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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
December 6, 2009
souls high kites with holes by *thetaoofchaos is a collaborative piece with *NightGrid, showing us what two voices can become when combined. Get a good poet-friend and try collaborating, too!
Featured by fllnthblnk
Literature Text
souls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ball
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
Are we
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Colossal eye
We're watchers
Of the wolcen burnspot
Pupil paling
West, always
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
And toadstools
With plume
For tongue,
Duck-green;
A curling fern:
We slip around like
Chartreuse chimera
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
Tail-motor
To blend
Eyeless
At the empty
Arms
Of an underwater statue-
Arms like levers:
Blackening the coats
And peeling back
Crystal tortoise-shells;
Stripping time of
Itself –
We see the sky
Where it is skyless;
It remains an opal;
Patternless and
Dug-out:
A sunken
Treasure
In the bowl
Of your
Soul.
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
Are we
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Colossal eye
We're watchers
Of the wolcen burnspot
Pupil paling
West, always
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
And toadstools
With plume
For tongue,
Duck-green;
A curling fern:
We slip around like
Chartreuse chimera
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
Tail-motor
To blend
Eyeless
At the empty
Arms
Of an underwater statue-
Arms like levers:
Blackening the coats
And peeling back
Crystal tortoise-shells;
Stripping time of
Itself –
We see the sky
Where it is skyless;
It remains an opal;
Patternless and
Dug-out:
A sunken
Treasure
In the bowl
Of your
Soul.
Literature
Souls: high kites with holes
souls are high kites with holes, the sky is like a crystal ball
Blue sky harrow:
How lost for adjectives
Are we
To break our fast up there
Sugar, tea, and birdsong?
Of course, kites, souls
Curiosities, wind being free
While we, ground strung Gullivers
Flat beneath the
Colossal eye
We're watchers
Of the wolcen burnspot
Pupil paling
West, always
What do I call myself?
My sex deliquesced
An epicene, I'm a lover of honey bees
And toadstools
With plume
For tongue,
Duck-green;
A curling fern:
We slip around like
Chartreuse chimera
In Lilliput ponds.
We dive in as
The tadpoles stop
Tail-motor
To blend
Eyeless
At the em
Literature
The Tide's Coming
The bugs whisper of your coming with their legs,
As the moon hides
Turning my edge of the world black
I cannot see, but through the pinholes of stars.
The trees rustle,
Shivering as you pass
Your heat removed.
I hear nothing
But nature rebelling against you.
But then all goes silent
The sea stalls,
The crickets feel your vibrations
Stopping them dead.
The trees hover in stasis,
Wishing they could uproot
Travel somewhere
You cant touch.
I welcome your chill
My bones make music enough
To fill the air,
My breathing
A sea roar, its own.
I am as aware of your presence
As
Literature
limit
words are the translations
of lifetimes.
and i speak the invisible architecture
of my body.
there are back-lit hills
in every direction;
dark crests that hold
the inevitability of the sea
on the other side.
recollections go out like
the vapid ribbons of breath,
occupy their origins
as fragments of myself.
i am everywhere
i'll ever be.
ever been.
the other side
is a perpetual expulsion;
is exclusive and perpetrating;
is the establishment of desire.
i follow the iron shove of the river
to the lake, green with cold.
ice rides the water
and the careful geometry of chance
like triangular wax sheets.
they overlap,
hold w
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So they Reaper what they sew.