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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
January 13, 2016
Nervous System by akrasiel uses gorgeous wordplay to examine the vulnerability our best defense still displays. Be sure to read through the rest of this awesome poet's gallery.
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Literature Text
magnetism - forehead to knees
halfway between fetal and natal is the fatal position
my back curves in inverse fibonacci spirals
crack opens each vertebrae
tears my spinal cord, bares my neuroses
read the insinuation in the sinuation of my bones
I am no armadillo
my arms neither armour nor armament
only poles for whiteflag semaphor
I turn my back to you not in rejection but in hope
you will shield my weakest front.
halfway between fetal and natal is the fatal position
my back curves in inverse fibonacci spirals
crack opens each vertebrae
tears my spinal cord, bares my neuroses
read the insinuation in the sinuation of my bones
I am no armadillo
my arms neither armour nor armament
only poles for whiteflag semaphor
I turn my back to you not in rejection but in hope
you will shield my weakest front.
Literature
the dissection of matricide
the first thing you have to learn is how
if you pull and mold your nose with
your fingers, it will shape the cartilage
in slopes and thin streams to allow
the slimy species of scaly fish
to reproduce and (meiosis)
in the paper thin skin that separates
a chapter from a novel
people do not smell like roses when
they wake up and they don’t keep
their fingernails clipped the way
you do - instead they wake up with
the leftover taste of rum rolling around
in their mouth, forgetting
that they called you at three in the
morning to wonder why you
never kissed them back that one time,
and how you got out of that
ticket when a cop pulled you ove
Literature
cynical: arsenical
splinter-thorn boy,
it will all start to
d i s i n t e g r a t e
beneath you
you are
the least beautiful way to unravel -
all maggot-rot, no
split-thread, no
ribbon-torn boy
an architect of
self-abuse;
a god of
ru(i)n(n)ing
[away] &
no:
there is nothing holy about you
Literature
California
My father was San Francisco and my mother, the Pacific;
at five I was in love with nine-lane highways, the scent of
eucalyptus pressed between my fingers, yellow parchment
hills crumpled up under the eye of the sun. If I had a sunset
to myself I would curl up on a park bench like the hippies do,
and eavesdrop on the sea lions’ bedtime conversations.
Alcatraz never quite unbarred me and yet I have found
freedom in hills steep as my shoulders; I know that I am
beautiful even in the rain because I have kissed the smoke
of Berkeley and tasted her on my teeth. I was born to
dangle my legs over Golden Gate Bridge and of course,
of
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It's weird that curling into a ball leaves one of the most important parts of the body vulnerable.
I'm not sure if this is a love letter or a mayday signal.
I'm not sure if this is a love letter or a mayday signal.
© 2015 - 2024 akrasiel
Comments57
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The wordplay here just bowls me over. Whoa.