolute zero

quasi-grunge
in the wheelhouse of liquid
shadowscapes churning
our compared notes on entropy

and all of the above

and the dark heart instilled
around itself builds
an army of somnabulist clones

ThawAs you are loaded
into the back
of the ambulance,

you thank God
that something
is happening at last.

brontosaurusthe slow strobe of thunder
everyone is fostering some Fabian ideas
the rabbits on the run
the fingernails dirtied

even uncle traveling Matt and his silly
creatures of outer space

so craft your own consequence
and wash it down with black milk
ratified
by the garbage pile you keep at the edge of your garden

while the drawbridge holds
your doppelganger and its pavonine
pasquinades at bay

scandalous strokes to the slow strobe of thunder

A Grand TryThis is really a simple story,
of a girl who lost her self.
Not among the trees, or the waters,
but in the very heartbeat of her.
She let circumstance and life get in the way,
and allowed others to shape her and mold her.
Forgetting what she enjoyed, valued, and felt for.
slowly shrinking behind the doors.
So is it really a huge surprise to any,
when the girl decided she didn't want to fumble through anymore?
She knew she was needed, but alas she felt abandon,
by those who promised "forever and ever more."
You see she lost all those who were dear,
to an illness no one really understood.
She was happy though, in her own little world,
full o

Gas Chambershe had an addiction to love and cocaine
she liked the rush into her head and through her veins
she was itching bad and sinking low
she was all dolled up, are you ready to blow?

her rose garden started smelling
her sad stories more distorted and less compelling
no one cared about the shit she was wearing or selling

any whore of the day took her place
in every way she was left to waste
in desperation she tried to save face
but she couldn't be certain of anything
do you really believe it was me, are you perceiving correctly?
I highly doubt that you know me, have you lost your sanity?

she sat dazed under a gas light
she must have been out of

Blank PagesMy minds in a state of stasis, on an empty stage I'm faceless
My bulbs in need of replacement, and I don't think I can take this.
The imagination is an oasis, it helps me swim to higher places.
Each day passes by like ages, as I slave away for wages
Open heart in broken cages, my only friends are blank pages.

-Jeramie James

the disorder of operationsa jaundiced account
we pledged our allegiance to carbon
rods and reactors

quicksilver gizmos adorning our mantles
and the secrets we've found
in ancestral owl pellets

unearthed by the same
prosthetic hands
that tighten the tactical belt

You Took Something From MeI used to remember what was hidden in the moon
The light of a billion beautiful rays still shading in the looms
Now a broken soul, an apparatus to destruction, a tool
A word, a phrase, a paragraph or two
A day doesn't pass without me waking up in pain
To see your repugnant fucking face over me again
The terrors never cease and sometimes I desire
To be deceased, to baptise myself in fire
To leave this earth because my sanctity was violated
And I was young, how could you use this in advantage?
I can't even manage to describe my hate
You pushed the envelope, and I thought I was to blame
But it isn't that way now that I've realized
That I lied to

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We feasted on the

regardlessly,

the outbreak of god
amongst the disheveled
was { never | silent |- feared }
those prepared for ruin
without name or number

for first I
sought with blistered eyes
those who
sang with slit throats
with the slightly divine
touch was forfeit
everything a ghost

this is a chance, was said
like demons prostrate at last mass
names faintly aired
prayers stricken retrograde

we feasted on the remains of god
a cackle of ancient tongues
disfigured memories of union
unrecognized selves
served us well

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Submitted: June 13, 2004
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Away from the partyby ~Rakista

Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

Mature Content

I listened to a man describe how he raped a girl at a party once. Drunkenly he stirred up a crowd around him, and boasted.

The police were not called, but he was not amused to find that you cannot drive with 3 flat tires.

I had no part in the tires.

I am not a violent person, even towards inanimate things.

Shine On . . .

`oedalis Jun 15, 2004 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

i'm not one to ask about poetry but i particularly liked this one and the breaks don't bother me.
i also have an aluminum ear however.

~Sperpy Jun 13, 2004 Hobbyist

this seems all over the place, your interjections break up any flow that you had and push me away from reading this.

~Rakista Jun 13, 2004 Digital Artist

I'm going to have to reconsider how to bring the pauses across, thanks.

I suppose I should of reworked it before just blithely publishing it on the intarweb.

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Away from the party

Away from the partyby ~Rakista

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