I was still breathing static fog,
electric currents
coursing through wire cage lungs.
Copper coated tongue
sparks in shades of orange and gold,
I feel the surge
and my body comes alive,
pins and needles
shivering in the flux
of the obsolete circuitry
burning in my chest.
Flashbulb sunbursts
burn white lights into my eyes,
Moire patterns
move the green earth
in cosmic undulations,
a mirage of the dancing atmosphere
I cannot deny,
nor confirm the existence of.
Seismic rhythms,
tectonic thumps in the fault
of my ribs,
the rattling of rebar and bone,
my Embarcadero spine
crumbling
into the rift
of unexplored daylight.
Rebirth in the tomb
of t
there's a casual companionship out there
where cigarettes are passed
from kiss to kiss
in a soft cathedral dark -
under cover, under
covers - and i'm
coveting.
I saw her piercing blue seas one hungover monday morning
and I knew then which ocean I wanted to drown in first.
all of my rats have tangled their tails
around my liver, my lungs
each other.
and I've tried and failed to burn them out
poison them
dissolve them
tear off their tails.
an endless monarchy of rats.
I want to swim in your ocean, be tugged and tickled
by the tides.
watch the sun rise over the water
watch the sun set over the water
drift me as far away as you can
your blue seas.
so far from syringes and smoke
slumping over and in
dirty couches
filthy chairs.
their tails flailing in your waves.
these bottles and blotter pa
“Gimlet,” Gast says. And he means me, could not mean another so cohered, so bone-tremblingly focused are those two syllables. Our meeting is enfolded, as ever, in the heavy-handed ceremony of all state business, but it is no less ours.
Gast appears to me as a projection mounted in a bruised TV screen. Its liquid-gauze contents could pass for a sfamato painting, they’re so full of shifting murk and grey tides. And even those rhythmic disturbances are scattered by breathy impressions of pool-like eyes, of arches that might be the brush of lips or a brow against a veil. All that is clear is the TV’s sound. His sound.
The
There is tension here
in the thick of our bond--
a place out of myth
a corridor between worlds.
I look to you, a
many-headed dryad,
with
tender-knotted faces
peeking now and anon
from the edifice of an emblem
unto itself, an emblem
rooted, though green.
With outer limbs
that quake
at a breath, at
the whisper
of storm.
I, myself, I am confused.
A gusting, tenuous elemental
gone golem.
Nature bent back to artifice.
I have a face of gathered pebbles,
reflective facets
that wink and glimmer
only sometimes
as I choose.
Mostly people view me through
one or two (of them)
but your many heads hold
also
many of my worlds,
as though trapt
and
#SixWordStories: Monthly Showcase by 3wyl, journal
#SixWordStories: Monthly Showcase
A type of Flash Fiction, six word stories are (very) short stories with an exact word count: six words. SixWordStories (https://www.deviantart.com/sixwordstories) is the place where, alongside quality, quantity really does matter. Though these stories are so brief in length, they can be as profound, if not more, than the prose and poetry you see and read every day, partly because six word stories can tell us so much and yet contain so little.
In our feature articles, we will be showcasing six word stories submitted to Freestyle folder.
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only wanted to make it better by CherishKay, journal
only wanted to make it better
Cause every time is the last time
And I'm kicking myself just trying to be understanding
Tell me how did you think that?
You're leaving me waiting and acting like I'm so demanding
...
You told me it won't be the same
But your eyes stay shut and my screams fall faint
I only wanted to make it better
Make it better
Make you better
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart...