[x]

ropehang me from the moon,
i want to be beautiful

summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you?
i. summergirl,
you are crowthroated and tumbling
through the aspen grove
hair on fire with sunrise, lungs
full of sky.
eyelashes like wildflowers
and every morning brings
a new spray of freckles
and a sharper curve to your collarbones.
the cornfields hold no shadows
for your lighthouse eyes
and there are no endings in that
surefooted smile.
ii. you have grown
so fast.
autumn finds you with broken ankles
leaning on an oak branch
and watching the skies.
crow to sparrow--you are quiet.
summergirl, there is peace in silence,
perched treetop,
fallen antlers in your hands.
you will come to mourn your deer.
keep them close.
iii. by winter you have paled,
and like the streams
your eyes have frosted over.
you feel the chill--
there is no need for sight.
summergirl, th

-selfless-slipping from the sky
one lonely star
grants its last wish

syracuseListen to the audio version for the full effect, pretty please.
cloudshot sky like an oil painting and i am watching the
seagulls. i--
darling, i will swim for you
and swallow every whitecap.
i will pluck myself a coat of pelican wings,
sew them up with salt and spray--
become icarus for you.
you are calling me across the waves, love--
but you pull against the ache
in my bones, the hollow--
the clawing out for unseen sunsets and unturned tides.
i hear you, love
give me time.
i will always listen.

Revenantthey came like phantoms;

oceanic whispers left me washed out.
those gossamer ghosts that lined
the doorways-- eyes in a constant
state of surprise as they reached for me:

needle fingers pricked, fueling
my addictions. they ached
for my veins, entangled like
the strings of my paper heart

and they stained my skin,
amethyst bruises in the shape
of recognition.

their breaths were the heavy hums
of a forgotten lullaby "one day you
will leave, and you will fade into a
virulent void, like us. you will warm
our icy bones, and we will love you,
like no one else can.

go back to sleep, little girl, we will
come again" with their cer

mansuetude and sentiment.parietal flowers of your (mouth, eyes, ears)
plication and pleating of the house plants lives

revel in it: swim in it.
litter your hands with it.

house plants, house cats, house shadows on the grass,
all so orthogonal and plain.

oh
your
grasp
and
tales so phatic, maybe penitent but never dull.
maybe.
maybe your
parasitism should be pushed to perdition
maybe the limbs of the house plants will
pave your terrene and turning gaze.

oh dear
votre sentiment est tardive et vil et pâle.

Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:

(Dreams)

When the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound is she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.

Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Though her eyes
tell of time waiting,
when the wind was lonesome and
slaughtering butterflies in its chill.

They turned, almost at once
Eyes gray, yet dancing with the frenzied
glory of cosmos.
Striking out at her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
She understood, "Your laurel leaves speak of death
but I still need you."

And he wept, "Your garland
speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."

(

after you diedi.

they asked me if there was something
of yours that I wanted to keep
I wanted
to keep your eyelashes, your breath,
your blood
I said this, and they looked
sad, said they meant did I want your
clothes and possessions, your things

I didn't know what I wanted
cradling my head with my arms and
quietly saying no over and over
my mouth
dry with the taste of morning sickness
and old seawater

a month later, I wanted all your clothes
I was scrub-faced and tired
the yellow
of the walls hurt my eyes, buried in wet
towels, sleeping naked on the floor every
night

ii.

I fucked somebody else
after the funeral
"somebody else" sound

The ColonyThe chimps who discovered a lemon tree
growing on the moon were made the laughingstock
and butt of every joke in religious and scientific communities.

Yet within a year there were saplings,
a small gang of lean and twisted adolescents,
digging into the moon dust.

The first perigee in a century
revealed an indisputable splotch of green.
As the splotch grew into a puddle

and the puddle grew into a lake,
a rash of suicides swept the upper echelons of NASA.

The first tourists or "lemmings" to go lemon picking in the mysterious groves
bounced in spacesuits and dropped tears
that froze before touchdown.

Sucking and squeezing lemo

Unfold, Part IIHear me read it

My bones are creaking.
I hear them gossiping while I sleep,
and they talk of me.
They call me maddened.

They say that the blackness,
the ravenous cave, has devoured me.
They talk of me,
as if I am not here. Am I?

This was my safe space,
I, cacooned
In the warmth of my own breath
Now it cages me.

