~Vex0r

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Your words are beautiful.

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expansionmemories...
are slightly, (or mightily), built upon as time goes by;
that's what we do with what we did.

whether those recollections have collected
added details along the way,
we often do not know - ourselves.

these things don't make those things less treasured -
no, not less, but more.

tales are told, and in their telling,
(in)advertant lies cause normal swelling.

llp - dec'09 - dAexpansion by *alapip

A moment in timeI do not want to capture the world
In a thick glass snow globe
By crystallising a moment in time
It would distort, it must distort
But so often I am dragged
To that loathsome depth

So often I trap the world
Between my
Eyes, brain, fingers, pen
It's unfair, it's so unfair
That I pin it
Sprawled and helpless

Without mercy, I dissect
I meddle
And it becomes tainted
The whole vast bright world
Reduced to a stuttering rhythm
Anaesthetised with cotton wool
And splinters of ice
Bound to do my bidding,
Tell the story I think it should

I will look back, I must look back
Not with shame but with remorse
At how callously I fouled A moment in time by ~P1pp1N

What dreams may lie under surface of a frozen star?

Once turned supernova evidence comes painfully late .

For the light that we see is but luminance turned memory,

slipped though our hands forever .

© 2007 AlexandraFor Kevin by ~corvus-sky

Funeral of misplaced wantAlas my love its come to pass I've tired of our idle song.

I euthanize my failing hope give it to naught where it belongs.

Thou love me not, we know this truth. I finally acquiesce to fate.

I thousand lies I told myself to ease the bruise I contemplate.

Dust to dust no divine spark to bring the miracle to life.

Ill begotten travesty I see it now from empty height.

Were your silken words of truth, your actions louder they would speak.

I lay to rest my orphaned heart to walk my freedoms lonely street.

© 2009 AlexandraFuneral of misplaced want by ~corvus-sky

Ritual Killing of my Child SibRitual killing of my child sibling

He charged me like a one-ton bull,
deranged, afraid, eager.
But instead of waving a red gold embroidered capote,
I held a weed-whacker in my dream,
blades whirling full speed.
It was difficult at first to stay still
while metal ground on flesh, then bone,
his blood spurting out covering
my face in warmth as I stood unblinking,
but grew easier until all that was left to cut
was air.

For a moment all was still -
the smell of rusted metal fresh
with blood clung to the air,
the sound of gnashing steel and breaking bone
drummed in my ear, and
breath froze in my mouth.
The tool felt weightless inRitual Killing of my Child Sib by ~HurszoidUnitron

the line to read and travelTo live is to travel. To let go of the known in search of one's true home.
Most of the time I see my home in open spaces, only for a moment or two at a time, but long enough to believe it exists. A glimpse of pale creamy sky punched by a slow sun above the oily waterfront, the moon coming out of the clouds just above the top of mountain in a moment before the scene shifts, the sunset above a thick hunter green forest where you can smell the chill in the air through the window glass. There is always a promise of familiarity and there is always a promise of losing the ambiguity of spaces and distances. The only way to find your home is to losethe line to read and travel by ~YHA-NTHLEI

van Gogh, the Orient: A Lament

When van Gogh lost his soul
to Japonisme,
'twas no bushy-eyed barbarian
babbling about bushido
that enthralled him, but
a docile geisha's pallid wrist,
pouring barbiturates
in his whisky –
a dominatrix
of cherry blossom
in his soul.

No wonder –

when van Gogh lost his mind
to a gunshot,
'twas no starry-eyed samurai
supplicating for seppuku
that pulled the trigger, but
a dying puppy's whimper,
storms of samsara hanging
by a whisker –
a decussation
of dead sunflowers
in his mind.van Gogh, the Orient: A Lament by ~Leurindal

in this space I knowRecords should be kept
detailed, long,
of ghastly forms, pixelized
paralyzed onscreen
a painting in our digital museum
of everyday life

Paintings and dolls come alive at midnight
ghastly forms come alive when they like
and they die when they like and resurrect
sometimes in illicit tryst with a stranger
who might be a savior or more likely not.

I may not have fallen in love
cause I find rising in love more appealing
but some of us do fall, with no love
and that well of self-pity is deep.

You may not have understood
it's a trial by fire
but wet nevertheless
not because of the rain

I have witnessed fiery angels
climbing upin this space I know by ~YHA-NTHLEI

The Marble and The EdgeAt three, my wide eyes watched
as a marble rolled across the table,
its path illuminated by the light
from the window -
(light still entered that house then)
rolled and eventually lost
its grounding, fell like a misguided Columbus
off the edge, rolled under the radiator,
hot to touch and growling.

