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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.
Maria flat across the back seat -  half full needle of something rides shotgun
my plateless Dodge shakes through San Fran near dusk, I can see away
the building - the white neon - the cross, of all the miracles we might make it

reach back two fingers to her neck feel a pulse got it

Van Ness a steel snake - a stigmata of coke cans - pepper gutters, the leaving
sky clutches a final urgent burn - my ribs a snapping cage for a demon trapped
heart pounding pounding. Maria always in my tilted rear-view eyes rolling back

hold on baby, hold on

back to road, banging the wheel radio barks me through the sharp theatre
of shadows that spring constant, sundown whores and homeless breathe
like humans under wheezy billboards, blanket beds, traffic, people everywhere
come on. come on.

reach back two fingers to the neck feel a pulse got it

more cars. shirts say Giants she stirs in the back, pukes a green something
to the floor drops her head again, I think I scream hang on through spit
and salt and the hard flint night starts to soak up our going nowhere minutes
like a chemical.

too many songs in one place. near the bridge a wall of horns and static metal and
my mind hazes up a vision of carrying her in my arms the final mile towards the white cross
of the hospital, or howling for a siren on this stagnant spot. calling for someone now, calling
the gods to send a better version of me

reach back two fingers feel a pulse got it

stopped too long I punch hard, window glass sprays, scream from someone -  blood across
my face, my arm all snot and cuts - another me knows today defines, slow drive means
city grins, judges, weighs us both, deciding to complete the suffering. help help  
me wailing. turn to face Maria

baby its the traffic. cant make it

glass across the road and on my lap, people coming, strangers towards the Dodge,
they open my door - I drop - people with serious faces concerned strange eyes. the back
door of the Dodge opens, people, Maria flat on the road now surrounded I crawl
to her -  reach for her across angers of smashed shards

two fingers feel a pulse

two fingers feel a pulse…
O.D
Came about through reading the always thought provoking work of and a brief comment to the very fine: :iconthetaoofchaos:

An experiment in pace.

Submitted to :iconthewrittenrevolution:
Comments/Critique Link: comments.deviantart.com/1/1612…

working title: Urgency

How does the pace and format feel?
Does it add to the feeling of charge..?
Does the flow create urgency and make you read faster or does the lack of punctuations stop and start you?
How about the symbology and observations, any comments?
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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
Favourite cartoon character: God
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1:35 pm
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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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:iconhell-on-a-stick:
hell-on-a-stick Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Professional Writer
still kicking, i see. 
Reply
:iconbrassteeth:
brassteeth Featured By Owner 3 days ago
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 3 days ago  Professional Writer
Sounds a bit familar....age is seeking us both out.. 
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:iconbrassteeth:
brassteeth Featured By Owner 3 days ago
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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:iconirrevocablefate:
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner Nov 6, 2014   Writer
I have to second Lili, you're amazing. <3
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:iconbrassteeth:
brassteeth Featured By Owner Nov 6, 2014
Thank you dear, what a soul expanding thing to hear....:heart:
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