| Do it. [link] |
| Do it. [link] |
| I suppose you could say that it's my most recent semi-decent piece...critique? |


Like Fire and Water I wish I could cross the ocean.Like Fire and Water by ~ColonelFitz
I wish that the Atlantic would
Just evaporate and I could
Walk across, kicking the flopping
Fish.
That would take a nuclear holocaust.
I would even build the nukes and
Press the buttons just to be closer
To anywhere that would be, could be
Near.
Near you.
I wish I could cross the fire
I wish that the flames would
Just condense to ice and
I could just dance, inhaling the
Smoke.
That would take ricin rain.
I would even synthesize the toxin and
Poison my own children just to get away,
Escape down a road to anywhere, anywhere
Away.
Away from you.


dancing with Trotsky It’s 3 o’clock and I’m dancing with you, with Trotsky and an ice pick. Late afternoon sunlight mingling with stars and alcohol. Steel soars, sings through humming air alive with breeze and heat. Pink mist exhaled, inhaled, thoughts liberated like birdsong bursting from shattered sugar lips and clay skulls. Your chest is safety glass and I can see your skin spiderwebbing, naked, cracked hiding tar-and-feathered lungs and bioengineered heart, beating, no breathing, life spilling, filling mouth, throat, veins, red dust, dirty streets. Snorting emaciated pig wanders down the street, Che Guevara carved into hairless sunburnt flandancing with Trotsky by ~ColonelFitz


an ocean of stone we are not the sea, seething, cold,an ocean of stone by ~ColonelFitz
drinking homes and spitting
dust, wet, cohesive
we are sediment, layered on the hands
of our ancestors, who faces turned,
saw the stars drop behind mute eyelids,
bathed in lightning and fallout,
drank the night
we are the foundations of the Earth, lightly
balanced on the foundations of the sun and stars
we sleep, warm and rough beneath breathing
life and birth through quietus, stomach rumbling
with dreams of food and history
we grasp the mountains in our teeth and
straining against the whispers of Elijah, we
pull them down, swallowing the


Fifth Runs Away: An Untold... I am small and round but I am not sand. With no arms and no hands, I do not know hours but I know that I am worn out from too much work, from working all days of all months, no stops, no holidays, no vacations.Fifth Runs Away: An Untold... by ~ColonelFitz
My siblings do not know who I am, nor do my guardians. I know only what I am not: I am not an author sharing vivid thoughts and lucid visions, I am not a musician spinning vibrations into colors and faith, I am not an artist painting morning suns and night moons and always winds.
I do not know what I am, so I run. I run away, far from familiar surroundings of words and consonants. I run from diacritics and punctuation, hurdling macro