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a liveI only feel alive in barren lands,
Where nothing else can take responsibility for my heartbeat.
Hot, sticky fields of tall grass, and
Tiny wild flowers like toys in a snake playground.
Honey hair in braids, and
Cottage smelling milk.
Here I am a virgin forever.
But virginity is lonely,
As barren lands, snakes, cottages, and pledges of integrity often are.
The Birds and the BeesHot weather has come.
Summer has come!
And the lovely little lovelies unfasten their sepals.
Their petals spring forth in bloom,
swelling and flushing with color,
engorged with eager expectancy,
even smiling at the moon.
The bee boys gather, ready to lather
Rigid with lust,
they fly from their husks,
their honey-cave prisons,
their walls tacked with the sticky sweet memory
of last summer's infidelity.
They hover and buzz between the blushing flora,
examining, imagining, but not conspiring.
They sting in solitude;
every yellow-black fellow to his own,
and to each: all.
There is no need for your rhetoric here.
There is no need for your sweet talking, cat-walking, jabberwocky here.
"dimpsy darling baby rabbit"
"creamy fowl" rose clouds of creamy, foul persuasion.
Small game still knows when they are hunted.
Lord Byron died st(r)oking his own passion.
They begin their infringement on the petals,
tickling and taun
I used to be uniqueI used to be unique.
Kool-Aid hair dye and all.
Boys wrote my name on bathrooms stalls.
I swore at teachers.
I drank vodka behind the bleachers.
I puked at football games on cheerleaders.
I had black eyes and cigarette burns and soccer thighs.
I used to wear my shirt undone.
I used to have fun.
Now I own a 6 room house,
a 4 door car,
a water-dispensing fridge,
900 pairs of shoes
a self-inflicted curfew
sexually transmitted virtue
and many, many cats.
All this between walls painted in 6 muted shades of deja-vu
from whence I commence my pin-cushion voodoo.
I sleep in pajamas.
I set an alarm clock and my snooze allowance never exceeds 4 minutes.
I spend my mornings yawning
through thick oatmeal,
undressing in the dark,
having nothing to reveal.
I work in a bank
in an office
on a phone,
making friends with dead ends.
I come home to wash, rinse, and repeat,
undress in the dark,
Come HomeIf my ceiling were a two-way mirror
You would see a tangle of limbs and mouths
of beer, some mine,
Atop the shrine you built for me.
You would see me
Under a blind black sky
Although quiet inside, counting sheep, backwards.
Over and under and under, but breathing,
Hunting and seeking, but mostly just teething
Fired by a lake of dizzy barbiturates.
Your absence instigates me to recriminate.
I set fire to Magnolia State and become a patch of real estate.
For every one of those wiry claws there is one set of ecstatic applause.
And I live to please.
Because at least on my knees
There are hands in my hair
And the devil knows you're never there.
The swinging door.
The open sores
Will scab with the lake
And it all becomes readable:
The sun is astringent and the red of my blood
is contingent with the nearness of your bare back love.
SpringIt all can happen in the hour
Between the night and day:
The dead world is brought to life
As spring blisters awake.
The Earth inhales, its breath a surge
Through pores of ragged ice,
The claws of winter thaw and loose,
Surrender their device.
Crystal thrones melt with the bones
Of kingdoms spoiled by doom,
Now ivy weaves itself around
Like dressings on a wound.
The sleepy Phlox also ascends,
Now feels it has begun,
Breaks through the gauzy sheets of snow,
Climbs sun-drunk to the sun.
Within an instant all the world
Is changed from grey to green.
Though soon is red and brown again;
As it has always been.
And weeping willows mourn for death,
The Fall they can foresee.
For in the ripest apple sleeps
A worm with sinful dreams.
I did spend timeI did spend time
throwing my body over couches,
sighing deep from the belly
to sad music and murky martinis.
I was so heavy
I would crash land
at the bottom of long-necked bottles with
red stained lips.
But I have finished that crying now.
I'm standing, whole, in heels, somehow.
Calloused and glittering.
And I'm feeling rather cat-like down here off the wing.
Devils have romanced angels since the beginning of time,
charmed them stark raving naked in organized crime,
and they've all gone tumbling down, skirts in the air,
into forests of red fingernails, lost and impaired.
I met some new friends there.
And in this forest of frost
the burning between my legs has returned
stronger than stronger than stronger than
And it's become my new master.
In this forest of frost
I am the snow queen.
ima wear my black hood now,
ima wear my white boots high
find me some low-flyin angels
to join the dark side.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More