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Literature Text
Love is lust's
anticlimax.
Tomorrow I will sneak out
like a child, abuse a
stranger, pretend to be
a whore on the sidewalk.
And I will say to teenagers:
bare your scythén-teeth
while you can, you poor
goddamn Cronuses.
I will swallow a stone
and throw it up again, cast it
behind me. It will be
nothing more and likely less
than a childhood.
I am the anticlimax
to myself.
anticlimax.
Tomorrow I will sneak out
like a child, abuse a
stranger, pretend to be
a whore on the sidewalk.
And I will say to teenagers:
bare your scythén-teeth
while you can, you poor
goddamn Cronuses.
I will swallow a stone
and throw it up again, cast it
behind me. It will be
nothing more and likely less
than a childhood.
I am the anticlimax
to myself.
Literature
coda
under tangerine skies,
you pulse and I
fall short
seeking diamonds
from the whites in your eyes
and finding sacred
how your back talks to me.
you drop your bits of nowhere
for me to scavenge,
never rash enough to hunt
but I think I'm done
whetting the leftovers
of your summer -
I think
my leaves look fine
without your color.
Literature
.
maybe you can only
be an ocean
for one person
and after that
you’re just murky dregs
and sodden shipwrecks
and so saline
that you choke all life
out of yourself
maybe once
I was a sea
(for him)
vast enough
to know that storms
couldn’t span
the breadth of me
still so clean
I could believe
life would crawl
out of my depths
.
I don’t know
where it went—
if I was pouring
or he was boiling
or if there’s someone angry
in the heavens
who takes
and takes
and takes
or if I don’t expand
unless I’m in
a vacuum
unless there’s someone’s
wanting lips
to drink
(me)
but last year
I was an oce
Literature
Directionality
I kiss the forehead of another dream,
cast away for different lives--
all my fields of green
seen through shutters
of different lenses, different eyes
that belong to me a half-step left
of the one I stand mirroring today.
These reveries--
revered to me;
refused of me,
refused by me.
Reflections of things
confused with me,
things yet to be seen.
When I die,
will I look back at trails I've cast,
branching worn, winding over grass,
a tree of life carved in the earth
by my unknowing feet?
Even better,
can I linger
over every second maybe,
reveal lives all hidden to me as I rise,
rise past the sum of every choice
and every right-hand
Suggested Collections
Whore, goddamn, and childhood are all profanities-- but like all things, they have their place.
Didn't I mean to stop using greek mythology as a crutch? Whoops.
Cronus castrated his father with a scythe and then usurped him. Later, he swallowed his own children out of fear, but was tricked by his wife into eating a stone instead of his youngest son (Zeus). He then vomited up all his other children and was usurped by Zeus after a great battle.
In the Greek universal flood myth (much akin to the Noah's Ark story), the two sole survivors received an oracle at the temple of Themis to cast stones behind them. Where those stones fell, a new generation of people sprung up.
So, yes. I mashed together two myths.
Scythén is not a word, but I couldn't figure out a valid way to say scythe-like.
Didn't I mean to stop using greek mythology as a crutch? Whoops.
Cronus castrated his father with a scythe and then usurped him. Later, he swallowed his own children out of fear, but was tricked by his wife into eating a stone instead of his youngest son (Zeus). He then vomited up all his other children and was usurped by Zeus after a great battle.
In the Greek universal flood myth (much akin to the Noah's Ark story), the two sole survivors received an oracle at the temple of Themis to cast stones behind them. Where those stones fell, a new generation of people sprung up.
So, yes. I mashed together two myths.
Scythén is not a word, but I couldn't figure out a valid way to say scythe-like.
© 2008 - 2024 saartha
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DOCH... I'm stubborn... I will win