| My Daily Deviation |
2009 poems
poem untitledminds do not break, usuallypoem untitled
or wander away lost
but sometimes take a sabbatical to the West Coast,
spend too much money in rummage shops
and breathe the unclean air, the ocean, seaweed-dark,
dreaming of the world lit up,
writing a poem about the way someone touches your neck once and that hand is there forever,
orchestrating a death, 3/4 time, missing a beat,
painting a box for the ashes, leaving no note
by *sunshinegypsy
landscapesI am not a sociopath, but one lives inside melandscapes
we call these dark thoughts, our dark passengers,
which only means we cannot see them clearly, they enfold us
like coming home to the countryside,
stars scattered freely, whispering
we come into each other, the silence speaks,
the long-limbed trees,
the hair, the masks,
intimate thoughts
the stitches of days, sewing your open chest
shells of shining light,
and so we pass our days,
waiting for the night to come &nb
by *sunshinegypsy
sympathy for the devila cold body wakes into the cold rain and the days feel warmsympathy for the devil
words blended into the rush of the wind
fallen leaves like fallen angels, bright spots, rotting
Lucifer, condemned
the word of mouth, the exulted freedoms, the sins of living.
ghost towns,
the faceless and unnamed,
you are rising from a memory, fleshed and unseeing
loneliness a word to cover all your sins
to learn a new language, stop speaking
anger, only a word a chorus of loud music
Lucifer, both lig
by *sunshinegypsy
this is not a confessionyou could kill yourself with a light bulb, an extension cordthis is not a confession
you could chew your arm off like an animal,
wide-eyed,
trapped
write a poem about it, win an award
you speak to the wall and sometimes it answers
sometimes it's the most beautiful thing you've heard in years
people walk through the room, disappear
you don't say hello and you're antisocial,
which is another word for scared. you turn up the music
write more slowly, think more slowly, but the pages continue to
by *sunshinegypsy
the hidden trackthere is a small tendril ofthe hidden track
fire licking the back of my hand,
there is a wave of the sea coming from under the door,
the rushing in my ears, the sounds of
another world coming through the basement wall
the basement a metaphor of our subconscious
my hands are wet with desire
we have still not taken that long, slow step
not closed the window against winter, have not spoken the truth
on the B side backwards
you speak to a rising pulpit
through the tall gras
by *sunshinegypsy
a small crimeas if i have been asleep my whole life.a small crime
as if waking had a colour, the blue, the red,
the colour of eyelids
as if all i have ever known is the
early morning blankets,
the slow breathing, the sweat, the still- life
a human being cannot live like this
you are on fire,
you are burning,
i cannot help but watch
you, like the fresh cut ends of hair,
grass blades newly sharpened, the ring of tiny bells
the capacity to love,
i want to dig it out of your
by *sunshinegypsy
Newest
ground control to lost soulthe match burns down to a thumbground control to lost soul
before the darkness settles in
home becomes pieces of the puzzle, unearthed from the cushions,
the left side of a face, the sail of a boat,
catching the morning breeze, folding like paper
a body remodeling itself, questions without answers.
you know me like an oddly shaped rib,
the spire of a nose, the threads of life leading into
the stretch of skin, the structure of a house,
yard overgrown, empty rooms
by *sunshinegypsy
poem untitledminds do not break, usuallypoem untitled
or wander away lost
but sometimes take a sabbatical to the West Coast,
spend too much money in rummage shops
and breathe the unclean air, the ocean, seaweed-dark,
dreaming of the world lit up,
writing a poem about the way someone touches your neck once and that hand is there forever,
orchestrating a death, 3/4 time, missing a beat,
painting a box for the ashes, leaving no note
by *sunshinegypsy
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I wish I told you that while we were still talking 
DistracteddeviantID
| There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet. No love that leaves the lover unmarked. ~ Jeanette Winterson |
Devious Info
- Current Residence: IL
- Interests: sunshine. breathing. sophie
- Favourite artist: you
- Favourite poet or writer: you
- Favourite photographer: my brother
- Wallpaper of choice: mine
- Personal Quote: there's no such thing as autobiography, there's only art and lies
- Website: http://alittleviolet.alex10819.org/
- Email: escape.artists.101@gmail.com
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--
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
--
If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.
~ Brian Andreas
xo!
--
an antique arms and armor expert
--
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Serious congrats, Kate!
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