literature

fist shaped holes

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CircadianTwilight's avatar
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Literature Text

The prison guard lumbers like an oaken giant,
hands meaty, covered in cuts, in
little purple pustules where the skin has dried and cracked.

His crab lips split into a silent grin
reminding me of maggot-blown corpses,
of over-ripe peaches.  Of sun-dried tomatoes and salted slugs.
Beached whales and oil-slicked sea life.

If he had ears I would scream about days when the pages
of my mouth had littered the
ground.

I would scream about dirt and grime and life and death and hope
and hope
and fucking hope

and nothing, marbled thoughts like migrant starlings and
home, picket fences and rusted hinges
exhausted miners, withered housewives,
bloated cats and mangy dogs and children
with grubby fingers and angry eyes.  Filthy streets,
streets that heave and groan and howl and fling
their legs wider and wider, and her fat hands and my left feet and
his mule head, all muddled up and confused.

I would scream

about the blind and the deaf
and the crippled and the lonely
motion of seagulls and vultures.

And if he had eyes the guard's tears
would be white hot tears of dirty joy
and sterilised terror, fifty faces and twenty arms
all splayed at the sun
and they would burn like napalm.
.
© 2009 - 2024 CircadianTwilight
Comments5
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athenea8788's avatar
wow wow. i love this. i tried to look for something to criticize, but the only thing i could find was maybe to add a dash after the single line "I would scream": it rushes the reader along and builds emotion. but besides that, perfect =)