Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
J McDevitt Sep 2013
The sandy floor lies a foot below
where air and water meet.
And salty mist,
like an awkward first kiss,
lies hesitant, inbetween.

Slowly they touch,
and mix on collision,
to a drummer’s beat
and it’s rhythmic rhythm.
Faster, it goes,
As both move in waves.
And back in,
to mix again,
with the salty mist they crave.

I am the sea;
the endless, motionless,
living vastness
that surrounds and
engulfs…
J McDevitt Sep 2013
Effulgent, she stands in the stands and demands
for her rights that were ripped from her calloused red hands
but calamity falls and hits down like a gavel
and the thread from her dress gets pulled and unraveled.
Her serpentine body, verdant til plucked
from the branches she clings to and prays for good luck.
The hyenas, voracious, yapping volubly
at her ankles while she tries and tries to scream, but
nothing comes out and she feels her bough become friable
she knows that these fiends wont be held liable
dropping contumacious only made her life worse
hit in the face he cursed and then hurt her
she burst in tears, ‘******!’
Hoping they’d stop, but they only went further
and nobody heard her.
No superman hiding til he’s plucky enough.
No Samaritan testing to see if he’s got the guts.
Now brittle she’s turned, but only physically;
She’s still adamant inside, strong mentally.
A couple months go by and one day she realizes
she’s not alone alive.
And forced to be together to survive,
she decides to take both of their lives.
I wish I could say
all those men were put away,
but they ran and ran for days.
Gone, and without a sound they stayed.
And now she’s
4.
5.
6 feet underground today.
J McDevitt Sep 2013
With miles to go before I sleep
and sounds around rise from the deep;
If I heard them should I keep
the memories from haunting?
And as the grey rolls into black
can you see white hiding in the back?
The foundation that lets us hold fast
and gives the hope to make it last.  
I see faces in the pages,
jumbled, between line spaces.
Hallucinations become engrained in
my vision
while I listen to the clack of chalk
scribbled,
spat from fingers,
and thoughts
dribbled.
J McDevitt Sep 2013
Yet
It’s funny how things come to be
(I dreamt daily of her swollen *******)
Yet drones lay heavy-hearted
pigeon-*****
on bills left to collect.  
Sure oil slicks slip down
through gates clogged with trash;
(her nervous laughs rang in my head)
Yet with end is where it lasts.
Tomorrow maybe I’ll drop by
and scrape the surface clean,
it seems better when you don’t see
(Yet I still meet her in my dreams).
J McDevitt Sep 2013
An unholy night,
these two know those nights well,
it’s raining God’s blood
‘to the cracked gates of hell.
The demons are out,
the lechers and fiends,
a good chance to rob, ****,
and listen for screams.
The Vicars head’s been cut off
on Joralemon street.
And such Neck-rophilia
seems just shy of obscene.
But that’s not why these two
are out on this night;
They want little kids
to make Angel’s delight.
You’ve never heard of it, have you?
It’s quite delicious in fact.
First they start off with the skin
from their ungrown, weak backs.
They’re peeling away
where their wings would soon grow,
but made too sore to fly
they fall down below!
And so catch them the wings,
shave them into a cheddar,
oh, but if it’s a girl,
make sure you be-head her.
Then break the legs like wishbones
and twist off the feet.
Make sure to save all that,
sssllurrrpp, succulent meat.
Last off’s the marrow
de la moelle épinière.
Get every last drop,
And let sit in stale air.
J McDevitt Sep 2013
I am a scarecrow unlabeled
hiding in the corn.
And there are miles of sky
from under which
this land like water flows.
It is my blanket and my goal
for out their no one calls the shots.
But driving endlessly to find that end
seems a futile dream.
There is not a place within this world
where tall or short, black or white,
comes to mean nothing.
The wheels from my Chevy
have rotted off in search,
chassis sunken into the ground.
I know that brand name
caused a spark to tag a word to me,
But I am forced to be
this crippled soldier
in this world of certainty.
J McDevitt Jul 2013
He enters. A stiff morning jowl
can be heard clicking.
And, in early grievance,
the second man’s clock speeds its ticking.
He lies lulling himself (lamenting)
while lockjaw bends down,
knees cracking.
Behind the fold that blinds the floored man
a “D” engrained from cigarette ads,
After smell of the first’s wafts over.
An emphysemic growl is left ringing
on the ground; tumultuous hacking
kicks in like the cops that reside down in Brixton.  
Wheeze, hack, and cough, and cough. And cough.
(Silence) bearing down from the **** erectus
leads Remington to the Clark of the floored man’s
pounding chest.
Rest, rest; he tries to protest, but the cavalry
can’t hear his signs of duress.
And now slitting wrists, from inside the veins;
the invisible smoker never could be restrained.
Next page