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diastoleyou're speaking in vibrations like heartbeats
im so glad you beat.
a pulse is a rare attribute these days.
rolercoasters have no feelingsthey are skinny trees wearing rags that walk the streets as ghosts,
with hearts and feet that beat
like the stone and trees drum as they tumbled down from their rugged posture.
they are rendered broken monuments,
giggling and gadding on playgrounds of rubble
in a concrete death trap, in contrast to our concrete jungle.
and even though they are unaware
you can see the stories run in a mumbling undercurrent in their incognizant stare,
of the pain that the quakes brought here from over there.
thank god for sweet oblivion
behind the eyes of the children.
although smiling, their haunting faces hide nothing of their haunting existence.
it was hard to tell them that their mother's trip would not end,
that they would never hear her, smell her, see her again,
that dad had lied when he said he'd only be a second while tending to the seismic tide,
that he went for a longer jaunt than he had intended.
they were all pushed onto a ride too intense for their size
North Americans should be the ones to
what makes spiders so romanticI waited at the bottom of the limestone steps.
It was so cold I had to make a conscious decision to breath
While my limbs made a subconscious decision not to seethe as
Your figure dragged closer, from far away, along the sidewalk.
I stared so hard that when I looked away I could still see your outline,
It was typical of you to outshine the rest of the landscape on certain skylines,
And it was fetching how you never meant to be so peculiar - you were like a benign tumour.
You were a grapevine that grew up my spine,
A turbine, trying to keep at the sidelines when you were meant to be seen above all others.
When I looked back we were cheek to cheek - dancing -
(such was the technique of your sleek antique charm. Lovely.)
But all the while we were one second o
west 49I look at you
and you look at the lens
and they look at the screen.
I hold the nape of your neck
and you hold the spine of your board
and they hold your picture in their hands.
I wink at you
and you wink at the lens
and they wink back to the screen.
I fuck you
and you fuck the lens
and they finger fuck themselves.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzthere's this cord that sticks out of my back.
it has no face.
and so far it has had no place
but on my back.
it spits electricity
speaks it fluently
its quite good actually.
thankfully, its water-repellant.
its been a little more active
and without a conductor or adaptor to stick it to,
I stuck it into you,
and am still waiting.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More