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jailbirdIn stone cold skin kiosks, with broken legged card tables, in between convict stables:
sleeps always a heartbeat away but a punch is always an inch from our jaw and some punches are an inch away from stopping a heartbeat.
so sleeps a commodity that didnt come with the room.
and every night
three cells down
an innocent jailbird sings.
don't be fooled by his criminal shade of nigger.
all the other white birds are tone-deaf in their cages.
without red curtains dividingThe puppets are cutting up their strings
and leaping off the stage.
The purple dinosaur is too old to sing.
The curtain calls have stopped
The actors run amok; askew
trampling the Colosseum and the Odeon ...
and the show just cant go on inside the regular safe-distance confines.
We don't notice
the scattered popcorn on the road,
feeding the crows who always stay too late for behind the scene action.
The script is kindling for your fire
costumes join the piles of banana peels, toilet seats and tires.
The cast has joined the world outside and we cannot tell the actors from the audience anymore!
Now the jesters just arent funny unless theyre screaming
in pink night-gowns.
So send in the machine-gun clowns.
anthemTwo-way street. Traffic is speeding. In the middle, I am a little girl walking the yellow line.
I cannot see clearly what is around me. It's all going by in a blur of lights and metal.
I cannot drift from the path the yellow line provides or I will be trampled by the concrete zambonis.
I have to shout over the noise.
Everyone is shouting. Everyone is shouting over the shouting over the noise. And no one can hear each other.
And no one can step out of line. And even when the red light glows the procession must go on. For if I stop I will feel the toes nipping at my heels. If I don't heed the pushing they will rush right past me, risking being sideswiped by zipping automobiles.
They're all just dying to get ahead.
We don't get the chance to lift our heads higher than the others. We don't get to look down at the veins and the arteries of the city and the tiny yellow lines that steer it all.
We only know our yellow line.
And we don't ask questions.
We walk ... and we walk ... and we walk .
buzzWhile I was waiting for the bus today I read a magazine. I was immersed in an article and paid no heed to my surroundings. All of a sudden the noise of the passing cars stopped.
I had to raise my head. There was an empty road from left to right for at least six blocks.
\It was deathly silent ... it was the loudest sound I've ever heard. No humming motors, respiring exhausts, or spinning wheels.
I got this feeling of anticipation ... not for something exciting, but for the return of that overbearing, reverberating, yet casually disregarded sound.
It felt delusory to have escaped the machines, even if only for five seconds ...
Mary JaneI can hear colors
and taste with my fingertips.
I can split open my mind like a coconut and let everything in
and then stitch it back up just in time for the return.
I can jump
and count to twenty before I hit the ground.
I can see through the earths crust and watch the wars on the other side.
My words are so in sync with my thoughts,
My tongue is plugged in at the source instead of through miles of extension cords.
My heart blows blood into the organ pipes
and I can feel it running up and down in biological harmony.
Nothing is off key.
I can see the power-box of buttons that control my motor skills.
I can hear my brain telling my limbs what to do. It's re
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More