/lit/ - Literature

bump

there must be some of you publishing things...

got bored yesterday in class, wrote this about (note: about, not for) this chick i've had a complex relationship with for a while. still feels like it's missing something: too dramatic, cliche, direct, overwrought? please critique, etc.

Eros in Repose

You,
my ghost-green bride,
my summer
and my rain,
hold me tight
in the lilac
of your choice,
let me reign
over the republic
of your soul—
an elected steward
of uncounted days.

What brief breath stands
between you
and your rumination,
let it stand
with clove-filled palms
ready to squeeze.
Today was doomed—
I understand;
we are the disciples
of a circular god.
But we kindle the remains
like rosewood:
profit this sinner
a final glance,
and tease once more
our wintered home.

You
are the distance
that fades my horizon,
the star-hinged hue
of Lillith’s love:
rest your waning century
upon my shores,
and leave only
when I fail to sleep.
What cleaves more
than an architect
of the periphery?
Something gives,
but does not last—
a rook-filled nightfall
of tomorrow’s past.

O,
shade from my
forgotten black,
red-raven dawn
that spills my oblivion,
let me see you
as you are:
the folly
of my misspelled want.

>>3767138

--Paul Celan, Todesfuge

We would make love amongst her paintings and sculptures. Centred between vivid colours and abstract shapes and eyes always watching. Her art brought a significant income, but still she continued to sell herself. Tried to leave it all behind once but soon realised her talent depended on the darkness of being fucked for money. No input , no output.

There were clay busts of men distributed around her mattress. Expressionless, they observed my performance. Cold sentinels, forever judging. There was one in particular I didn’t like. Gnarled expression and eyes pulsing with hate. One day I returned to find what I think was a reproduction of myself. Never asked in case it wasn’t and I made a fool of myself. But I was flattered anyway.

(3/6)

How alluring the idea of civilized relationship became. One that omitted passion in favour of security. A woman that existed for his return from work. To make sure everything was ready when he wanted it. Her love purchased with a monthly income. The bigger the income the better she was.

The artist found himself dreaming of an office at the top of a great building. Overlooking a city he controlled via economic strings. Tugging at them comfortably from his desk. Slowly amending policy until the world below him were forced to own the same dog by law. The labradoodle. The blandest dog of all. The pleasure of seeing his own face on his own money.