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Literature Text
An old friend rises
Our heads fall in union
Shared pain, a plateau of fallen pillars
But we rise. We rise.
A leap of desolation
We watch
Falling men. Collapse.
We watch, through broken mirrors
In despair. We rise.
The sense of tenderness
Rebirth through broken flesh
Exponential resolve
Tempered in sorrow
We rise.
Our heads fall in union
Shared pain, a plateau of fallen pillars
But we rise. We rise.
A leap of desolation
We watch
Falling men. Collapse.
We watch, through broken mirrors
In despair. We rise.
The sense of tenderness
Rebirth through broken flesh
Exponential resolve
Tempered in sorrow
We rise.
Literature
Newspaper Suit
I am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.
Literature
Waiting
Waiting
Pale willow girls wait by the river, brides of the water,
Guppies swim through their veins, silver darts of bright pain.
Their names are hieroglyphs of mist, frost and rain.
They walk barefoot in the snow, leaving tracks so they know the way back,
A tracery of breadcrumbs that the ravens will never eat.
Twelve princesses slip underground,
Dance in slippers of tattered frayed silk,
Corkscrews of ribbon, stiff with blood and melted tallow.
They inject themselves with music until their eyes hum like bumble bees.
Then they sleepwalk through the day in a haze of yearning
For fierce wet stone beneath their frenzy of feet, of bon
Literature
The Waste World
She said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morp
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© 2011 Thomas Duke
's 9/11 project© 2011 Thomas Duke
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