| A tribute to one of my favorite poems of all time, Thomas Gray's Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard. |
| A tribute to one of my favorite poems of all time, Thomas Gray's Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard. |


Jet LagWe've barely left the ground when you ask what brought me here "Until now, I'd only read about poverty in books," and you ask what I've taken away.Jet Lag
"The air from the mire that plagued my nose where fires lit worn and narrow paths, bare dark bodies collapsed through the homes as sickly cries struggled to harmonize;
to find them all, I just follow the flies.
A native woman taught me the tongue and asked if I was the only one and as I told her what I'd read
she told me why I came.
While my struggle to deny it showed, her smile probed me, an


Life And TimesThis writer writes until he has nothing left since its all been done before writing down the things he cant say tearing himself away, feeling dizzy, and listening to the rainLife And Times
for hours
taking pictures writing notes and taking nothing away trying to lose himself and always finding more
the more recently it came out of his mouth the better it sounds and thats all that matters his body fades through a shivering haze as though its supposed to mean something
he tells you to sleep on it to lose control


Doctor Dirty NeedlesZombie medicine Drunken witchcraft Voodoo madness Faith healer, nonbeliever Mercy Mercy killer Doctor Doctor dirty needlesDoctor Dirty Needles
A partial lobotomy For 19 pieces of silver In square coins only Ringing like bells Inside his cavernous palms All dues are paid in full Through bloodshot eyes A subliminal agenda Slips between the tangled web of senses Fear of anesthesia Envision total control Pulling strings like stitches Surgical bondage Working the fingers down to the bone Working the bones down to the marrow


Virulent HorizonsInto dismal splendor Beneath a sky made of smoke This is the moribund city Where angels have no names And the stars hang themselves Coils of the virulent horizon Wind around my rotten little finger I collect my epidemics I collect my filthy secrets Receding into the rabid twilight My shadow drenched in disease My pockets filled with rats Vermin among us Infect us, collect us Infectious Insects inside me Feasting on all the illness within The hollow consumes me Walking across waves of swarming rodents Into the city’s choking heartVirulent Horizons


Winter is My MistressOutside these icy walls I can hear the thunder howling From the mouth of a raging blizzard I listen to the dead winds drowning Beneath a sea of falling frost From within these crystal caverns Where candles wither And lights fear to shine The mist is jagged in my throat A thin frost lays upon my trembling tongue Breathing deep the stillness That surrounds this theater of ice I am enamored with these frigid hours Beads of glass shine in the darkness Like empty stars in a frozen sky This vampiric December fog Drains the fire from my body TemperaWinter is My Mistress
--
Of my own work:
My Favorite: Smoke And Mirrors.
Everyone Else's: Existential Word Search.
--
Of my own work:
My Favorite: Smoke And Mirrors.
Everyone Else's: Existential Word Search.
--
Existentialism.
Surrealism.
Love.
Random Deviant Hello
The best thing about being an artist is that you don't have to grow up to be one
--
Spread The Love, visit a Random Deviant [link]
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