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Devious Collection
6 deviations
        time dissolves material things for you.
for me it scrapes at the tight heartbeats of childhood
it patterns the senses
and carves new synapse for my sorrows.

fear not though my dear - we will together
roll in other waves, on other days


ii. Sleeping (dreaming/coping)

sometimes I wake to the hidden nocturnes – rustling
sometimes to the day’s first birds – high in the willows
the dawn births their silhouettes from the darkness.

mostly I am here, thick in the silence – stagnant and still like a loch
swollen to the memory of things  
faded teacups, the bare wire of the washing-line

iii. Economy (of daily memory)

dusk, me. the old granite-quarry workers day is complete.
Fords throw up ochre dust along the roads
back to town
to neon bars  - they herd in like tired sheep

to moan away the relics of the day
but since the Note - all actions are altered - something lost
along that slow corrugated way – my rusty old work shirt
the tired, lonely day
(this quiet somber night.)


iv. Message from the her in Spirit (slumbering earth)

I watched, one with the wind,  where he could feel me -
he wore a new path from the barn through the snow
and into the woods – he walked it daily, like a message.

fallen pine gathered slowly by the side of the house
in tiny barrels - the splitting block wore smooth
with long metal scars
the days shortened.

he wondered how much deeper the world could fall
before it pulled itself back to light – recalled itself,
remembered to produce itself again.

v. Dreaming (of the living)

I didn’t come
appearing to you in your dream tonight.
you, my love –
you came appearing in mine.

vi. Dusting off (silver bed pans)

we never had the time for children
makes for a lonely room in the end
the night nurse rushing
with her clipboard-care smile

I notice my bodies – irregular.
a sense of senses expanding,  
cells detaching from auras,
one-by one. discarding. I am leaving
 – smells of a newborn in the room next door,

the laughter of a child running along the corridor
a new moon,
far different than the one I lived with -
and to her.

i. The End (the note from Her)

time doesn’t dissolve all material things for me
like
samsara
samsara: A wandering through - The cycle of death and rebirth - the clinging of the material world...
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three days off - to read Steinbeck

Day 1.

and the rain thrashed at the black crows in the morning.

I could see them
fluttering and mocking - amongst the grey mist
out my back window
and after that - after the rain stopped
I saw the crows had dried
and all at once the world stopped turning.

And then things changed and slowed
further still
and then started again like a lurching green cog,
deep inside the natural world
against
no-ones will -
and after all that,
after all the slowness
some brand new silence entered the world

Day 2.

dust had gathered on sills and tables
and the flecks and paths of
some unseen, unknown living thing
had left tracks and paths
and maps on the grains of wood.

I felt at once a presence unknown to me - in the house -
like a ghost of one missed generation -  watching
across gaps in flaky door frames
through internal windows
and down dark stairwells

I spent cups of time pondering
the new soul and things that reminded me
of the scents and textures of distant summers
on other continents
times before each moment was a gift and a joke
all at once.

Till a sliver of moon with a badge like a sheriff
pointed me down and I consented
to the order of things and to the thinking.

Day 3.

In the book  - the dreamers had found the coast -
whilst I wandered in the net of memories
amongst the smell of sweet berries
and wood chips
amongst the busy structures
of my abode. The floors and walls asked
for peace - for mercy, for freedom
still I stayed, turned pages, sought
the bland truths of the well shaved
pen holding gunslinger.

**

In the end I sought the edges of near things -
fought to see night stars before they were due to arrive
in the sky - to the eye -
joked with spirits borrowed from plastic and glass
and wire.

Till all unnecessary things became unable, and unwanted
and a calm entered my space, drifting upon me
like a decent dying creed
always remaining loose - always external.
three days off - to read Steinbeck
And so, in and out of the great books, in and out of the great country, in and out of the natural world...

The few repetitions of some words embedded in the metaphors are simply my humble pen-slingers nod to Steinbeck. 
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and quickly, hessian bags were introduced
anatomically,
rescued by
some form of provocation
seen through priceless, fluky paintings
of blue poles.


***


Lets get personal,
lets overreach our own nostalgia
triumph -

- garment cloaked
at vespers,
draped in donated jewellery
even as a grey pox
marks our lucre skin.



No that's not right either.
How to strip this vibration of it's blue poles?

how to say we have not lived
but only pretended
staggered - surprised
as rock ripped flesh?

Perhaps like this...

(i)

our memories are wide mouths,
vaults we once placed in front of us
well before birth
to swallow the dying wood and love
from the land
all at once

(ii)

like those blue poles
you stabbed me into recognition
swirled around me - like a curve of time
carving scars
upon the weary pages  
of our crumbling atlas
across the surface of our half-dreamed earth.
upon seeing blue poles
Dedicated to :iconrlkirkland: A very, very fine poet and a constant positive polarity.
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If I could drink you from the sky tonight
I would -
drink the brown bourbon blackness
with stars for ice -
as the moonlit-salty neon line
separates the land
from the lonely battered void.

I'll raise a glass to the sky tonight
while the neon splits and the world crashes through
like a broken neck
see me praying you were here - through tumbleweed canyons
through all the static porno waves
that crowd the space between us,

and in swollen spite 
watch me clean my bony drunken theatre
of all your hungry, truant atoms.

(time)

Fear ebbs - a sober starlight wakes me
cold - inside paltry sobs
I gather you like kindling from the ground - tossed polaroids
in the wind
stack you upon your pedestal
with you watching down
through all this madness
through the bleached love/guilt curtains
like an angel.

Watch me drink to you in the sky tonight
with me still caught in this thickening land
like a quantum boxed-in slave,
like Schroder’s cat, like I might be alive
but I might be dead.

Critiques

deviantID

brassteeth
Christopher M
Artist
The willows are thinking again about thickness,
slowness, lizard skin on hot rock,
and day by day this imagining transforms them
into what we see: dragons in leaf, draped scales
alongside the river of harried, spring-stirred silt.

Summer Grass

Roo Borson


Short Journey Upriver
Toward Oishida

Current Residence: Annahoriasticin
Favourite genre of music: Country or Western
Favourite style of art: Literature
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Quotes from the Masters

"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."

— Cormac McCarthy

Comments


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:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2015   Writer
:hug:
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:iconscarlettletters:
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Jan 5, 2015  Professional Writer
Thanks for faving my work. I appreciate the support.
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:iconhell-on-a-stick:
hell-on-a-stick Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2014  Professional Writer
still kicking, i see. 
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:iconbrassteeth:
brassteeth Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2014
Just....reduced to a leg dragging limp, receding hairline and failing eyesight..:)
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:iconhell-on-a-stick:
hell-on-a-stick Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2014  Professional Writer
Sounds a bit familar....age is seeking us both out.. 
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:iconbrassteeth:
brassteeth Featured By Owner Dec 17, 2014
Pat pat 
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(1 Reply)
:iconjade-pandora:
jade-pandora Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2014
J Alphabets (Words) H Alphabets (Words) A Alphabets (Words) N Alphabets (Words) K Alphabets (Words)
Y Alphabets (Words)O Alphabets (Words)  U Alphabets (Words), Christopher!
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:iconthetaoofchaos:
thetaoofchaos Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2014   Writer
Thanks!
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:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2014   Writer
Thank you for the favorite and comment, I appreciate them so much. <3
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:iconjade-pandora:
jade-pandora Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2014
Adventure Time - Flame Princess IconWarm greetings to you, Christopher, for I come delivering many thanks for supporting and faving - 
                                                  Philomena Emote  :heart: 
    . . . .  Fired Up "A Corner of Sky" :flame: revamp
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