Then Christmas and the wrapping paper
strewn about the apartment, blood on the carpet.
I never could remember what happened
between the before and after,
but I remember the dark, frantic motion,
the lullaby siren.
While they methodically separated
shirt from body, bone from flesh,
my hand remained in hers.
We rolled steadiThe Marble and The Edge by ~radiantlenore

Amorous TranscendenceYes, yes, I know you will believe me when I say
the dandelions will soon explode
and all the little girls will attack the sun
and, most importantly, that my fingers
will soon become dizzy from running in circles over your skin.

All the experts agree
it is quite possible that every city’s
newspaper will scream at the top of its lungs
and decree a war on words,
but thank goodness we don’t need those.

Surely it is only time until all the walls disintegrate
and reveal the vacuous voluptuaries,
and us, wide-eyed and bending
to the will of each other’s desire.

Don’t breathe in –
the wind carries the noxiousAmorous Transcendence by ~radiantlenore

musings from a dark roomOne thing I've discovered lately is how bright the sky becomes after the sun goes down. It's as if the sun, that fleeting giver of warmth and luminence, isn't shining as much as transplanting itself into a comatose patient. The sky and all beneath her lies open on the operating table of the universe as Sol opens an incision. She lies, patiently waiting, as the gleaming golden surgeon cuts her in two, pushing aside her shimmering insides and coating them with a false veneer of flesh. She remains passive as the golden brilliance of the scalpel envelops her very core, expanding to push aside the glittering amulet of the moon. The famous blumusings from a dark room by ~arnorath

Fall's OfferingPretend I am one of the many apples falling from the trees.
I spent all my life growing
while branches supported my pursuit of the sun.
Now I've fallen at your feet.
Pick me up.
Dust me off.
Bite into me.
Take all of me,
my skin, my flesh, my core.
Allow me to nourish you,
kiss your lips sweetly.

I want nothing more than to be devoured. Fall's Offering by ~radiantlenore

Version Two: 4.19.08We were challenging gravity, maintaining a balance
though the wind wished for me to disintegrate and blow away.
I felt it pulling at my skin, felt you pushing against my flesh.
I gave into the wind, as I always do.
I gripped your skin for the last time.
We were visible only when the wind quit shaking the leaves.
When the final gust came, I eased myself down from the tree,
and walked away from our last scene.
I made my way in the darkness though my eyes were not quite adjusted. Version Two: 4.19.08 by ~radiantlenore

Metaphysical DiversionsLike falling stars
or worlds about to collapse,
we laugh at what remains,
at lives never lived,
impossible existences
just because
they imply some sort of
rationality.

French Kisses
are Metaphysical Diversions.Metaphysical Diversions by ~NOcaster

EphemeralOnce again,
the sweet monotony
of untold words
assaults me.
Usual silences
inebriate me
and my world fades
in a blessed morning light.
Shapes shift
and defenses fall
in the intense oblivion
of Quiet and Peace.
The melody I hear
reminds me
that Hatred is far,
that Pain is still sleeping.
As the sun rises
Perfection turns into Chaos.
As the sun rises
I become human again.Ephemeral by ~NOcaster

The Will to IllusionIn ancient Indian philosophy a force known as Maya served as a veil to Truth for those who were not enlightened. Only through escaping the “real” world could one return to the perfect Krishna. Maya – translated both power and illusion – does not limit itself to Hindu practices but rather seeps through all religion and claims to truth, perhaps most strongly in the ascetic ideal. This Veil of Power, of Maya, and of Illusion makes it impossible for anyone to claim they know the truth according to Friedrich Nietzsche in his On the Genealogy of Morals. While a small few may actually not desire to know what is true, there haThe Will to Illusion by ~FocusShift

Vagrant HeartsAh... the reflection in your eyes
Play across your skin
As your shivering hand reaches out...
Love fades into the sky
Another broken window
Another strip of film
But every night I still see you there
Lying in the tide
Foam rolling silently up legs bare
Are you wishing it pulls you away...?
Now you become the silken sand
Now you are the waves tenderly drowning
Under my stars, forever
Bated breaths into our fire we feed
Singeing flesh, sinking deep
Vagrant hearts
Wandering through ashen night
Sweat glistened memories
Or desires that one day might...
Possessed of us, behind closed doors
I'll be under your thoughts, forever
TVagrant Hearts by ~SephirothXer0

HungerWhat is a life
Besides moving?
Insides chewing.
Muscles like butter to an acid knife
Dare to look busy
My mind howls by
Wind snarling my hair
Wolfs' teeth high
Lights out
Walker of the wheel
But is the wheel spinning
Or am I?

What is youth
Besides killing time
Jail cells to sink
Trying to die 'til you're old enough to drink
Redlight vermouth
Dripping in feathers
But forgot the tar
Skull to the road off the back of her car
You can stay for the fun
But I got to go
Being young
Eventually gets old

What is love
Besides being free?
Slip inside the storm from a cloudy backseat
Suicide dates
Willing slaves
Sweat mask stHunger by ~SephirothXer0

In Stone by ~corvus-sky

Sail Away Home by ~SephirothXer0

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