|Works that I've featured as Daily Deviations, both as a volunteer and deviantART staff.|
A New CatOur neighborhood stray is dead. I know thisA New Cat by wreckling
because there is a black cat here I've never seen.
This cat is not the black splotch covered canvas stray
that clawed up and down my arm last winter
when I mistakenly tried to wrap it in a blanket
for warmth. This cat does not have the matted
fur that the stray did, does not deliberately stretch
out in front of my car tires the way the stray did
right before I had to leave for work, does not
chase lizards in the grass like the stray. This is not
the stray that aggressively meowed at me
when he wanted affection, nor is it the stray
that climbed our fence to try catching birds.
I'm certain this new cat must be lost, or else
looking for that same blotched canvas stray
that had become part of his family, too.
Lightbringer“We’ve got about half an hour until daybreak. The light panel is up and running, so you can begin, lightbringer!”Lightbringer by wreckling
Kenta closed his eyes to the stars and breathed in through his nose before exhaling sharply out of his mouth. His hands were trembling. When he breathed in next, the stars came with it, pinpricks of light jumping to his fingers, toes, arms, legs, and even his face and hair. Every part of his body seemed to be engulfed in blue light, except his closed eyes. Once the light had gathered, he exhaled through his mouth once again, and the light throughout his body shifted to his left arm until it was contained between his fingertips and his elbow. When he opened his eyes, the sky was only slightly darker than it had been. He did not look at his left arm.
Turning away from the stars, he faced a small white pedestal that came up to his waist. On the top of the pedestal was a small black panel, and he placed his left hand on it, closing his eyes and breathing ou
BarristerHe'd been in town three weeks, on the case for two, and still only had a single lead. No one in Los Diablos was talking, outside of formalities. He was an outsider, and he knew they considered him as such, but for as much frustration as the town was causing him by not talking, there was one person in the town causing him even more trouble, the one he needed to meet, the one he couldn't even seem to find.Barrister by wreckling
Franky Barrister never answered his door. Franky Barrister didn't have a phone. Franky Barrister always seemed to be on a bathroom break during school hours, but was never in the bathroom. On Fridays, Franky Barrister wasn't at school at all. The trouble was that the investigation the detective was working on was regarding the death of Alan BarristerFranky's father. Everyone in town pointed the finger at Franky, and with his constant absence, the detective could see why. Franky was not doing anything at all to prove himself innocent, and if not for a complete lack of evidence, th
Torumaru and the Bullies Somewhere outside the window, the ocean rushed along the coast, waves breaking as fishing boats cut between them, creating new crests on the water in the push to reach the fish. Seafoam scattered in the air, a flash of white among the marine layer, before dissolving in the in between, not quite water, not quite sky. On the other side of the window, in a small room of a small home in Urayasu, Torumaru rolled over and fell out of his bed. Stunned into awareness, he stood up and jerked his head about, blearily taking in his room. His gray eyes rested on his own reflection, and he noticed his black hair hanging in a mess just above his eyebrows as he tried to make sense of the gold tint his face seemed to have. He squinted and frowned until he registered his own name; the wall he stared at held a small, engraved golden plaque which read: “Congratulations to the new Judo Club Captain, Torumaru Kamimura”. On reading tTorumaru and the Bullies by wreckling
AdamI, first feeling this sunken heat, firstAdam by wreckling
scraping this grain desert, first
sitting under verdant walls, I
first touching these rooted crags, first
tripping in the mountain's gloam, first
reaching this brackish fountain, I
first holding the ocean, first
drinking its salt poison, first
sinking to my knees, I
first trying to understand, I
first trying to speak
MorningsMornings After the End of the WorldMornings by Alizabith
I am woken in the middle of the dawn's light
By the sound of the butcher's knives going "swack"
In the apartment below
And the sounds of something tapping on the glass at my window.
It creaks at me, and whines and howls
But cannot break through uninvited.
