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Strange HotelI know numbness.
I know uncertainty in taking breaths -
asbestos always lurking in a gasp.
I know the fear of death without a cause.
When I was a child, and afraid,
comfort was a hobo hanging on a tree.
But that was years ago; he died,
and from the tree I built a bed.
This bed has been the bottom of my barrel.
I have blackened lungs and smashed pianos,
burnt the Song of Solomon to dust,
turned my only brother to a widower.
This morning, when the sky blew up,
I wept and shook an anchor out of me.
Now, there's nothing left except my hands,
My feet, and something vaguely like a dream.
VeniceTorn to pieces Chevrolet
don't be sorry if I stay awake
Grandpa got pneumonia again
wrap my partner in a blanket
she's been worried we might lose the war
breakfast on the floor
oatmeal, feathers of a newborn bird
she's still beneath the sea - her nights are long
but waking, this was change - she smiled
molten to the touch
the day in flames - the harvest for her lungs
her blood was flowing - her hair was rivers, now
after breakfast we both walked outside
drowned our risen hands in lakes of earth
melting morning cigarettes into our mouths
Marlboroa couple more for breakfast
quoth the hammersea
truth can die and turn to dust -
something that the black sheep brought ashore
i was the last trapezoid to melt
fell down the september steps on a full moon
heartswapped with a jar of lsd
i often think of who you were beneath
on all the beds where you weren't mine
the dare i took on Golf Street
before your eyes were stale "Get Well" balloons
and i'd found heaven in a dark green gem
the challenge was to feed us all for good
with what my parents left behind
i found a couple catfish in the fridge
pregnant to their very depths
but that was all and jesus left us years ago
took up with the bloods
soon apostle paul stood up and prayed
huddled up above the stove beneath Black Mountain
cooked us all the last thing we remembered
i came to in the forests of Oconee
just far enough from home for me to breathe
an old italian dirge
blew through the trees for Plato
dead he lay on leaves across the creek
i said a prayer to myself for Aristotle
the last on
BloodhoundWound up tight,
old stones and
where your feet had walked
before you woke?
i do, as glass
engulfed - jet black.
unwritten, eyeless -
hollow blanket sky.
but deep in water, prophets
smaller than could be -
faint lace of light,
too dim to be conceived.
at dinner, plates conveyed -
a spoon betwixt the cutlery
revived a time wracked dream.
in water - three years old -
i sunk below the breathless deep.
alone for silent moments, i was strong.
the growing dark was but a touch away -
i smiled, shook its hand, and said goodbye.
in water - three years old - i learned
how tender is the way death empties hearts.
CrowbarWhen I dropped out of town
I turned to blue green
tired of the moonheads
tied-up telephones and
shook up street bleed shoes
creeping through the night in our cocoons
the way it all began to grow
stripped deep - down to the bone
trucks would swerve the whole way home
we'd spill the pills
the dam would break
the fish would drown
we'd lay the ladders sideways
swim through couches in our cocaine crowns and
wear our brains like clothes
Balconiesmy dog likes carcasses
keeps them to herself,
she dropped a chipmunk at my feet
i'd killed for her
the day before
crystal meth helps clear my head
when raccoons curl up
beneath my feet
i've seen love
might have children
little hearts that hold my blood
(i'll never know)
who named the moons
who wrote the books i've read
i'm lost on dark apartment floors
the emperor is drunk
and wearing all my clothes
i feel at home
Lebanoni grew arms
woke my fathers wrath
after elementary school i met
buttons by the scoop
i came down with fever
the day they killed christ
when the world fell
A Car, A House, A DogBack porch, smoke wrapped,
alzheimer's from aluminum -
when pillars were corinthian
my brain felt nice,
like babies' mouths on breasts.
wish someone would have whispered -
held me down on hardwood floors -
"your heart is not an empty nest".
FleshfriendToday i drove the crows
turned around and dove
hungry homeless god bless
give me all the rest
left overs unspun lovers
give me all your money,
sunday, baby, saturday
ditch-dead hobo dreams
haikus - half a beer case
black and blue
sometimes i just ask myself
what would, had i hadn't you?
what would? too late
gone throughout you
box of chocolates, my breath
box of chocolates, my breath
intimate thunder in this microcosmic
corner I have stolen
your alcohol & I am
missing the color
you made the world turn
CaressI spent last night
connecting the freckles on your chest
with ever-so-soft finger traces,
creating our own constellations
in these new milky ways
that erupt into existence wherever we touch.
The cool caress of your fingers across my lips
makes my every nerve ending awaken,
craving the unknown taste of yours.
But you don't allow me the indulgence,
leaving me to desperately breathe you in
like you are nothing but a passing breeze.
I savour how you shudder:
a silent sigh of your body
as my hand brushes
the top of your spine,
and the way the little hairs rise
into the glow of the moonlight
that slow-dances in the air above your skin.
And now I believe
you truly can fall in love
in one night.
Flirting with a mirageYou are the heat haze.
I get close and you vanish
camouflaging as the breath in my lungs
and I wonder how I can be so full of someone
I’ve never even touched
nothing lies forever & if
it's because I can't
among the grassy ribbons
of your old zeta ego
& if I miss tongue,
teeth and cheeks
let the pavement carve
new mouths into my tights
she writes an another
poem about cigarettes
her east coast
new suspension demylineating
in hand-knit wool,
he looks just like you:
digging up snake skulls between
and I can barely see the face
behind the violence
I would rather be left
alone with your chemicals
setting water on fire
Champagne WishesWake me up
I seem to have grown old
And long to be young
Wake me up
I'm fast asleep
Trapped in a nightmare
Longing to return
To dreams of sugarplums
The Happiest DepressionSo happy and bright
this little balloon.
Thought I could float.
Thought I was immune.
But not helium filled,
i'll hit the ground soon.
I was caught, by a small child's hands.
I'm fearful, this young one can't understand
That my, happiness is my illness
In their eyes:
Colorful, wonderful, blissful, blimp.
Deflating, stretchy, empty, ship.
Toss me into the air, hoping for ascension
Descend down to earth, falling in depression
Imaginary FriendCloaked with prowling imagination, of which consumes me with every waking moment, laughed upon
For longing illusions brought out by pure innocent amusement, what nothingness to the eye is but a jar
Of enclosed fascination to those at present, what comes and goes is yet believed to be swallowed lost
Foolishness, to such nonsense longs to await my soul, for sorrow after sorrow brings nothing but longing
Whims of pain, and then comes forth out of my dreams my whimsical friend, so fictitious and strange
But as real and energetic as to touch our pound of flesh, now but a memory locked away in the dimness
Of childhood, oh how I wish to bring my misapprehended companion back again……
SkinforestToo tired to sleep
bird kiss bastard chase
a real hero
stuck inside a human being
memphis blues again
buried in your body
nervous system flesh baptism
standing at the top step
leaning back and
getting payed somehow in
halos over every noise you make -
pennies pressed in Ålesund -
the chance to see your face forgetting death
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More