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Upstate New York, WinterTarry black sky.
My hands drifting through it,
grabbing at stars.
My arms held upward
ten pound test, thin hooks
spread through the skin,
Paralysis. The clock and I,
we're out of sync.
I sleep through the day.
Every night I wait for a star
lighting up the line as it passes.
When my hands live again
I'll clasp them around that star-
pull it down-
hold it to my heart.
Time's EndThe sky tore open -
space erupting, impenetrable darkness,
and silent stars shining down -
I grabbed your hand.
Soon the air will be pulled
from the sky
from our lungs
but until then.
The light bent around us,
pulled us taut,
stretched us thin.
The night went on and on -
labored, I clung to the ground.
My head all clouds, my knuckles
bright as day. Every ounce
keeping gravity at bay,
as muscles seized, heaved -
finally it rended,
light bent to broken,
an event horizon stretching to infinity.
But in that final moment
as infinity approached,
and the quantum foam boiled over,
hand in hand,
frozen in time -
UnbridledI felt the ghost hand's hold.
In the morning,
when I fetched my coffee,
my hands turned to claws,
my wings ugly and grey, singed with smoke.
When you woke you stepped through the halo,
and your eyes gleamed.
How long have we lain?
And what beasts have we made?
I will fester and become more.
I have grown inside of you,
and soon my hands will be yours to command.
And soon my heart will redouble,
pumping both our blood.
I will walk through my days in silence.
My voice has already gone over.
To my back the thunder will roar, and I will bow,
my back flexed, my muscles moving.
Soon my body will lay supine, and the lightning will consume.
Tomorrow I will wake up.
Tomorrow I'll be you.
Wild Westyou've lived a billion years,
why fill them with regret now?
lying down, waiting for the world to end.
a natural death, calm and quiet.
your face harrowed,
marrow slow, then stopped.
empty eyes staring at empty space.
you've been waiting for the black holes
to consume you. and your soul?
and the heat death?
has it made your heart cold?
but I've known you all these years
through time and space, lives away
has the time worn you too thin?
what of you remains?
no, keep your lips closed.
I can read you fine from here.
the static on every band.
a billion years riding behind you
on a broken horse
through the vast open space.
I won't let you drift away.
The GardenerI was squeezing grapes with my fingers,
jamming them in my mouth,
pulling them from my clothes.
There was a hunger that all my acres
could not subsist. Could not
And with the blight a thousand wasps
carried me out beyond the fences
and past the pastures
and opened my god-damn eyes.
It was bright and sunny
and early morning,
gold light like her wispy hair
and in the concrete cell
I cried out,
"I did not commit."
26 long years.
All that's left
a field of weeds.
In the hallwayI saw death hanging around
in the hallway outside of my apartment.
I was choking on cigarette smoke.
He cracked a little smile and walked off,
rattling bones echoing off the walls.
Motorcycle Ride, San Francisco, Nighthe felt the low rumble between his legs
egging him on. stars dripped from his eyes,
white-hot wet. he pursed his li6ps tight,
contorting his face. he gripped hard,
feet flicking, wrists twisting. loud,
he pushed off into the night.
the black river below him unchanging.
not a sound to the left or right,
just the low hum to keep him company.
the air cooled and light
dripped from his pores.
he turned off the lights,
letting himself bathe in the glow.
the hum raised him back,
his eyes clear on the river once more.
it had been a long night,
and he had paddled soft and slow
trying to keep warm.
he held his eyes tight and waited for the blow.
From the Back RowI heard your soul song sung
the echoes of your voice across empty halls
and I can feel that air so deep in your lungs,
quivering in anticipation, demanding freedom.
The sweet pounding drums,
sweat pouring down your face
and those swaying hips,
prancing feet in your black wingtips.
You grab the brim of your hat,
crisp like your white suit, so clean
and you pound the ivory with your gilded
fingertips, themselves cold and steely,
like your face this morning.
Your song's always been for someone else.
But I'll keep watching, even here, from the back row.
Between the Sword and the PenI heard there was a battle,
between a pen and a sword.
Between a few deathly strikes,
and one simple word
The sword could not defeat
a few thousand men,
A thousand worded lecture
was written by the pen.
The lecture drove them all,
to temporary death.
Its words dragged on like lullabies,
and stole their very breath.
The sword was not able
to bring tears to ones eyes,
Without striking love
and telling many lies.
The pen however knew how
to make ones insides melt,
when composing a sonnet
so powerful and svelte.
The sword ended up covered,
with blood and salty tears.
It's blade getting heavy,
from battling all those years.
And I hear that they still battle,
the sword and the pen.
