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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
September 26, 2015
A Run-On Sentence About Staying Where You Are by vigour-mortis reads smoothly, just as the title would suggest.
Featured by HugQueen
Suggested by InklingsOfOblivion
Literature Text
In a halo of messy hair
and metal shavings everywhere
my thoughts return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted,
by the paths we've chosen
that leave us almost frozen
in warm beds
with full heads,
busy days
set in our ways
and complacent
with energy spent
on getting by,
forgetting why
we are even here
and it becomes clear
that things just are
the way they are
and it doesn't matter that you make me nervous,
that the only time my thoughts find purchase
is when they return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted.
and metal shavings everywhere
my thoughts return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted,
by the paths we've chosen
that leave us almost frozen
in warm beds
with full heads,
busy days
set in our ways
and complacent
with energy spent
on getting by,
forgetting why
we are even here
and it becomes clear
that things just are
the way they are
and it doesn't matter that you make me nervous,
that the only time my thoughts find purchase
is when they return to you
and what I would do
if we were less constricted,
if we were less restricted.
Literature
recovery crawl
beating
is kinder
than leaving.
sometimes I wish
your last words were
movements.
a hand against my cheek,
a fist to my chest,
an arm around my neck,
nails on my wrist.
the ache more real
and easy
to find.
every night I ache and
I point all over.
mostly my heart,
mostly my mind,
to the words stuck
that won’t loosen
that wedge themselves
in my teeth and fall out when
I’m drunk,
in his lap. he doesn’t need them, boy
that loves me until his
teeth rot, who says I don’t
deserve you who constricts
my waist with his hands and who
whispers I love you before
we fuck. he’s got courage like
the front lines of war
Literature
On preparing to never let go
Walking slowly down the hall, arms filled with the day's mail, we spoke of morbid things.
She wants to be reduced to ash and I want to know if I can keep her on my mantle.
She looks at me sideways with a curious face and forgets her footsteps.
It's a little bit morbid, she tells me, deciding it's time to continue shuffling along,
but I think the way I'm trying to picture her perfect urn is probably worse.
There's nothing that I can think of that suits her, though,
and I wonder if I even know her.
Do I scatter you somewhere? You can't visit scatter.
(I think good daughters plant guilt in the carpet pile to trip upon.)
But she doesn't trip,
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
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Thanks to Tom for the input, as always!
Thanks to Tom for the input, as always!
© 2014 - 2024 vigour-mortis
Comments39
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Clever double-talk, especially the paths we've chosen line, cos once on a track, there ain't no going back.
Brilliant work indeed.
Brilliant work indeed.