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drifting_deadwood
drifting_deadwood
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Poems0
i haunting memories ooze from my pores condensing in the heavy atmosphere. wave after wave of ethereal static flashes behind my eyes pulling me above the serene rot & the percussive drumming of the downpour outside. spellbound in a dizzy trance i stare into the reflective looking glass waiting for the stranger in the mirror to blink first. ii sitting in a creaky rocking chair watching black-&-white russian films on a bulky, box, console television. the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna and massive protruding knobs and buttons distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static. i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side, four empty glass bottles stand: two green, two clear - filling up with the buckets of pouring rain. outside, horses graze in the flooded marsh - their soaked manes falling flat against heavy necks lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts. I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate. in the fireplace embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke dances with the dust suspended in the grey light cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting. iii braving eden on margate street reading... writing... painting... moving and existing through tinted layers. six shillings a week for the meek, begging to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up in a tornado of unaccustomed genius i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves moving me through the dissonance of frowning echoes. iv [front page] crisis after crisis, screams the black ink. **** it. another hundred-and-eighty dead. bombed for attending school - but the other news said brown girls don't even get to choose. someone's lying, or, more likely, I've lost my mind. > 2nd page I don't know who is worse.... Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿
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drifting_deadwood
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 10:03 PM UTC
Rob_Bruwer
schizophrenic news is normal in the times of fascistic hypereality
i haunting memories ooze from my pores condensing in the heavy atmosphere. wave after wave of ethereal static flashes behind my eyes pulling me above the serene rot & the percussive drumming of the downpour outside. spellbound in a dizzy trance i stare into the reflective looking glass waiting for the stranger in the mirror to blink first. ii sitting in a creaky rocking chair watching black-&-white russian films on a bulky, box, console television. the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna and massive protruding knobs and buttons distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static. i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side, four empty glass bottles stand: two green, two clear - filling up with the buckets of pouring rain. outside, horses graze in the flooded marsh - their soaked manes falling flat against heavy necks lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts. I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate. in the fireplace embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke dances with the dust suspended in the grey light cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting. iii braving eden on margate street reading... writing... painting... moving and existing through tinted layers. six shillings a week for the meek, begging to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up in a tornado of unaccustomed genius i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves moving me through the dissonance of frowning echoes. iv [front page] crisis after crisis, screams the black ink. **** it. another hundred-and-eighty dead. bombed for attending school - but the other news said brown girls don't even get to choose. someone's lying, or, more likely, I've lost my mind. > 2nd page I don't know who is worse.... Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿
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65
beads of sweat trickle down the nook of her neck glistening on soft curves of static skin hot with electric pulse under gliding fingertips. beads of pearls wrapped around her wrists glimmer in dancing reflections from burning flickers of candlelight. beads of wax drip down her arched spine glinting as quivering hips sway writhing in the gentle shock of pleasurable pain. *** diving into trenches of pleasure in her intoxicating salty skin where sweet treasure lies confined inside the pouting shell glowing through refracted moonlight. my lips trace from her navel sailing along hipbone silky swell as pointing toes curl & waves reach breaking peak under firm strokes to the nocturne's crescendo.
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drifting_deadwood
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 10:33 PM UTC
Rob_Bruwer
beads of pleasure
beads of sweat trickle down the nook of her neck glistening on soft curves of static skin hot with electric pulse under gliding fingertips. beads of pearls wrapped around her wrists glimmer in dancing reflections from burning flickers of candlelight. beads of wax drip down her arched spine glinting as quivering hips sway writhing in the gentle shock of pleasurable pain. *** diving into trenches of pleasure in her intoxicating salty skin where sweet treasure lies confined inside the pouting shell glowing through refracted moonlight. my lips trace from her navel sailing along hipbone silky swell as pointing toes curl & waves reach breaking peak under firm strokes to the nocturne's crescendo.
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