~SursumAlucinor
Claire
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Red EarthKiss me hard because this could be (Forever, never, ever) The last of our hit and run consistency, Our sudden impassioned lunacy, My last desperate attempt to keep myself from falling or flying, because it’s such a long way down.Red Earth
Swathed in corn-flower jealousy, my hands are to my ears eyes shut against the stars and the sky and you. I can’t ignore these itching wingtips forever, but it’s such a long way down, it’s such a long way down.
(When was the last time an empty sky caught you?)
by ~SursumAlucinor
Grendel's AccountRoving, the horror man-terror, beast-wonder Grendel the monster, that hell-cursed, man-cursed creature of legend; his mother's own sonGrendel's Account
Prowled through the darkness Inky as cold sin, Grendel the cast-out nursed a grievance most foul. As he lurked in the nightfall, golden Heorot called him blindingly brilliant, forever forbidden, Grendel the banished dreamed she mocked his downfall.
He had dwelt for a time in
misery, among banished monsters among cursed kinfolk; loved by his mother, Grendel the miserable envied Hrothg
by ~SursumAlucinor
37I say that my lucky number is thirty-seven, because at some stupid carnival thing in middle school, there was this betting game (little gamblers and their parents, go automated horse go, win win win) and I chose the one with thirty-seven on its painted-on saddle, and I won 11 tickets.37
(When people would ask what my lucky number was, I'd say seven, take away the three in the tens place, because a real lucky number is secret. The earth was built in seven days, I'm told, and that seven is a good lucky number. But it's not mine.)
Or maybe it was because my mother wanted me to play soccer. When the uniforms were han
by ~SursumAlucinor
InspirationI shouldn't read poetry when I'm away from you.Inspiration
When I'm with you, I can sit by your computer chair, put my cheek against your thigh until you put a hand on my head, saying to me that you will be just a minute, you have no attention for speech, that you are in crisis, conflict, dying--no, no, not you. There's the inevitable triumph, and you swivel your chair to face me, open your arms. "What's wrong, hun?" But I can't tell you. I'm too busy burying myself in the cloth of your shirt, breathing you in, memorizing- untangling the pretty words that inspiration has bur
by ~SursumAlucinor
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