An Accumulation of Fortune Cookies by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
An Accumulation of Fortune Cookies
In morning, he is divided and pried from the dream Confronted by the next plaster gray View-Master day. He lingers on his traditional half of the bed, teetering Then ventures across the deafening, empty apartment Where the dust accumulates like hourglass sand Blanketing, bit by bit, over sedimentary plans And archeological troves of screaming bones In a vast, derelict desert of vestigial space Towards a wardrobe of aborted echoes. There he peruses his potential noms du jour The coats of people he would have been Knowing most of them no longer fit. He settles on his most generic pronoun. He performs his penance to the Tao: He is each domino just as it tips He is becalmed He is amid still waters He is a ship without wind He is a captain without a ship He is a bouy on the waves He is one last minute Treading water He is another last minute He is the dragging current He is the inflection of breath He is the mooring of the moment He is the stones in the coat pocket He is the coveted
Lost and Lost and Lost and Found by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
Lost and Lost and Lost and Found
Damaged trust and marriage schemes
Held hostage in each others' dreams
Pinned to walls but flailing still
Forgotten values, failing wills
But true love waits, we tell ourselves
True love gladly stacks the shelves
True love sets conditions and
True love does the dishes and
Slowly, slowly, we forget
Just why we're here and who we met
Another notch in wrinkled frowns
Where I keep getting lost and found
In roller-coaster ups and downs
I'm lost and lost and lost and found
Missing flights and toxic tongues
Catharsis found in tar-filled lungs
I lost myself in who I wasn't,
And in what true love does and doesn't
Not quite gaslit, not quite safe
But
Somewhere in China
A butterfly flaps its wings
Setting off a chain
Of blame and effect
And all the way over
In my living room
I face a hurricane.
And all the things I have
Out on loan
From the universe
Are being returned to it
Except love and forgiveness
Because you can't blame a hurricane
For being a hurricane.
Here again, behind closed eyes
Balanced on this fragile threshold
One
Enjoying the moment before it’s over
As morning melts the locks
Two
Tenderly tracing unseen features
Kneading you from dreams and memories
Three
Feeling the meter of your sleeping heartbeat
Synchronizing as we breathe
Four
Folding you closer, moored in your warmth
Pressing your blessed scent against my chest
Five
Picturing the glow outside
Alighting on your virgin eyes
Six
Savoring our seven precious seconds
Helplessly defending the present tense
Seven
Today I woke up holding your pillow.
The Days of Dishracks by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
The Days of Dishracks
We resided in an empire of lights
On the second block from the right
Waiting for morning
I thought of how damaged people are
She was gentle as a falling star
"I love you," we refrained
Dying of thirst,
They agree only on the need to puncture lust again
So she counts down from a hundred to one
While he musters up his love.
She clutches to her lust
Until he finally thrusts his trust in.
"I'm fine" she cries as a child dies.
He learns,
He spits in her gritted eyes.
She reminds him that they're dying,
Burning while they turn
Spinning in his sheets
Struggling to breathe
Smuggling their dreams
In apologetic sweat
And dirty epithets
The infant actors beg for climax
Whispering the wishes that are listed in the script
Quoting moans that catch on choking throats
Pleading for release
Reading of futility
And mutual defeat
Delivering
sleepless
embracing
silent
defacing
our wilted ends and tenderness.
privately crying,
quiet, applying
blush
on putrescence.
murmurring,
murmurring
'you are mine.'
pining
panging
hushing lust.
rabidly dabbling in fragile fantasies,
huffing tar stuff borrowed from tomorrow!
shush.
please.
these feeble obscenities eat me to sleep:
you wear me down like a river
but i don't get smoother
i just get thinner
We are the dusk men,
Showering ourselves in fairy-dust cobwebs,
Pinning our borrowed ambitions like moth-wings.
We’re kept fresh in cement-trucks,
Tumbling in our organ grinder wombs,
And respected like top-shelf hamburgers.
Immaculately preserved
In starched formaldehyde.
