darkmoon1987

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Gay Poem by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Gay Poem

Gay Poem this poem is gay (all poems written about poems are this way) syntax sleeps next to form in a king-sized bed only a few words passing between them the slate slips from the sides of their house collapsing heavy on the vines ensuring they’ll become entangled this poem is happy because it is gay the color lavender no gray nothing mournful not today stanza sits at a table waiting for meaning to glance over in his direction he even breaks away from the other lines to stand alone on the page but his typography does not grab you his language is flat like the stool he’s sitting on no synecdoche

Repressive Hypothesis by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Repressive Hypothesis

Repressive Hypothesis we need a cuter locuter than the one we have now if david archuleta doesn’t win american idol he’ll at least have my vote tying pink bows onto the backs of bicycles is exhausting but so is the back pipe of my car it is literally exhausting dripping on the tiles my naked body my naked face dripping like a faucet slowly onto his bed a storm on his lap tempest or tornado or both he’s a boa constrictor jaws unhinging as he swallows me whole ● yes i am still breathing! yes breath is everything! television dulls with chiasmic breaks between

Like Lots Of Paper Teeth by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Like Lots Of Paper Teeth

Like Lots of Paper Teeth could you? you couldn’t keep him from kissing you, his lips cutting into the counting of the clock, its merciless ticking that took you through 7:00 a.m. straight to 9:00 p.m. until there was no time, or any good reason to get out of bed in the morning. his limbs were too light, his hands were too smeared with lead to accept even my cursory touch, his teeth were flimsy like paper when we touched i thought they might fall out. whenever winter comes, i will be in need of it—in need of some desperate something, hoping the snow will cover it up. but we live in the desert there are on

Tanhauser Gate by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Tanhauser Gate

Tanhauser Gate i. the cedar falls then the ash falls off the color black light and scorch guard ii. bees light up spiders redot the vowels through songs tar-filled the wind turns turbid iii. loose space ( ) losing space long steps long leaps a red dam an old gate relentless particles of passage my fingers splinter the hand is gone cut- off “all those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain” (a fear of stars) a star is blind

Origami by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Origami

Origami callow paper cranes clipped those yamato ideologies when hiroshima turned desiccate-white that whiteness urned us a great reputation a hyperbole stretching through the snow razed logs defaced just clusters in the snow trunks defaced their faces used to snow took a road there one day shaving ice shaking diced apples down the drain the daidou scene affected when we got there no life still-white that stillness bothered me the bothering folded my creases along the edges then shred them into snow

At Work by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

At Work

At Work Files, dot/slash then copy a few things later. Drives me crazy, the C: Drive is not responding quickly end the program too easy to do online. Harder (much harder) in life. Reservations tempt me to do one thing, trying another all too much. Will he be proud? I haven’t any real answer to the hypothetical—that is if he understands. My life sometimes is not complicated. Adding that together (with some substitution) may equal nothing. I am too hyperbolic. The situation requires stealth, peerless perception. The shredder is the apex predator—my hunt is for the locust—water cooler malfunctionin

Soccer Practice by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Soccer Practice

Soccer Practice Keeping both feet moving, never easy. When you have a light puckering to return you easily from where it was you went. Blades of grass crease like gull wings—saw them on a nature show once. Vibrant white, unlike the grass. Running all day, sometimes wondering where. Into some dell, a spruce waves goodbye as I pass it. Some acorns dance along the branches, brides to the squirrels themselves grooms to the trees. Clouds make more sense than anything else, too malleable to be just one thing. Dizzy glass head, jerks down and over to the sight of choo-choo trains. Too much like a kid? Sometimes, b

Koushiro 01 by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Koushiro 01

Koushirō (1) Diced apples with precision, but no good, am I, to anyone in the kitchen. He grazed my arm with his new pen—the one I bought him—lighting the bulb behind my skin, a paper lantern unable to snuff out. Frost developed on my taste buds, as time went on. It was all I could do to freeze time—keep it under my control. Longing for some taste, some touch, kept everything from faltering. A hand under dish soap. Crossing checkered lines on a washcloth, scrubbing the forks. Something must be drying in the corner, a pot or pan—metallic lines sinking like a ship at dusk. Fireflies storm outs

Taichi 01 by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Taichi 01

Taichi (1) What’s the matter with this block head of mine; nothing takes a simpler shape, nothing fits. Where is Koushirō going? Can’t I come with? The long dragon winds around the left breast of my shirt. Sums up to a good eat, downing three or four bowls of ūdon, steamed fish, beef, shredded. Later treat me to the last moments of the evening shade. Shattering heart, knock on door gorging memories. A taste of you is all I need. The day grows fat and mistakes itself for dinner. You and I have itself. Each other.

