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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 1, 2009
"This will be the end of days," expresses ~anelle in stop the clock.
Featured by fllnthblnk
Literature Text
a sea of houses comes rolling in
rusty roofs bending
breaking, crashing
shingles popping like fireworks
(expressing their independence, they die)
while you and I
(nothing more than genetic flotsam, now)
turn our eyes from a shattered-glass snowfall
and dream of the winters of our youth
this will be the end of days
...
this will be clouds folding into the earth
thunderstorms growling from foxholes
rain tumbling from rivers
as a clumsy conflagration stumbles into our skin
stealing our silhouettes
painting our ghosts on walls
(oh, had only we learned such passive resistance)
as you and I
(only numbers and figures, we know)
truly wear our hearts on our sleeves
when the world turns inside out
...
when sandcastles swirl into mountains
only to melt and flatten
until the rock has no wrinkles
when flowers shrink into their stems
like amateur stop-animation
when grass stalks and grandchildren
twist ever upward into smoke
and I no longer have any metaphors
for what the world made me love about you
this will be the end of days
rusty roofs bending
breaking, crashing
shingles popping like fireworks
(expressing their independence, they die)
while you and I
(nothing more than genetic flotsam, now)
turn our eyes from a shattered-glass snowfall
and dream of the winters of our youth
this will be the end of days
...
this will be clouds folding into the earth
thunderstorms growling from foxholes
rain tumbling from rivers
as a clumsy conflagration stumbles into our skin
stealing our silhouettes
painting our ghosts on walls
(oh, had only we learned such passive resistance)
as you and I
(only numbers and figures, we know)
truly wear our hearts on our sleeves
when the world turns inside out
...
when sandcastles swirl into mountains
only to melt and flatten
until the rock has no wrinkles
when flowers shrink into their stems
like amateur stop-animation
when grass stalks and grandchildren
twist ever upward into smoke
and I no longer have any metaphors
for what the world made me love about you
this will be the end of days
Literature
Lock Picks and Rocks
We broke into the old apartment
to look for things we'd lost when moving on
and moving out, across the street
and sixteen cities South. I tried to take
the poems from the windows but memories
are more permanent than marker. Mornings
seemed longer when sunrise wrote words
on bare walls and bare skin, or when
I traced end-rhymes and metaphors into the curve
of your hips.
These days we don't sleep.
and I couldn't find them; instead
we found furniture that spelled apathy
and wrong words on right angles, organized
and dead. They painted over
our names curled above the bedroom, they washed
the windows with writer's block and fi
Literature
The Berliner
Sick of writing about the pianist,
she leaves for Berlin and makes her
home next to the absence of a wall
She contemplates the American Embassy
and changes her cigarette brand
She sets out walking
and considers percentages of lives,
eats alone, begins to consider meat as flesh,
removes paintings from their frames
and in their place hangs mirrors
Calling home small voiced
she asks after family and friends
politely, washing dishes as she does so,
the phone in the crook of her neck
She makes no friends, does not make love,
resents nothing and leaves no
holes in people's lives
Literature
My First and Last War Poem
When he came back from the war,
all he saw was shrapnel.
Not like the sort on the battlefield,
at home there were no bodies,
there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,
She stood at the beach,
brushed back a strand of hair
a jellyfish washed onto shore.
She knew only the dead were that clear
and it reminded her of the poisonings:
dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk
after some jerk littered the doorsteps
steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family,
watched himself at the dinner
table as if he weren't even eating
swallowed the potatoes and wondered
"where is the metallic flavor;"
"where is th
Suggested Collections
Something I wrote after my Japan group went to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.
8:15 happens twice in the day.
EDIT 11/01/09: DD?! Oh, wow, you guys. I'm so honored!
Thank you so much! I wondered why I had so many messages when I first logged in. Wow, this just made my day. 
Again, thank you all!
8:15 happens twice in the day.
EDIT 11/01/09: DD?! Oh, wow, you guys. I'm so honored!
Thank you so much! I wondered why I had so many messages when I first logged in. Wow, this just made my day. Again, thank you all! © 2009 - 2024 anelle
Comments58
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Oooh. I can't believe it took me so long to see this. Wonderful as always, and you're finally getting some of the recognition you deserve (not that you would mention or maybe even think you do.)