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A overture: the fifth lovecraftian life

saintedmad
saintedmad 26 Feb 2017 Tag: Deciduous 3 comments, leave your own..



blasphemous.
inevitable.
she knows words that create a stumbling orphan,
awake at her first funeral
and who was she besides the thud
under a fist.

 the worldslows at his third elegy

he tells her how.
to not fight about small things because they eventually bloom
bigger, like rosebuds, like water hitting pavement..
lives are nothing but parallel bruises
behind her eyes, like bolts of stuck
lightning.

like rain on her face.
///water looks beautiful on your lashes///

and the colour black;
she understands that a girl 
falls down alone.

he knows she has taunted death too long,
made peace with razors.....


if she goes on, if she dares,
on sheer buoyancy, she will enter
that lovecraftian place
where stopping murders the meaning;
where the point of contact shimmers
apocalyptic:
light she feels is blindness.

[that was close.
she murmurs, and counts
off her small distances away from an eloquent scene.
the swift electricity opens her wrists.
the blue stones drown her in pretty sockets.]]]

           she closes closeness into her dirty eyes.

******************
no....one...is aware.
she becomes a child repeating the bad word,
and he watches her mind, a spotlight.
inside the spotlight............
trains and wreckage
she smells her hurrying body.

for once, if i can leave enough tracks,
i can hurt you back.. ...


:voice, God, simultaneous:



*and so he remembers
standing on a blur, an apology
made of graves.*
iris, iris,
what did she see in God's eyes?
































































Words: 245 / Updated: 01 Mar 2017 / © Copyright

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1 Recent Comments

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COMMENTS:
67
Asomatous 5 months, 1 week ago New Comment

This broke over me today, punctuated my statement of being misunderstood, my alone-ness. No....one...is aware. Does that mean that I am with her there, in different spaces, different times, different planes when she lived a solitary, painful moment, a common curse like mine, felt as if it were my own. She shattered there. I'm holding her together with rubbered tape and childhood glue, because I have to here. Is this why poetry exists? I was not there then, no one was, no one witnessed what you speak of now. Can she have someone there now that I've read it? Can I have someone here now whose unique, stronger-than-she-should-have-had-to-have-ever-been situation strengthens me within?

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ButcherBelial 5 months, 2 weeks ago New Comment

The literati were often hard on Lovecraft. And largely still are, though pop culture has certainly tossed some roses in recent years. He never achieved fame & fortune in his time. I think this puts a pure light to his ideas. Frankly, I challenge any religion to capture that god-essence better, and religion will always fail, because any mainstream religion is the farthest from "pure light". I agree that this is very heavy, but I also think the writing is agile, there's no lumbering about and perhaps a tad faster pace than you usually go. I don't feel a too-heavy sadness here. It really is a deciduous time right now and there is so little to fear. Love this work at a great time.

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After_hours 5 months, 3 weeks ago New Comment

A lot of head traffic here, though the tag of deciduous at least lends itself to a 'letting go' of sorts, which can only be a good thing.. if nothing else, allowing for greener pastures in what ever mental acreage that requires irrigation. Again, a very heavy piece with very heavy words..you must be in great shape, your writes a such a work out. Well penned.

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