Rosario TownPuckered highways, wearing their marrowsRosario Town by ThyPoetSorcerer
on the outside, like peacock feathers
fanning broad—& the atmosphere sighs back
flirtatiously, exposing its outstretched lungs,
hammocked & plump, palpable enough
to stir our metatarsal spurs—so dolefully
reduced to pores agog on rum-soaked linen
& beads of tongue, still humming
a language of ellipses, of dry chaparral
& skips over mud;
The milestones keep panting out god,
always inexorably beautiful—although
he smells a bit like gasoline, his auras
somewhat stained opaque from floating
through countless pillars of dust.
RevelationWhenever AngelsRevelation by ThyPoetSorcerer
roll off the tongue it tastes like
Mal du PaysLes terres sont nues, les collines couvertesMal du Pays by ThyPoetSorcerer
de peaux brutes tannées presque blanc
& on a emporté l’atmosphère en lui coupant
le souffle - comme une bougie dans le noir.
Sols de nuit fredonnent leurs berceuses,
des oiseaux se perchent tête en bas
sous les cèdres
& le moment est enfin
venu quand mon ombre s'est enfuie avec
Arylide (Precession)[Alternate version (English with French postlude) follows]Arylide (Precession) by ThyPoetSorcerer
& jours de bois flotté auront transmué en promesses défaiillantes,
sèches sur place—des roses fanées sur l’ancien rebord de marbre,
attendant patiemment les vents de tempêtes pour se laisser éclater,
leurs échelles translucides infusant l'air avec le parfum rouillé qui étaient
les marées dans mon sang & la saumure de mes prières les plus calmes.
& ce qui reste, doit toujours graviter ardemment vers l’argon-arylide
de ton sillage—obstinée à te rattraper—sans jamais s’y rendre.
By then your argon-arylide lips will have set
several thousand times in the west, skinning
Venu’s belt skywide, letting in Shadow-Earth’s
dark caress, if only to annihilate the last trace
of our beautiful, tragic romance.
* * *
About a girl(French version below)About a girl by WhitePlumFragrance
Naiad, braving the tumultuous streams without risk
Your crystalline beauty illuminates these shabby, spineless and muddy reeds,
The softness of your skin like a caress that even the sea air couldn't bring me;
Oh My, I'd like to snatch this ivy leaf which covers you way too much!
I accomplished the most perilous labour just by staring at you;
My Hesperide, your breathtakingly high curves entice this pilgrim, blinded mortal,
And force naked and fool men to carry their own Iliad out to conquer you.
The singing of your voice shall guide us through this long, calm watercourse to the Elysium.
Your smile, forbidden sin, makes me break all my oathes.
For a brief moment, I vow to let myself be fooled by these pipe dreams of fantasy -
I want to dedicate this lyric song you've inspired me to the Gods, Polyhymnia,
You got me sailing on the river of dreams.
About a girl
Naïade, bravant sans péril les flots tumultueux
Weaving Night Skies from SynapsesShe was a girl with sloppy handwriting.Weaving Night Skies from Synapses by purplejeans1
A girl who would twirl her hair around her fingers
And her fractured memories and dreams always lingered in her mind
She was one of a kind
A girl who picked up a worm while everyone else squirmed, disturbed.
A girl whose carried her imagination like a balloon around her finger
It was so big, so vast, that she didn't fit in with the others.
Sometimes she tried to make herself smaller so
She could make way for her big brain
But no matter how far she shrunk,
She remained the junk of society. At least that's what she thought.
Her parents' sobriety was rare. Her own home was like an asylum
And some days she wanted to peel the floorboards from the kitchen and
Hide underneath. She taught herself to weave night skies from her synapses when
She felt like collapsing, and it worked, so now she keeps her mind
Dancing, imagining things like what the color blue tastes like and how summer smells.
Her thoughts are all she needs here in this dun
⚜ 🍁 |
<< Je ne suis pas de ceux que l'amour console. Il en va bien ainsi. Qu'est-ce, en effet, qui me serait plus inutile à la fin qu'une vie consolée? >>
"I am not one of those who love comforts. It is certainly the case. What indeed, would be more useless for me than to end my life comforted?"
My flash fic: sphericsorcery.deviantart.com