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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 24, 2009
In glass sky,~steelwench blends the acts of drinking and remembering with the changing of the seasons.
Featured by SparrowSong
Literature
My First and Last War Poem
When he came back from the war,
all he saw was shrapnel.
Not like the sort on the battlefield,
at home there were no bodies,
there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,
She stood at the beach,
brushed back a strand of hair
a jellyfish washed onto shore.
She knew only the dead were that clear
and it reminded her of the poisonings:
dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk
after some jerk littered the doorsteps
steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family,
watched himself at the dinner
table as if he weren't even eating
swallowed the potatoes and wondered
"where is the metallic flavor;"
"where is th
Literature
Souls: high kites with holes
souls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ball
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
Are we
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Colossal eye
We're watchers
Of the wolcen burnspot
Pupil paling
West, always
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
And toadstools
With plume
For tongue,
Duck-green;
A curling fern:
We slip around like
Chartreuse chimera
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
Tail-motor
To blend
Eyeless
At the em
Literature
Lock Picks and Rocks
We broke into the old apartment
to look for things we'd lost when moving on
and moving out, across the street
and sixteen cities South. I tried to take
the poems from the windows but memories
are more permanent than marker. Mornings
seemed longer when sunrise wrote words
on bare walls and bare skin, or when
I traced end-rhymes and metaphors into the curve
of your hips.
These days we don't sleep.
and I couldn't find them; instead
we found furniture that spelled apathy
and wrong words on right angles, organized
and dead. They painted over
our names curled above the bedroom, they washed
the windows with writer's block and fi
Suggested Collections
nature poem meets self reflection
Mature
© 2008 - 2024 steelwench
Comments24
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I drink the embers.
Loved this line.
Loved this line.