Dumb Needle by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Dumb Needle

Dumb Needle "Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l’archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l’empêchent de marcher." —Charles Baudelaire Never been there, but if I had wings I’d think about going. Nothing on earth makes sense to me anymore. Each step sounds so small, drowned out by imperial tunes (crescendo never dull) on the radio. I wander even at night, predicting strands of hair coming together, forming braids, buns and bows—seeing porridge left out in the salon that no one will eat. It

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For All Things Lost by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

For All Things Lost

For All Things Lost Soft are the feet of those young Paladin Riding off to meet some birch between The olive and the wormwood; working Their way through the sand and fog, a Sky apart from 1969 when things turned Worse. And then after the new millennium— A hiccup in New York; everyone ignores New Jersey, but that is not new. He carried A sword with him that day, and chanced Fighting for the leaves. They could not thank Him—it was not their designs. Could they Open up the door to perception, a tantalizing Crystal blue place, with a white staircase That leads down into a frozen lake? Her body Is there, her body cannot find you unl

To Be the Poet by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

To Be the Poet

To Be the Poet Remember the last time we were walking, together Like this, on the beach of lost holidays, Your fingers curling around mine evocative engrained And never anything less than cool or cadent The sun was drying in a corner While we undressed, Felt naked under the palisades, reached across The kitchen counter For something to fill our stomachs with Ultimately we would go hungry and grow more famished I thought that your appetite was dead Boxes made for packing Hand drawn likenesses drawn in a comical way Pearls flushed down the sewer drain A note A place for sitting One last drink before desert That is w

Homecoming by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Homecoming

Homecoming There were ten red roses draping her loose arms As she stood, tongue pressing into her cheek, waiting For the number four train to come in from West End. Though it was late she had had time to get a dress And dry her hair, find new shoes and make reservations At the new restaurant that had been built across the street. On the weekends she would drink tea on her noisy street, Sometimes with her sister, magazines folded in her arms Dreaming about celebrity though she had reservations About actually living in Los Angeles. She was waiting For Daniel to come home, thinking of the wedding dress While he was at war hoping that

Doppelganger by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Doppelganger

Doppelganger The paralyzing way two eyes cast a stare across A table makes sense to the dead — they're here, they float Hovering in the air on silent rotor blades, ready to drop Blitzkrieg on tarlatan squares to shock and maybe awe Jaws stretch in national celebration flailing to keep on the life Support guzzling packets of sweet & lo desperately in need Of a new prescription drug because nothing does enough to Disillusion Nothing — the old ones say — is like it used to be Bad no not necessarily but who would play that hand When everyone surrounding the table is not going to fold Up and slide into a drawer Doppelganger eyes me in

Degrees Warped By Fragments by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Degrees Warped By Fragments

Degrees Do Worse Warped By Fragments I. I sit among a contingent of fresh-faced athletes doing mostly Nothing, Reading a book on the crosses of cosmogony when I feel a hand Tapping On my shoulder. I turn around like a toddler's wind-up toy and Find No face to match the arm suspended in space by something unseen II. Faces of clocks abound on every wall I sit across from, next to or Near; It makes no sense to me. Half an hour will pass before I have slept Enough Hours, and yet exhaustion always accompanies me, even during the Brief Rush of excitement I feel when the clocks cease ticking. III. Library books are beginning to pil

El Zeppelin by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

El Zeppelin

El Zeppelin I lived with the Hindenburg, or one of his cousins, less than a few months ago. Needless to say, the arrangement was strange—him drifting on and off the tarmac at all hours, neglecting my need for shut-eye (I’d never allege needing such a thing as beauty sleep) leaving nothing short of shed wrappers to stand in as apologetic correspondences. Never felt more sorry for someone I couldn’t stand. It’s better now with my current flat mate, we exchange viral videos, sexual innuendos (even phenotypes if it comes to it). Still, I can’t get that blimp out of my head—he’s wedged himself the

