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hush to the seamy eyes are tangled tightly,
i cannot see your voice
or frantic fingers, but i can
taste the blood flooding
from an unknown heart and
the hurt panic eking its
way between your words
and you sound like an
owl hooting in my ear
i tell you i have lost my gun,
my bullets wedged
between my teeth, and
your owlish eyes
(i can hear them with my eyes closed)
ask me over and over,
i tell you it is she,
and you remember her floral
and blue dress, the way
it pleated around her
neat little ribcage
and empty breasts
you remember the way
you made love to her in your sleep
the memories false
but more real than any body
you have truly touched -
the fragile woman
hourglass and ribs.
the fragile woman
built on stilts
and skinny bones
to save herself
but here she sinks
her to the very
which she bleeds.
we can't really be friendsi was playing songs to unzip your dress for. he laughed when i told him
that it was top of my list. he told me to unzip then
to prove the legitimacy of my ruling. I said okay
and in one sharp direct movement
lay on the bed before him
my polka dot bra evident and him not quite sure what
to do. zip it back up, he said
why? i said
i didn't think you would do it or
anything, he shielded his eyes a bit awkwardly and had
begun to shake.
I like you. I said & he said
I can't talk about feelings, he said, when I am in bed with you
and you are one buckle away from being
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More