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AirplaneAre you an alienist? She turns and asks in the hush hush sterility of the airplane. Some girl, kneecaps to collarbone and tights with runs and five rings in each ear. We are speeding over giant geometric spreads of land all dull green and shades thereof, flat like the horizon flipped to the side. She empties her flask into her club soda and America is identical and redundant beneath the jet which moves just too slow for a sonic boom. Her wrists have plain black stars. She sees skin like a canvas for expression stretched over sinew and muscle. I see it as something to scrub rawAirplane
by ~maianicneven
A Virgin SuicideThe word echoes in the blue gray walls, it lodges in every corner and narrows to a shriek-- a tickle across shoulder blades while doing the dishes, a whisper in the crinkle of papers, a flash across the blank-faced mirror. It’s poison, it’s insidious,A Virgin Suicide
it’s worried like a river stone between her fingers, a self-indulgent promise, a leaky faucet dripping into the witching hour. She clutches it, a barred window melting under her fingertips: a flower of blood, cuts opening like mouths, the moon calling, calling, to the roof, to the elm, to th
by ~maianicneven
SuffocationIn the stuffy room--parched air, soporific warmth-- where they crack their knuckles and sigh over a long thick cigar, their faces ringed with feathers of smoke and arch against polished leather, tap the mahogany mirror table, razor against razor,Suffocation
and the women circle against the walls silent and
nervous, fluttering like dry leaves tossed in a hot breeze. Father, father father, fatherfather don’t leave, I’ll change.
And she smiles soundlessly like in a home
video, a starchy brusque world (not real, not real) and she f
by ~maianicneven
SourgrassIt was in the days before the allergy, before the white halls closed like aSourgrass
swollen throat and cocooned us all, all of our words, our drunken slurs capture in the single slam of a locker and ricocheted under the sunny magnifying glass, no frame, no edge. A frozen puppet tilting his head in a gesture of innocent abandon.
And we pretended we knew, intimately, the puddle of red green yellow light on the slick city streets, the hiss of steam from that underground factory and the snap of white pavement lines as they whizzed past.
And it was before we
by ~maianicneven
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: California
- Interests: intermittent bursts of creativity followed by long periods of inactivity
- Favourite movie: Vertigo
- Favourite band or musician: Muse
- Favourite genre of music: Alt Rock/Indie
- Favourite poet or writer: Anne Sexton
- Favourite style of art: Surrealist
- Operating System: Windows XP
- MP3 player of choice: iPod
- Tools of the Trade: pen, paper, sketch books, and sketching pencils
- Email: celluloidsonata@gmail.com
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john w. elliott
skwyrm_zen
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