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She gave organs to poetry.
Birthed them platonically,
severed a piece from her soul,
weaned them from her milk.
Bestowed them breath, sweat, pulse.
Lungs that heaved,
stomachs that churned,
hearts that hurt, clogged with pain.
I traveled up her thigh,
through a catheter tube,
releasing blockages caused by rich foods-
creamy pastries flicked with a plump pink tongue,
oily meats pooling with moistness.
Junk food devoured impatiently.
patented caramel and nitrate laden sausages-
overly sweet, overly salty,
too much of everything.
I discovered her insides.
her flesh is a delicate pink,
the roundness of bright red and purple,
the network of veins and nerves
leading all throughout her
Molecules, atoms, and electrons with spin-
the moistness of a body, 70% water.
In the narrow maroon space,
the heat and melodic pulse
beckons me: closer, tighter.
I inhale, expand, and squeeze the
pushing it to the sides.
pop! is a delicate sound only I
Ode to Brad Anderson 1999Ode to Brad Anderson
When he said:
and smiled his smug smile of
liberation and transcendence;
all I heard was:
"I can mess with your head,
make you worry about me.
And I can leave you.
Because there are nobler causes
writing protest poetry about the WTO.
And after this,
lighting incense, to bless myself
and the universe"
He sips from my Nalgene,
places a Zoloft on his plump pale tongue,
washes it down with
my sweet red juice-
infused kava tea,
a dribble staining his kurta shirt.
He tells me that his Tibetan herbalist diagnosed
his depression as an excess of wind in his qi.
And he should eat "cu gua", bitter melon.
I offer him my bright green bumpy cucumber with
the pink slippery insides,
and tell him not to eat the strange furry seeds.
He takes a fork and knife,
cuts small, neat, polite pieces, and
places it, bit by bit, into his mouth,
evoking the panacea gods for another miracle,
savoring his next solution.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More