feature: recent favourites

I realised that I hadn't done one of these in a while and I'd like to showcase some stuff that I really liked lately. So, with no further ado:

fit you
raving prayers behind your skull;
what were those sequined devils
extruding through the vespertine
like brooding ideations?
you are my strangest fiction.
i'd hang you in a lidless scheme;
four walls make a universe
then drape you over missing warmth
and squeeze into your crucifix
with moth molested curtain-shine
crawling on your belly skin.
there, oh there, i want to be
the end of days with no where left
no government or industry
no court will ever hear it argued
that i was some damn evil fuck
bouncing off your effigy
in dragon time
until the edge burns
blonde within your dying wheat
then we retire, decant our blood
we'll feed on space and bedside poisons
anarchists for half an hour
two unschooled trumpets
collapsing movement. April 3rd 2012The paint drying on the walls,
Wooly arms, backs, rejoice in
Sun pierced clouds
The cats learn to live together
Studies continue, the to-do list
sends fungal tendrils
Drilling new paths to explore
Exploration
I am reminded that there is nothing as heavy as unfinished tasks
This is how a house becomes a home. we laid out our sheets (to be ghosts)i am wrong about the way your tongue has spikes. i am wrong about the way it stabs when you speak; it pinches words deep down into spines and cavities, it takes us away to somewhere empty. and i am wrong most of all about being so empty i could keep everyone i've ever seen in the spaces between my rids. it is true that i am an avalanche, i will implode and explode and suffer with the way your fingers tap too hard on my skin. but you've never touched me, you've never touched me before. i made you all up with your beauty and calling; who would speak to the invisible girl? who would love her when her thoughts are poison, ladled and spewed from the collective cauldron of everyone else interesting? she is a phantom. i would know because i am wrong about her; i am her. she is mine. i do not know if i have ceased to exist or if my bones have escaped my skin, leaving me a poor, sad sack in an ugly trap of gravity, filled with stuffing just to keep me breathing. i am, i am, i am not. pathetic p this is only a part of me but please just listen.you called it in,
thursday evening at six.
six, six. and let's say that again.
six.
i stare at you when i park my car and when the car goes into park
you are already sliding into the front seat, mumbling "hello" into my neck and i,
i smile my words back into your cheek and then
we get out
we meet outside of the car, in the lobby, like friends
so nobody stares.
this is normal, this is,
you know. average.
you called me down,
half past seven and the hotel room,
it looks glossy and beige,
white and pearly edges,
bathroom that smells like citrus:
orange juice, lemonade vomit,
vodka.
you called it love.
i would have picked a better word, 
or maybe no words at all,
no words to condense something so big into four letters,
there when i signed the check for dinner in the dim dining hall 
with chandeliers 
grinning from table to table, 
casting us 
in crystalline raindrop reflections. 
rainbows arc in the shine of your hair,
i watched you eat slowly, 
refle napowrimo 2 - lakeSilver spoon-
the sun dribbles to the deepest
bruise of light. To my eyes
it is a face as
all faces are, refracting time and
light, knit to reed thin sinew and
fat hollows.
Satin sheeted phosphorescence. Opals
cluster in my peripheral
vision, a sort of algae,
and at the banks, dawdling
murk petrifies,
old roots nod into bone. Life becomes
stone. With a click
flies lift. A coin shatters
this ambrosia, milk of soil and raw time.
The only sound is wingbeats.
in the descnet into gloom
a moon bulbs.
- :thumb293737926: sonskyni entangle myself in the sky,
grasp and tug on breezes,
expect grass to be as thoughtless
as my skin.
i am complete, here,
amongst the feelings of stones,
as april folds me,
intricate, in its madness. :thumb293129421: MantisMantis
Balanced on a body, all sticks and claws,
her head swivels and luminous globes stare
at what remains, a green shoot of a leg.
She transformed him into what she needs.
And you shudder, "Cold-blooded thing."
Yet with our words, such intricate claws,
we also transform our fluid selves
into savior, lover, enemy, cause, excuse.
our own eyes eclipsed moons.

And these are all within the last week or two.

Sticking with the theme of recent things, I'd like to feature some writers who are fairly new to dA (at least on the account they're currently using) and maybe help them out a bit. I dunno, I'm reasonably popular in the literature community here so maybe I can send some watchers their way!

neurochemistry swansisters leakygaloshes fried-nuns

thank you for reading!