The Noser, Bitterly The noser, bitterly, miserly, sniffing it out, brittlely boned but unbroken yet. this spitting is so gentle, it just persuades me to linger but when one side of the sky glows, will i align the redirection? to go towards the clear is to turn around and up then back and down and refer once more to reaffirm. to wait out a miracle, neck craned like the arc the spectrum would have thrown. wouldn’t i rather it poured on me? because, despite grey being beautiful, despite ‘overcast’ being my preferred temperature. the knowledge that this cloudiness shields and protects me, with warm monotony is all that there is to the illusion: i can do swivels for a rainbow or i can glue my eyes to the ground and nimbly evade puddles. i can do both now and then; look behind to squint for a hoisted arch, always, at the same time plod closer to a bluing sky. would you rather it poured on you? would you even have acted differently? the
A Nodder it's kind of you to hold the door; it's kind of nice you waited for me. i'd make it, if i only put down this drink, but to run ahead to you now is to topple the tippler. so best i not spill this. i'll just let myself out; that's doable, in a bit. two men in a line; the two makes it fine. it'd take one more to mark a space. so have a nod, for approval, on me. or a nod of acceptance? three men on a plane, the aisle down one side, would that make us a crowd? oh, lagger-behind that leads the pack? maybe with last orders! don't -- it doesn't -- make me laugh.
Glorious Cosmic Trash (Stuff (In a Baggie)) by KitoZeke, literature
Literature
Glorious Cosmic Trash (Stuff (In a Baggie))
Glorious Cosmic Trash (Stuff (In a Baggie)) the many ways to be, the many lives you see slipping in then out. the way when your eyes cloud, then defracts in those cataractal emeralds in waves, then cascades. the exact impossibility where for the light to shine out, the only way is through. 'i will never let this happen again' just does with surgical precision; how it always works out the way it always works out, it works out in the least possible way.
The Ace of Strokes a stroke of genius: it's all kept to himself. who is that, the victor or stranger, ornament on the shelf? a stroke of luck: he's left to last standing, almost to trick. the normalcy fawns enticingly, lastly denounced. a stroke of madness: buffed and puffed. wired, fired up. bluffed, vowed, and out for blood, the water thicker: rather bothered than watered, smothered than grown suturally. tougher matter thrown farther, much further! stranger! than an outsider? the glide of a borrowed lick. he's known and gone. provoked, a tick flicked, in his one winning stroke.
Where It's Out of Sight a thought criminal by introspection; replacing cells in endless halls. labyrinthen, manifold interrogation; a solitary inmate parenthesised. the sole survivor of an unpremonished capture; he alone would be the one to believe himself to run the panopticon, wouldn't he? he thinks he surveils. he thinks it's incarceration. he can see above, and over, the wall: the desolation, it sprawls unto horizon. what he doesn't -- cannot -- see, the grass at the foot, greener, right behind the wall.
I Like to Watch People Sleep by KitoZeke, literature
Literature
I Like to Watch People Sleep
I Like to Watch People Sleep i like to watch people sleep. whether the chance companion of a fellow commuter or a stranger bedfellow -- to watch you, simply and helplessly exist while my gaze now rest along your entirety. this unprecedented certainty i have now that i am safely refuged from your caution. how unaware you are of me at this moment. i'm pure empty ontology. shall i imagine the interior of your home? or touch my toes on yours? a systematic schism, yes, it's tipped, a balance shifted, yes. but i am finally just beyond your percept, i could know a moment's comfort.
Stargazer's Lament searching for Venus; looking to Jove -- the rankest man in the world's been picking bloodied ash out of the fresh cuts, and blown cash on sauce and smokes, knobbly. now teetering over the threshold into an empty flat -- to nobody, but somewhere definitely, a billowy desolation stirs him, deeply. then to wake up to another blaring day, escaping a karmic fate every night, he thinks; as though the evasion is not part of it all at all. a stumbling engine of chaos and antagonism, flung hurtling out of nothingness sustained by inertia, burning out -- flashing ablaze! then dims, returning to the void. so he ever only wakes up, facing Mercury, and standing on Mars. got in an altercation with me dad's mum, doing a stable-mature-adult. snuffed it out on me, with a groan; aglow, a sizzle, a-fizzled. a noise is like a silence, and these littlest steps i make, to remain in the dark, maybe mean nothing to you. but an ancient forever-fade, lightyears away, that
Foxholes do not show me tenderness; because i'm completely defenseless. i harden on impact, but melt upon contact with body heat. an intervention of fouls; the incoherence of a vandal, inconvenienced, faxing from Frankfurt. my sixth leg in the grip of the vice. did you smell it in the air? high in the radio waves? the last leg of the war? to simply toil, honing my craft.
Let Go Tomorrow
a southern man walks the northern ice, thinks,
‘surely i won’t survive another day of July.’
i was playing in your mother’s garden,
but one day i will go very far
on a little white sailboat. for now,
i’ll just drown a while;
lots of ways to die and lots of ways to kill time.
for now, i’ll keep the promises pocketed.
i’ll keep you outside cold and in the shadows.
when will i get used to life underwater?
‘are you well enough to carry on?’
read a letter then forget about it,
the tar on the snow and my fingers on top.
it’s just my known natal tone,
pro
Neither Skirt Nor Grip
the myth that i could’ve kept it all
if i’d only let it be.
if only i’d left it alone...
quietly -- the simplest ruse.
you’d be taking a piece of me,
unused, either way.
blinded and snuffed
so i will never be reminded
your face, your voice
smothered me so i don’t respire
the stinging scent of your skin
down inside, again
to give, to take;
i give and i receive.
choking on the dirt
as i disappear under ground.
guess i couldn’t stand
the taste of purity in my mouth.
Sorry for the late reply, I don't come here often enough. Ha, thanks so much! If I ever become a public official or something you have every right to sell this to a trashy magazine for multiple monies.