My fingernails grow so long
That they pierce through the paper
and my eyes go wide to see
fragmented light once more.

a self-portraitYou are angry,
there are purple flowers on the windowsill, you are
angry, the fan hums softly, your limbs are soft against
each other, collarbone unfolding like the bow
of a violin. There is a power in anger, there is a light
burning against your ribs, you cannot speak these words
in a known language.

There is an escalation in the forming of self, you draw
the pieces in a poem, you fit them together like the building
of a person, dissect and identify, you write notes in the margin
of your fingers, there is a method of bombs
bursting against the sky, pictures in the clouds,

the world will bend itself around you, you are angry
lik

ScribblesAnd he hated the way her portrait was painted
on the walls of his mind

so the thoughts would come and go
like little men with suitcases,
rushing through in the flurry of ideas,
in the death and birth of a dream, but they

would always
pass by her picture.

Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.

I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.

I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your

the museher moonbeam hair
falls around me
threading fingers
limbs,
suture-grip
on my hand—
and she,
medusachild,
forsaken by athena,
leftover
after the harrowing
—she’s all
tempered steel
and armored glances.
want to hold her,
break through
the thin sultry
barriers,
always tempting
and—
she bleeds
perfection
[blind to her
insides].
she brings out
the poet in
me:
stringing words
together
with her low
alto voice,
slipping on her
thoughts.
i want to be
there
the day she
says too much
and overdoses
on metaphysical
philosophy.
and she and i
oh, she and
i—; yes, i
will bring reality
tumbling
down with
a

l'hiver.(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
the grand church of dizzying space - )

and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the sky
to the ground and around and around.

listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of the
churches i'd never attend.

and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardice
of the ground. never frown, never frown.

listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snow
burning up on silk and splendor.

and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of the
ground, and they drown and drown.

(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
a grand church of dizzying space w

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More from ~melodysnow

-You swallowed the universe, dear;
eyes became the sun and the moon.
We’re gods.
And you, with your rainswept lashes,
released the birds from your throat.
And I, stood in awe—
left breathless by your mute warbling.

the moon cannot see usthe moon cannot see us,
blindly lulling the waters to sleep
with her old hands,
like some marvelous god

& the earth sways—
gracefully turning everything to dust
—; the synapses of the universe,
alive with creation & the memories
of countless lost civilizations

& everything is ashes
but your hand is warm

we are submerged in life
skin
& decay

the inferno of you in my hands
—is something beautiful

impactborn from blood and dirt
and sometimes, we can brave a soul
but sometimes, we drink too much
or sleep too much
and fill ourselves with emptiness
the bone/marrow/heartbeat
is too much weight
can’t hear myself think over the
pulse pulse pulsing

and we search
we search
for words
memories
spilling our minds like grains of sand
scrutinizing each granule
before the tide washes them out to sea
and the fish and the sirens and the water
didn’t want us
they couldn’t stand our lightness
our buoyancy
our empty minds and no souls
but the sea is full
and we only want to go home
so we fall
and fall and fallandfalland—

she w

The Riverthe grooves of her old skin
are filled with the forgotten languages
of a thousand lost peoples,
abandoned by gods trapped in their infancy.
she carries the weight of these memories downstream
and carves their stories into the sides of cliffs;
but we have forgotten how to read her words—
braille-spells and earthen-magick
—her belly is full and sick,
and we are illiterate children
basking in the afterthought of our own ruin.

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Creepby ~melodysnow

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Mature Content

edited, again..

*BeyondJen Jan 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Pretty, sweet things are often no match for raw reality.
I like this a lot. Congrats on the DLD!

~melodysnow Jan 11, 2013

Thank you. <3

*BeyondJen Jan 11, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome (:

~midnight-music Jan 9, 2013 Hobbyist Artist

The imagery in this is absolutely gorgeous, though emotionally brutal. Congratulations on the very well-deserved DLD!

~melodysnow Jan 9, 2013

Thank you so much. <3

*Hfeather53 Jan 7, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

fuck... congrats on the DLD... quite deserving

sometimes things call for sweetness... but there's nothing wrong with brutal honesty... and it's rather refreshing <3

~melodysnow Jan 7, 2013

Thank you. <3

=DailyLitDeviations Jan 7, 2013

Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations and has been selected as our "Pick of the Day". It is featured in a news article here: [link] and on our main page.

Keep writing and keep creating.

~melodysnow Jan 7, 2013

Thank you so much!

`thetaoofchaos Jan 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

i think you should post more often when you're drinking, especially if delicious verse like this will be a direct result.

but i want to sleep until this massacre has passed

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