.

By anaksunamun

â–¼











that which is cut in pieces or engraved darkling in nazi red.










crawling along the ceiling of cranberry wood wearing a warning of my rotting.
grow me old, alive and lit all around me like a triangle tunnel of bombs and stairways.


You are nowhere unforgotten, your smokey saliva dotting indigo in my belly, with your fingers half strangled In my seam. Movie star white,
hanging like a rope, thighs smeared with shine and afterbirth like a slaver ringing.




























I stayed in til the bell.
















.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2014 anaksunamun
Published on Friday, October 10, 2014.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "."

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  • A former member wrote: I applaud your use of color throughout. Something about them stands out

  • A former member wrote: that third stanza is a beautiful curse standing all its own... altogether, you could crumble skyscrapers.... this is so brightly wounded and hypnotic.... all my love, sweets.

  • Poetic-Realm On Thursday, May 1, 2014, Poetic-Realm (258)By person wrote:

    You are fire if fire was given more fire

  • FadedBlues On Thursday, May 1, 2014, FadedBlues (2168)By person wrote:

    ...in the prophecy that reality is more frightening than the nightmare...

  • blue angel On Thursday, May 1, 2014, blue angel (877)By person wrote:

    I've read you before and I find it hard to comment. The conflicting images meld nicely together. Scattered within yet released through tiny segments. It reminds me of scattered thoughts sewn together to make a cross stitching of emotion. Making maddened chatter meaningful. Thanks for sharing :)

  • A former member wrote: This poem takes me to a dark place indeed, This demon approves.

  • haunted On Thursday, May 1, 2014, haunted (849)By person wrote:

    grrr, i meant unlock your mind, unlike wouldn't be good good, haha. awesome!

  • haunted On Thursday, May 1, 2014, haunted (849)By person wrote:

    so mysterious and so intriguing. i wish i could hear these words in my ears by your mysterious breath, to pick you apart and tear the petals off of you. your poetry is unlike any other and im fascinated by your words and how they leave me with the taste of enchantment. if only i could unlike your mind but then your mysterious poetry would only enchant. a very good poem ana. "crawling on cranberry walls". fucking beautiful!

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