Words clashing, sword smashing,
Again and again.
If you stop- and listen closely,
You'll hear the pens words.
You'll hear them calling out,
against the metal swords.
I'll Never Grow TiredTonight I'm going to stop you
on the porch, we'll stand toe to toe
the way we used to when
the pulse that thrummed
quick and strong through our veins
sang out our young, unbridled hope.
Our eyes will meet and,
just like the first time,
I'll take a moment to run my fingers
through your shining thoughts and
caress the sharp lines of your mind.
I'll lean forward and press my lips onto
the the flower-petal curve of your self-expression,
and that will be enough for you
to take me by the hand
and lead me up the stairs.
In the soft moonlight that filters through
the trees and our gauzy curtains
I'll unbutton your fears and slip them from your shoulders,
revealing smooth broad dreams. And,
careful not to miss a single freckle of insecurity,
I'll kiss my way down to the hollow of your throat,
where your soft-spoken tendencies
rest among unshakable beliefs.
Between the ridges of your ribs I'll count your worries
and smooth them away with my fingertips.
Over the subtle curve of your hips
Fix"Where does it hurt?" you say.
You smile and look down on me like a lost puppy, or a crying child without their mom.
"Here," I swallow, "it hurts here."
I slowly raise my hand to my bosom, stabbing a finger at it.
You stare intently, your hand gently moving mine away.
"It hurts there?" you ask, looking very surprised.
The fear in your voice overcomes me, and you notice. You act more settled, now.
"Is it the bones of your chest that ache? Your skin, does it burn? What in particular hurts? I've got a fix for lots of things, you know."
You smile, expecting an even brighter response.
You don't get one.
"That's the problem, I don't know what hurts. I can't tell where the pain is coming from. I get the impression it comes from a million places at once, and I feel it most here, but I don't really know where it is or why it's there."
I poke at my core again. You place a hand on your chin, and nod for me to continue.
I inhale, a lump starting to form in my throat. I'm going to cry,
From a dreamWould it
the last robin
as the last
as the last
in your eyes...
Or would it
he didn't even know she smokedthey were sitting on the porch
drinking tea on a quiet spring morning
the table set with the good china
there was a centerpiece of wild flowers
they spoke of Paris cafes
and kisses stolen in the moon light
"I need to get a pack of cigarettes" she said
then she got up and left him there
he sat for a while looking at her chair
at her half empty cup of tea growing cold and bitter
he didn't even know she smoked
Black Felt TrickBeneath broken pens, convenience store
receipts, and a fine layer of neglect,
a black voodoo doll--legs bent beneath him--
studies the needle sticking out of his sternum,
the stitched scars on his skin, and wonders
what it is about love that turns humans violent.
A treacle haired boy grasps the doll
and draws it up from the inside of his mother's
cardboard box. With a grin the size of Alaska,
he pulls the needle out and presses it in again.
In come the shadows, out goes his innocence;
in come the shadows, out goes his innocence.
A teenage near-man wakes, leg suspended
In a near florescent white room
Studying the bandages enveloping his sternum
Hiding the crimson flood underneath.
And he contemplates how love turns violent.
Grandfather ClockIn a hall,
At a house,
On a hill,
Deep in a dark forest
Is a clock
Continuing to work
For its buried master.
Deep in a forest,
On a hill,
At a house,
In a hall,
Is the Grandfather Clock,
Singing its endless song.
You never liked me one bit
How you harass me
How you treat me like shit
Why can't you leave me be?!
You stand tall,
But you confidence will die
In the end you will fall,
For believing the lie
You stand alone,
A traitor to our kind
You wanted the throne,
You only rule in your mind
You told me you love me
"Now and forever."
But now I see,
Why you think your so clever
You stole my heart,
Then tore it to pieces
How will your end start?
I think when my darkness releases
You wouldn't leave me be,
But now I stand,
With an army behind me
Sword in hand
Darkness inside of me,
Needs to be released,
Before it seethes within me
Excavationechoing off the valley walls,
metal on metal. i'm overwhelmed
that ring of ax on gold
we were rich in this valley
til the night settled in
and, surrounded, we tried to keep warm
curled around the fire,
but the stars were so bright
we both went blind.
hungry animals lurked,
just beyond the fire's heat
until we both exhausted, fell asleep.
i felt them pulling,
first at you, then at me,
and i reached up, drew,
and emptied round after round
after round after round
until they were all nothing
nothing but dust and the ash of the flames
and my eyes cleared, but yours
milky and wide.
now the mines haul hard,
the lines never slack,
the sound never stops.
every day they grind another inch off your bones.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More