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connor-thomas
psychic infantile bopping play silent drum kits in ear canals. screeching like whales in caverns of sea and stalagmites. servantile shrapnel leaking into abyss: feeding on skin and bones, parasitically. eating through biting cries, viciously. gumdrops streaking sidewalk in musical rhythm stain glass windows and blurry red eyed sun high in the sky shines down crystalline tear drops over your singularly secular shadow.
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Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
Something about the Smithsonian
The special subtleness that you use to bite your lip is cunning. And when your white, soldier teeth, come looming from between your gums your subtlety is lost rashly breaking the surface so to speak malevolently, or violently, or rather vehemently, sexually, and lustfully aimed down wind, in my direction.
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Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
The History of Bite Marks
The sun set sadly on the settled window frame speaking with the new dew soon to form. the sweet singing voices rose from the garden where you bathed with your sister while your mother and father drank cherry flavored wine on the porch in the melting sun. when the stars began to rain you felt something new staring up where the sun is commonplace you felt little better than you did moments ago. but when your sister, hand on your spine, whispered in your ear, your hair stood up, and your mother, and your father, waved goodbye to the Hendersons going to Florida for the weekend.
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Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
The Subtleness of the Cosmic Latte
I. The moment you rolled out of bed felt like an eternity Your stretching arms reached outer space And you fell into convulsions on the daisy print bed sheets II. The humming pendulum clock ticks past midnight and the only sound you can hear is the screeching of your neighbors 1999 porsche convertible III. Your sunday morning television, News at it’s finest with Kare 11 IV. Whatever time you usually wake up you probably slept through but you’re staring at the fan again and this time I don’t think Rachel is coming.
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Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
If Paul Magers Died Last Night
Bright hand touched the door Easing it slowly around With the tenderness of a prepubescent girl Lingering gently about. Wondering, loudly i might add, That you really hate these Venetian blinds. You sit in the fat leather chair, Which must have belonged to your dad a million years ago. You sip diet coke like your lost friend brandy, And you cross your legs in the most ****** way That my seminal vesicle shifts into overdrive. Through the tainted windows I see you raise your winter scarf to your throat Ceremoniously, or possibly vehemently. After which you clean your glasses with laser precision And raise them back into place. Your crystal gaze lands on the heavy door a few steps away, They wait in concentrated intensity As each heavy step’s staccato note is heard form the other side.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Some Resounding Words from the Horses Mouth
you quickly quipped cunning comments in the skinniest jeans west of the mississippi sighing softly then, glancing to the left to keep an eye on the spider scurrying on the wall. you emerged triumphantly luminously translucent like a goddess of the noon sun your eyes skipped mine in a beat seconds behind my own and with the final say from your fist the walls began to fall and outside, the small southwestern suburb watches with fascination as the spider skids away.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
This is for the Walls in our Rec Room
Let the rain fall all night Sitting in puddles on the street With your ponytail soaking. Let the May showers come again With the repetition of Nietzche. You lie on your back in the cool wet mud Spitting insults in a million different ways. You let your golden hair fall As the leaves might in Autumn Continuously spitting with fury Hiding your anguish behind those self centered eyes. When you fall to your knees like the mortals to gods You sing, quietly, the song your mother sang After which, your hair back up, you appear from the shadows Looking a bit worse for wear. You let the rain shower down, Ripe yellow hair turns almost brown at the roots And as you tear off the drenched silk dress You find you might like yourself better that way.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
Splitting Subjunctives
Mumbling, mumbling, intoxication Ripping your lovely white dress on the front door step You wonder how long you can keep this up. Mumbling, mumbling into obliteration. Closer to the each other, screaming mad. Seventy watchful eyes on you, Hopeful, hopeful, incantations. Lustful brown teared eyes Fixed on green snake eyes, Quivering lips touching secretly in the quiet coat room Famously ending in abrupt awkwardness. You raised your glass in high spirits Pushing, pulling into temptation Still mumbling, intoxication Wishing for more than incantations, Mumbling, mumbling into obliteration
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
Mumbling Marriage Song
You pummel rocks with a mightier force than most, you swing your head with a motion unknown to man, you spit with fury into the starry, night sky, rocking the sweet earth with your thunderous, triumphant roar. Pebbled rocks beneath your rockin’ polished shoes, And with a handful you launch like a Meteor striking the earth’s atmosphere at a million miles a second, but the moment they hit the wall you’re gone.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
The Tragic Story of The Man Who Faced The Marble
Moon over in the East, 30 degrees west. Rise, rise over the meridian line. Sink below sea level. Sun on Wichita, Kansas. Bright red house under the pale clouded sky. Daffodils on the windows, Perking when the bees buzz by fluidly. You let the roses fall between your fingers Like water dripping from the faucet. Seven degrees warmer And we’ll burn in hell. Lets go to Maine i hear it’s warmer at noon And the dogs don’t prowl the streets. Lets move to Iowa where the farms out number people. You let your hair fall Like a rock slide down your shoulders. And you told me you felt a little under the weather.
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Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
Standing on Wichita Point