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Literature Text
His deft fingers glide
along the neck of his
axe as languidly as rain droplets
that are echoed from above.
The thunder of the drums
reverberates the stage and
shakes the ground as it is
mirrored in the skies.
Lightning as quick as the riffs
that leap from the electric guitar
light up and the notes cascade
from the clouds.
The momentous occasion
when life imitates art;
imitates life.
What a thrilling sensation,
we are soaked to the bone
and couldn't be happier
as our flesh welcomes
the long-awaited precipitation
mixing with perspiration as
the treble clefs wrap about us all
and embrace us with that
never-ending love of music.
Ah,
The Black Keys -
how you make our
hearts sing.
Be they charred and broken
or healthy and filled with vermilion.
You certainly know how to stun
the crowd so much so that nature
has to intervene.
along the neck of his
axe as languidly as rain droplets
that are echoed from above.
The thunder of the drums
reverberates the stage and
shakes the ground as it is
mirrored in the skies.
Lightning as quick as the riffs
that leap from the electric guitar
light up and the notes cascade
from the clouds.
The momentous occasion
when life imitates art;
imitates life.
What a thrilling sensation,
we are soaked to the bone
and couldn't be happier
as our flesh welcomes
the long-awaited precipitation
mixing with perspiration as
the treble clefs wrap about us all
and embrace us with that
never-ending love of music.
Ah,
The Black Keys -
how you make our
hearts sing.
Be they charred and broken
or healthy and filled with vermilion.
You certainly know how to stun
the crowd so much so that nature
has to intervene.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
Metro poems
I. "Art Museum"
modern persian miniature on white leaflets;
a maze for lab ants.
II. "Kaiser in Paris"
a deadbeat in front de Franche-Comté;
patents for toilet paper.
III. "in Dingle"
the earliest casualties drowned at night,
driftwood in wilted, Irish fields.
IV. "The Mistake"
August 27 2012, an elephant awoke;
in Tampa, Florida.
~MK
Literature
homecoming
nearly home. nearly home. a space and time away from where you want to be: belonging to yourself. there is a midnight garden somewhere inside my lungs, black and tarry from the darkness i am siphoning from your lips to mine, trying to let the light in, trying to stop the hurt becoming a euphemism for two vertical red lines drawn in a bathtub. you have turned me inside out. raw, vulnerable; the silence is an agony.
you have wormed your way inside and I have agreed to be your golem, a clay replacement for the affections of the woman who bedded herself beneath your skin and rearranged your spine. even so, let me give til i am a dry husk, let me
Suggested Collections
05/08/12.
I saw The Shins and Black Keys tonight, it starting pouring mid-show...that I needed to write out how I felt.
Hope you loves are fairing well, I miss you all dearly.
Title subject to change, as per usual. Any input is warranted and much appreciated!
I saw The Shins and Black Keys tonight, it starting pouring mid-show...that I needed to write out how I felt.
Hope you loves are fairing well, I miss you all dearly.
Title subject to change, as per usual. Any input is warranted and much appreciated!
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Comments12
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I like this a lot, it's a nice image - but I wouldn't call a guitar an axe, personally.