The Great Escapade

Cynical Modernism.

Ask me anythingSubmitMy poetryNext pageArchive

There’s a sharp concern,
I find myself distracting,
More and more into everything it is creeping,
Sharp notes hidden in shallower waters,
From the needle, watch the blood seeping,
Look at these cute little things,
Glimmering looks and glamorous sayings,
Look at how brave I am, because I am youth,
Beauty and the only truth,
“Beauty is the only truth,”
Well it is, maybe it isn’t,
It’s simple isn’t it?
Maybe rejection and completion are the only two,
A good gold is a still beauty under patina,
A good gold is a thin still of solid water,
Motionless, we’ll still say pretty things about it,
Let’s smile, let’s kiss and be merry to the eye,
Hide our unfortunate yearning,
Good for all days god I miss you,
And we’re all fucking terrified.

Viberg for the Bureau Belfast black oil tan rough out derby

A decline,
A halfway walk to a rose garden state,
With a quick step,
When I sit down, out of my feet I drop,
Please don’t forget to close the wrought iron gate,
My yellow belly wails tell a tail of a red stepped figure-eight trail,
Sitting down here,
I meet up with my feet,
I see how everything has treated me.
Stretched out across four lanes, the white collar nips at me,
My sides, my quick bones but my slow meat,
They want more,
Well you know me too,
But don’t grab too quick,
Roses are decorated with a thorn thicket.

cpeeke:

"a higher education (above the decline)"
analog collage, 8/2014
cory peeke
leschrysalides:

details| paul harnden| ss’12.