Some rules still apply, even after the end of the world.
The tree rips up its roots and stalks away, unsatisfied.
There's a vampire on the phone
"Have you thought about life insurance?"
I tell her I'm not interested, one life's as good as another.
"Have you thought about eternal life, then?"
"Don't those two things cancel one another out?"
But does it really count if Earth corrodes like the weathermen say it will,
And the vampires are left in the trackless void of space
Wouldn't they explode from lack of air pressure, just like the rest of us?
There's nothing in my place but saltine crackers
Of course, the grocery stores will give you a line of credit for a skin sample
But then there
saudadeLast week, you showed up with the thunder on my doorstep.saudade by SocraticSynapses
Your voice was so drenched with the rain that I almost didn't recognize the way you said my name. It hung in the air like an incomplete sentence, like something unfamiliar, like you were so lost from trying to find everything we left behind and piece it back together that you couldn't find me in your heart anymore. It was pouring and the power was out and I was so tired of watching the world fall apart from outside my windows that I let you back inside my arms and inside my senses, and your bones were shaking as you clung to me and told me how good it felt to come back home.
There was something forced in our actions, as if we were going through the motions of something we had practiced a hundred times before. Your lips were all orchestrated movements against mine and the arch of your back and shudder of your breath felt rehearsed, so that when you lay tangled and spent in my bedsheets I let my mouth wander the terrain of your sh
How To Say GoodbyeDear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;How To Say Goodbye by pullingcandy
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th
HweolCollectively they were dubbed "The Intoxi". Everyone thought it was just short for "intoxicated", as if some internationally organized internet conspiracy had caused them all to pour out into the streets on cue that day, drunk out of their minds. Hell, I thought I had missed out on something, and after seeing the news, even I popped open a bottle of Bud I had in the fridge and roamed the streets for a bit with everyone else. It seemed like the thing to do, and I didn't want to be left out when I'd clearly missed the memo. It had seemed meticulously planned at the time, especially with all those people in all those countries. As I walked the streets that day, sipping my beer in clear defiance of US law, I nodded to my fellow wanderers, waved to some, said hi to others. However, the ones I waved to merely looked at me and frowned even though some of them waved back. The ones who waved back did so with clear trepidation, and they all stopped mid wave to me and became intensely interestedHweol by kalamarizoo
Romancing CottonSomeone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her likeRomancing Cotton by sliverofciel
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet. What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
of crows slipping across the sheet of day. Union makes for ardour
and sweat. We were trying to build a body bereft of bones, with
phrases shaped like small sharp pins, like dove-fletched
arrows, like abandoned godsrelatively, you're
beautiful and there are always greater pains.
I assembled cribs, prayed to the god of broken things.
Cadaver HotelI live inside of your corpse. StealingCadaver Hotel by nonamepsalmist
in through the incision
between your ribcage and hipbone, I burrow
myself inside of your embalmed organs and
wrap my fingers around your bones,
clutching until my knuckles turn
the same kind of white.
Though you are dead,
your body sometimes quakes-
spasms and sends a flash-pulse of postmortem waves
over me. For quick sucks of air,
I crawl up and out of your pretty mouth, careful
not to hit your crooked teeth.
To avoid dying inside of you-
oh, how I long to-
I have taken
to gnawing on the insides of your cheeks
and the sinewy parts of your
Yesterday you began to reek
the way dead things do,
while it is sour,
it still smells like you.
VerdigrisThe sun was red the day Slicker died. She watched him fall a hundred levels, to shatter against a fat, reinforced gas pipe, shards of him breaking across archways and supports and cables, plummeting into the foggy void below. His blud drenched a cluster of backup valves. It dripped from the nozzles, thick and syrupy.Verdigris by Memnalar
Slicker was unsticking the gears on the Bigtime, with such focus that he paid no attention to the approach of the Quickhand, making its minute-long journey around the Bigtime's face. He had clamped safety cables to the supports, but was careless. The Quickhand caught a support line, and dragged him off the gears, sending him plummeting. The Bigtime was in such poor repair that the other clamps had torn free, sending scraps of rusted steel along with Slicker to his death.
