Slanted Static (Collaboration) by MagicalJoey, literature
Literature
Slanted Static (Collaboration)
Slanted Static
January 2018
I am poetry
penned and gutted--
a half-slant half-cocked barrel,
a bullet nosediving (shot shy in the spotlight)
but awaiting the free verse of time.
I am poetry
carved from your soul--
a blunt sword swallowed by verse,
an arrow through an apple (a shot in the dark)
grabbed and broken by tradition.
I am poetry
stricken with silence--
I'll tell you a story
if you're willing to listen
of the blisters on my heart,
of the shadows in the dark,
of the spaces all my darts go to find motion...
but you have to be ready to take the fall
and trust the shattering.
I am poetry
bogged down with bruises--
tearing pieces from
she smiled like a knife-
the worst kind of easy
filling in the cracks
lost at sea,
panicked yelling in unison because
of lost baggage in between
connecting flights
acts of war &
sound life advice
with our fashionable shoes
questionable choices,
& razors for manners
i’m stealing your words
sometimes i say things that
aren’t meant to
hurt
but they do
you move your mouth around
the words
summing it up with more
she smiled like a knife-
the worst kind of easy
filling in the cracks
lost at sea,
panicked yelling in unison because
of lost baggage in between
connecting flights
acts of war &
sound life advice
with our fashionable shoes
questionable choices,
& razors for manners
i’m stealing your words
sometimes i say things that
aren’t meant to
hurt
but they do
you move your mouth around
the words
summing it up with more
than it’s worth
miscommunication
is an art.
ex tension (gliitchmix) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
ex tension (gliitchmix)
rewrit, i
scrape my bones
in new scripts.
dizzied by
the depths
of my thighs,
i'm prone to stretch
out from quasar
to anomaly.
i depress
your facets. you sleep
sounder than ever.
click your cheek, lip,
scars, and former glories
all.
you sleep,
and my sound
is full of mnemonic waves.
they crash on me,
clawing at my hull
and calling me down,
bidding me
drown.
you are
asleep, love.
my wrists
cannot escape
your nuisance.
how sweet are
your echoes
in the tomb
of my chest.
Full moon,
that jaundiced eye
staring down
at us,
unblinking.
Your breath
freezing
in my hair
and
half-cocked
promises
dancing in
sepia-toned
whispers.
This glimmer
of something fey;
of a fleeting, flitting thing
that might be
some kind of love;
glimpsed only
out of the corners
of eyes,
in flickering shadows
on starlit nights.
Perplexing peripheries,
fantastic phosphenes
dancing
just beyond reach
intangible as your words,
your whispered pledge;
your pretty mouth
spouts inanities,
but I'm not listening to the sounds.
too distracted
by your sleight of hand;
when
did you pluck
my heart from my chest
to slip into your pocket?
And
Full moon,
that jaundiced eye
staring down
at us,
unblinking.
Your breath
freezing
in my hair
and
half-cocked
promises
dancing in
sepia-toned
whispers.
This glimmer
of something fey;
of a fleeting, flitting thing
that might be
some kind of love;
glimpsed only
out of the corners
of eyes,
in flickering shadows
on starlit nights.
Perplexing peripheries,
fantastic phosphenes
dancing
just beyond reach
intangible as your words,
your whispered pledge;
your pretty mouth
spouts inanities,
but I'm not listening to the sounds.
too distracted
by your sleight of hand;
when
did you pluck
my heart from my chest
to slip into your pocket?
And
i'm tired of using the words
"linger" and "hover" for this
because it is not oxygen
and you are not breathing
life in this relationship
and all it does is sail
away from my grasp
i'm tired of seeing the shapes
"rectangle" and "rhombus" in your eyes
they are not real, they are imagined
and you are not dreaming
tonight, or any night, really
and all the edges poke your retinas
and i go blind from staring
i'm tired of the triangular
diameter of "square"
and "compasses"
closing your palms
and i don't believe in space,
outer edges or emptiness alike,
the universe centered
around the boiling sun
meant to swallow
like orange tea;
i'd rather dro
soldier, what measure
could encompass your courage
in staring truth in its dead eyes
and then inviting it into your arms
without a single whisper
to acknowledge the pain it will cause?
you walk to the beat
of a powerful melody, the one set down
by the ink from your veins,
and for your sake, i hope that those
who aim their blades at your heart
will know it is better to stand down,
for those who know best how to heal
also know best how to hurt.
and when you know this,
an army of clattering
catastrophes, apostrophes,
impostors, and catharsis
of blind mice
only do so much damage.
when you have the pot ready to boil
and the knife ready to b