An Accumulation of Fortune Cookies by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
An Accumulation of Fortune Cookies
In morning, he is divided and pried from the dream Confronted by the next plaster gray View-Master day. He lingers on his traditional half of the bed, teetering Then ventures across the deafening, empty apartment Where the dust accumulates like hourglass sand Blanketing, bit by bit, over sedimentary plans And archeological troves of screaming bones In a vast, derelict desert of vestigial space Towards a wardrobe of aborted echoes. There he peruses his potential noms du jour The coats of people he would have been Knowing most of them no longer fit. He settles on his most generic pronoun. He performs his penance to the Tao: He is each domino just as it tips He is becalmed He is amid still waters He is a ship without wind He is a captain without a ship He is a bouy on the waves He is one last minute Treading water He is another last minute He is the dragging current He is the inflection of breath He is the mooring of the moment He is the stones in the coat pocket He is the coveted
Lost and Lost and Lost and Found by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
Lost and Lost and Lost and Found
Damaged trust and marriage schemes
Held hostage in each others' dreams
Pinned to walls but flailing still
Forgotten values, failing wills
But true love waits, we tell ourselves
True love gladly stacks the shelves
True love sets conditions and
True love does the dishes and
Slowly, slowly, we forget
Just why we're here and who we met
Another notch in wrinkled frowns
Where I keep getting lost and found
In roller-coaster ups and downs
I'm lost and lost and lost and found
Missing flights and toxic tongues
Catharsis found in tar-filled lungs
I lost myself in who I wasn't,
And in what true love does and doesn't
Not quite gaslit, not quite safe
But
Somewhere in China
A butterfly flaps its wings
Setting off a chain
Of blame and effect
And all the way over
In my living room
I face a hurricane.
And all the things I have
Out on loan
From the universe
Are being returned to it
Except love and forgiveness
Because you can't blame a hurricane
For being a hurricane.
Here again, behind closed eyes
Balanced on this fragile threshold
One
Enjoying the moment before it’s over
As morning melts the locks
Two
Tenderly tracing unseen features
Kneading you from dreams and memories
Three
Feeling the meter of your sleeping heartbeat
Synchronizing as we breathe
Four
Folding you closer, moored in your warmth
Pressing your blessed scent against my chest
Five
Picturing the glow outside
Alighting on your virgin eyes
Six
Savoring our seven precious seconds
Helplessly defending the present tense
Seven
Today I woke up holding your pillow.
The Days of Dishracks by KnaveofSpades, literature
Literature
The Days of Dishracks
We resided in an empire of lights
On the second block from the right
Waiting for morning
I thought of how damaged people are
She was gentle as a falling star
"I love you," we refrained
Dying of thirst,
They agree only on the need to puncture lust again
So she counts down from a hundred to one
While he musters up his love.
She clutches to her lust
Until he finally thrusts his trust in.
"I'm fine" she cries as a child dies.
He learns,
He spits in her gritted eyes.
She reminds him that they're dying,
Burning while they turn
Spinning in his sheets
Struggling to breathe
Smuggling their dreams
In apologetic sweat
And dirty epithets
The infant actors beg for climax
Whispering the wishes that are listed in the script
Quoting moans that catch on choking throats
Pleading for release
Reading of futility
And mutual defeat
Delivering
sleepless
embracing
silent
defacing
our wilted ends and tenderness.
privately crying,
quiet, applying
blush
on putrescence.
murmurring,
murmurring
'you are mine.'
pining
panging
hushing lust.
rabidly dabbling in fragile fantasies,
huffing tar stuff borrowed from tomorrow!
shush.
please.
these feeble obscenities eat me to sleep:
you wear me down like a river
but i don't get smoother
i just get thinner
We are the dusk men,
Showering ourselves in fairy-dust cobwebs,
Pinning our borrowed ambitions like moth-wings.
We’re kept fresh in cement-trucks,
Tumbling in our organ grinder wombs,
And respected like top-shelf hamburgers.
Immaculately preserved
In starched formaldehyde.
We are the dusk men,
Showering ourselves in fairy-dust cobwebs,
Pinning our borrowed ambitions like moth-wings.
We’re kept fresh in cement-trucks,
Tumbling in our organ grinder wombs,
And respected like top-shelf hamburgers.
Immaculately preserved
In starched formaldehyde.
The rhyme is great! I really like the first 4 lines. kinda a cool idea, there. the last two lines are kinda awkward. i know you broke the rhyme scheme on purpose, but it makes the ending harder to read. idk.
I just tried to link the last line to the rhyme in the second and fourth lines, but reader knows best. If you think that it's awkward then it's awkward. Thanks for the feedback