Shine had tried to shout a warning, but Slicker couldn't hear. Or wouldn't. Slicker loved his work, loved the way things ran smoothly when he was finished. Mostly, he loved it when things worked, as
The Beckett ColcannonCIAN, bowler hat, medium gray trench coat, old-fashioned sunglasses, a cane.The Beckett Colcannon by ShedSimas
BEAG, bowler hat, light grey trench coat.
SET: Front center, a rectangular table, around 8 feet long. To its right, as seen by the audience, an oven/stove. On the stove, a pot with steam coming from it, and on the floor to its right, a small garbage bin. To the table's left, a simple armless chair, facing the audience. On the table, one pound of ham, in one piece. The set is lit in medium light, and the remainder of the stage is left in darkness.
Curtains rise. CIAN sits at the chair. He stares directly forward. Five seconds.
CIAN: Ready, yes, they must be ready.
CIAN knocks his cane twice on the floor. BEAG enters from the right immediately, looks into the pot. He makes to leave.
CIAN: Are they ready?
BEAG stops and faces CIAN.
CIAN: Good. How long have they been steaming for?
BEAG: Almost long enough.
CIAN: Good. (Pause.) And the ham?
BEAG: Sitting on the table.
2.28.12today, i deposited the2.28.12 by artistic-foolishness
contents of my stomach
into an open, wanting
i, a liquid solid
am readily taken down
into its belly
where i decompose.
my throat is a raw
i use to
sing off key
i have a fever.
my temples are
and my skull
trapping the heat
it's like i have cysts
between my bones,
in my veins.
i lost my legs along the way
down into the abyss.
but i don't mind.
their muscles ached
i'd often thought of
still, i am left with
and they all creak,
and they won't shut up
and let me sleep
that must be why i never
can never be deep enough
to submerge me.
tonight, i'll sweat
myself out through
my pores and
always about the
same bones &
I Guess We'll Live To See ItYou should start lookingI Guess We'll Live To See It by completeaccident
for a place we can make our last stand.
The dawn is breaking:
Every morning, a little less light,
and the end
is not as close as you think.
Love is not enough,
is not enough.
The desert is coming.
The sea is coming.
they find us holding our thirst
in both hands.
There is no
You should start looking for a place
we can make our last
Take my frenzy for resignation, put your boots
on. I have a lantern. I have a little
knife. We have so much still
to survive. Open
and let the thirst out.
Build. We will stand
until the dawn breaks- and you do not believe
in ecstasy, so we will know,
at the end.
how lilies weepobstacleshow lilies weep by silklilies
are a kind of faith,
as if through some
a bruised clock
veins and cloaked
timed to burst.
i am nothing
if i am not a dream
of yours, waking
from the geometric light
of my window
into a shimmering cup,
poured full of your words
my hips dripping
their tiny mechanisms,
swirling in incense,
growing new teeth,
to bleed through.
i drip and cough
and sleep and bleed
that i am strong enough
for someone like you.
i am taped
and covered up
but you can still see
the endless flaws.
i watch the trees break,
the elastic stretch between moments as
one thing lives and another dies,
as each day i create my chances,
i hold my deck of cards and slice two in half,
i eat one, i rip another,
and i still win the game.
you are the card i never play,
the one i hold on to,
the lucky coin
A Flowerwould I, I wouldA Flower by silvernium
walk in Hiroshima, a flower
cannot say much
underneath cypress trees
we can believe
pyramid builders used stars
to map something there
sand in my hand, sand
back to where I gathered it
the cypress branches at
night canvas us like a pyramid
as it should be, with light
coming down in shafts
I'd have a flower for every
thing we ever did that needs one
that is an uncountable amount
of flowers and we
cannot count the stars
in a universe we do not understand
for a friendThe sky is captured in his eyes, clear and blue.for a friend by 135711cal
The weather etched smile is honest.
