December 2017
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poem: "infectious"




infectious


an uncapped pen,
naked lines under my hand --
slight unsettling of sediment,
a dirty quickening in lightless depths.

Words used to writhe,
scattered
and noisy in my veins,
scraping against capillary entrapment with their pointy-edged letters
and bouncing
with stomping!
screaming!
dances!
into my brain (shoving aside experience-thought)
with no hesitation
-- and no struggle.

now they're so few and weak and slow,
they barely tickle with their pushing
(when they manage the motivation to shift at all)

I'll feed them with unfettered thought
and lure them
with ink slipping sweet into paper --
once more my blood will excite, incite, entice,
and they'll breed until I teem,

breaking clots
and stroking my heart to skipping.

sounds: Pomplamoose - Hail Mary | Powered by Last.fm
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Comments
frecklestars ══╣amazing╠══
This is _deeply_ fabulous! The last line in particular makes my heart start beating faster. Lovely.
secret_keep ══╣╠══
stream of consciousness response
I know the feeling of the pen,
dripping and ready,
with the blank paper beneath it.

It feels like a wall only inches thick,
but stronger than spidersilk,
and impossible to scale.

I have heard that writing daily helps,
but I wouldn't know. I only know
that with music, I do that...

and then it writhes within me once more,
and the wall is destroyed,
and Berlin is united once more.
on communication, social justice, intimacy, consent, friendship & other relationships, spirituality, gender, queerness, & dreams. Expect to find curse words, nudity, (occasionally explicit) talk of sex, and angry ranting, but NEVER slurs or sexually violent language. I use TW when I am aware of the need and on request.
Expect to find curse words, nudity, (occasionally explicit) talk of sex, and angry ranting, but NEVER slurs or sexually violent language. I use TW when I am aware of the need and on request.