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    dots Submission Name: My Kingdom For A Kingdots

    Author: Cloacina
    ASL Info:    25/F/KY
    Elite Ratio:    5.24 - 20/53/54
    Words: 436
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 815
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3431

       Believe it or not, as all over the place, stream of consciousness rambling as this is, I cut out parts because they were going in yet more directions. I know this needs trimmed, as it seems to be wanting to go into multiple places, and thus the flow is.....inadequate.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsMy Kingdom For A Kingdots

    A pale inevitability
    haunts the sun,
    sticks to its photon trail
    a phantom blur
    in some black and white photograph.

    A smudge
    in the printing of life,
    the pale fingerprint
    of destiny,
    given mobility.

    Whispers to the king
    of earthly light,
    "You, too,
    shall expire."

    Nights like these, steal
    even his lay way ghost.
    Perhaps for once,
    the sun can sleep
    in peace.

    As the moon hides
    behind dark restless mountain ground,
    and tear away clouds
    sticking motionless
    to adorn the fecundant flesh
    of darkness,
    the timeless beauty
    of sky.

    They're faking frozen now
    with the eternal chase
    of death and life,
    man and woman,
    predator and prey.

    We pause in our dance,
    but you hold me close,
    "Don't walk away"
    like you had to ask.

    words I prefer to death
    and consumption.

    But does pause prevent end?
    And if pause is unending,
    doesn't pause become end?

    Will you dance with me,
    my king?

    The car has stilled now.
    Pulled over to the side of the road
    to gaze upon the day
    that has undressed

    I watch the graceful age
    of sunspent sky,
    as she makes contact with the ground,
    with the dirty red heat
    of lightning.

    In the seeeded mist
    of summer rain,
    let's her hair tumble down
    luminous woolen strands,
    spilling through the valleys,
    in ephemeral threads,
    softer than the winds
    that gently toss
    the thick and tangled tresses
    of time's mane.

    The fresh smell of rain
    sharp as metal,
    like the taste of spoons,
    the makeshift lollipops
    of lazy mountain days.

    Reminds me of that day
    by the river.

    The symbolic- life and death,
    the concrete- your sweet flesh
    that weaved with movement, between
    the stately postures of trees,
    and my posture
    yielding in your limbs,
    my warm feet, breaking the coolness
    of water
    in defiance-
    Are we not,
    more than spit?

    And the chemical wash-
    and affection,
    the hopeful packrat

    I told you
    river mud had a distinctive smell,
    remembered that time
    my father and I searched for crawdeads.

    You named it.
    Smells like shit.
    That was exactly what I thought, too,
    but somehow.....
    the scent of shit seemed welcome
    sweetened by memory
    and natural beauty.

    But this,
    this smells clean, smells like
    like dreams
    and dewy drawings on window panes,
    like grey school days,
    and the wilderness I was born into,
    and the wilderness
    within me,
    and the human desire
    for love
    and the consumation
    of hungry longing.

    Submitted on 2009-07-29 02:08:06     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Wow, this is really an interesting piece. It covers a lot of territory here, and you tie it all together (the good and the bad, the yin and the yang) at the end, like a bow on a neat understandable little package.
    Towards the beginning, there were things that seemed extraneous, not connected to anything, but as I read it ended up moving together well. Thank you for sharing this piece. It's one that makes ya think.
    | Posted on 2009-07-29 00:00:00 | by thepowerglider | [ Reply to This ]

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