The slender face says sixty; it lies.
It is that and half again.
Knobby hands sun baked and brown
peek out from ragged gloves.
They seem part of the old split locust post
where they are resting;
one of the row of soldiers
that keep watch on their field and its occupants.
The smile broadens as I approach.
I help stretch the wire.
His archaic dialect fills the road
with cows and snow and the yankees
that his grandparents saw marching.
The hours pass pulled by the mule
he plowed with as a boy.
He mentions his wife
they'd been married almost 60 years.
She "took sick" and died (at her own hand)
some 15 years ago.
(it is sad what people must do to escape pain)
But he only remembers the little things
she did so often to help him
they are bittersweet candy.
I know he misses her.
I smile as we finish.
He offers to pay me,
but I refuse it.
Convenience Ducky Short usually avoided using 'convenience' stores. The floors were always grimy, the lighting was too dim for his tired veiny eyes, and the cashiers never spoke more than five words of English. But the thing that irked him most was how every one of them put the Ho-Hos on the very bottom shelf, and every time he would have to find a way to maneuver his long body and old rusty joints into a crouch just so he could reach them.Convenience by cemetarypolka
He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
"Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
i have you bookmarked -vii. Sometimes breakfast, lunch and dinner were like art; food was flung from each corner, creating a futile canvas on every wall. I played a scale of musical doors as they slammed one by one. I'm sure I broke a fewi have you bookmarked - by bowie-loon123
vocalchords too. He was always right beside me, yet so far.
But we mingled together. When his hand gripped mine with his feathery touch, it seemed okay to pretend. Maybe my mind still needed to develop, needed watering. Or maybe together we just made feelings obsolete.
iv. And we did.
We sat on park benches blowing smoke kisses and watched movies, that only seemed good because everything else on TV was crap.
Bubblegum. Pot. Gallons of ice-cream. We fed two pigeons and named them Ben and Jerry. We danced to Genesis, even though we both knew that they were possibly the most overplayed band in the world-universe-all-shopping-centers-in-London-ever.
At night we slipped between the park gates and sat by the lake. It felt like the moon was right ne
orthography and the right to remain silenti know just how i left you,orthography and the right to remain silent by ohsostarryeyed
and i pray to god,
the same one you do each day,
that you're still as
as you were
when you fled
the pile of unread books
still sit on the righthand side
of the coffee table.
but i can't be sure.
maybe they're on the left;
or even worse,
maybe they're on the shelf
over your television.
i don't know how fast
you've been sitting here
or how long you've been moving,
but i have places to go
and people to be,
warming the ache
in my stomach.
it's times like these
i pray to the god,
the same one you do each day,
that i can forget you
and your unread literature
and unwritten poems
and scrapped promises,
for just long enough
that i can
Wyrmling Ghostwritenew millennium toothacheWyrmling Ghostwrite by APrattle
w feeder hand, aluminum
bubblegum knuckle muncher bumpin' phoenix plumage...
& I rock the Rings, now!
supernova falcon flipper -
was-a-real-boy chicken shitter -
fist-fuck photon vision sifter -
soullost, anon forgetter -
so lost, rewind protector -
dead princess bone collector -
hopelessly tethered to the Ghosts, remember?
Nah, man, I don't know any of the Ghosts by name
but I've been following the will'o'wisps
chasin' knowledge, speed & blame
tryin' to play that Martyr's game
Inhale, exhale, cause & effect
momentum, inertia, stardust & breath
Sleep becomes Death...
I can only fathom three modes of the Dream:
get fucked; feign sleep; & cheat Doctor King -
the triumvirate stains Red, White, and Green,
all for Tide bleach and Amerik
|Works that I've featured as Daily Deviations, both as a volunteer and deviantART staff.|
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