Erotic Torso of Apollo by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Erotic Torso of Apollo

Erotic Torso of Apollo Not unlike your body, relaxing with your malleable feet blistered on the chair, his is stoic and impressive. He’s distant. But not by choice, it’s one of those “unhappy accidents,” as you liked to call them. Now I don’t know what to do. Phantom limbs fingered me in the blinding light but his instructions went unrecorded. He splayed the Python across the ground for me—I longed to touch his broken tufts of hair. I supplied what caresses I could with a few grubby fingers, feeble in their strokes. Last night, I awoke to the snoring of an unknown figure. He held my bod

Cheese Souffle by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Cheese Souffle

Cheese Soufflé I. Just the 43rd conjunction in a run on sentence. What is it? Serious business played plaid parallelograms hovering a long scenic drive, carafes and language ancient people aloft—cafés, driving down along scene shapes unable motor control. Loosing focus perspective, drowning panorama lulls ecstatic. Witness contrail falling like hard shards of gas, pretend to me less interesting. II. He left a key in the door of the disheveled pickaxe, pliers, all that and more at your local Home Despot. Even now interlaced digits dread a hard sung in tiny valves: Lenin and Trotsky sitting in a tree M-

Later Shower by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Later Shower

Later Shower The beating of each droplet stiffens the tiles, each square’s stung repeatedly as if some kind of punishment. Steam rises from beneath our billowing door, itself little more than a sheet (decked with rosebuds)—flimsy barricade, insubstantial decoration. Does that feel better: the liquid stampeding over the firm tresses and tors of your body? Loose cloth cuts away, collecting in the tin ash tray (and ticklish when you forget to shave).

Image is Dead by darkmoon1987, literature

Literature

Image is Dead

Image is Dead We were on La Grande Jatte, two yawning specks of color imperceptible; no one could see us. My hand was never forming a caress, never reaching out to touch; my hand did not exist, it was a combination of the primary colored principles we both shared. Where were you not going? Legs: nothing less than spindle fibers, eyes: only caustic shams of red, blue and yellow. Your flecked canvas face was much lovelier than mine, more out of instinct than design. I hope you received this letter, if it was composed, as writing is the only thing that purports, upon us, a definition. Check the date in the botto

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About darkmoon1987

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United States
Deviant for 17 years
www.myspace.com/poetory

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darkmoon1987

Nov 9, 2007

Looking to Callaborate

0 min read

I am currently working on some ideas for a comic book. Not to be derivative, but I can explain it best as an X-Men style venture but far more character driven and rooted in the real world with a far more encompassing and relatable global mythology. In that sense it's a lot like Heroes. I am looking for someone to do the drawing, because i am not a good enough artist to do my own sketching. I have it all in my head, my hands just can't realize what I need them to. Anyway, if anyone is interested, or knows someone who might be interested in working on a project like this, contact me on here. It's about time I started getting this stuff out of

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darkmoon1987

Sep 29, 2007

just to say

0 min read

i went to england. i am back now. i posted some new things that i am working on. hope they're endearing. i am very tired. and taking japanese this quarter. :) that is all.

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Profile Comments 12

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pigeonpyro

Jun 3, 2007

Thanks so much for the watch!!

synchrochick007

Jun 3, 2007

yay it gives me such joy to
find a fellow poet

ClawsOfSteel

Jun 2, 2007

Sweet, thanks for the watch, I really dig your poems.

blue-lace-project

Jun 2, 2007

sweet writing in your gallery

~Blue

SchmauserPhoto

Jun 2, 2007

Thank you so much for adding me to your watch list

I read "Cheese Soufflé" and thought many of the rhymes and language in it were wonderful (although I don't totally understand the meaning of it all...I'm not very good at deciphering poems

fluffycatgirl

Jun 2, 2007

Your poetry is very powerful... I enjoyed reading through your gallery.

I love your works, so I'm going to watch you...

ForlornLover

Jun 1, 2007

I'm going to watch you in hopes of improving myself, and because works like your's are hard to find.