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Deviant for 10 Years
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too low to feel the wind,
face-down in the stream
that speaks with the tongue of my mother,
tells me I could have been anything,
I hear power belongs to the stars,
and I have fallen, lazy;
dead rock in a house of constellations
and a half-man who takes love,
leaves me missing the sound of pounding feet
don't you know!
my carrion worms,
my bloody tribe of Philistines-
I have brought down the sky,
I've sung and the trees danced for me;
men, women, planets
have fed me their hearts,
and I devoured and refilled them
I don't know this new lie, this wilting,
afraid all this stillness
will erase the memory of movement
soon enough,
a mad escape, a great rebellion;
brooding, weaving day-seizing nets-
already you've heard me yelling;
not quite my barbaric yawp,
just a first step without a next,
but soon enough
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
scientific :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
the illusion of company
no you in the real world
and no reality here
no attraction or affection,
default image or preconceived notion
only a comfort in anonymous listening
when I use you to think out loud
you are the droning,
background machine noise
I must wake up to notice
before it lulls me back to dreaming
I'll not picture you, not ever
no face, no detail, no sound
don't tell me what you call your cat,
why you paint
or where you're from
you are perfect now
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
a season of surrender
nothing is the same
and nothing changes-
while you were waiting,
on the wheel, turning,
dreams of summer have withdrawn;
before all leaves have dropped,
your homeland has grown cold,
shifted and opened its eyes,
locked them, warily, on the snow.
see it, then deny it;
say the season does not matter;
everything always returns with more colour.
so, it's ice;
you are fire,
a fury to spit at the speed of time,
a romantic with a belly of stars;
immortality at the end of a snarl.
who has seen a wasteland
suddenly growing flowers...
everyone knows-
madness to venture out in winter,
already, you feel numb.
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 1 3
another night on stilts,
you know I was made to dance
why else would you come...
not for the toys and holiday snaps;
backdrops to hide the spaces,
distract from tittering pauses-
diffuse potential guilt?
I know why you come here,
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 1 0
diffusion, dispersal...not yet
I can't tell doubt from common sense, sometimes
gut and brain get all confused
become sticky alien lovers-
I am two people,
one trying to fathom the other,
both frustrated by the division
and terrified by the diverse potential
in reconnection
the body does not belong to the aware one
I don't even know what I do
I can only feel a solid structure,
struggling to move
every collected cell has complained
of the limitations of holding together,
free when there is no I
just an endless loop of energy
a rippling shiver of pleasure
life that multiplies exponentially
I forget, intentionally;
more guesses to make and
things to do,
places I am needed...
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
everyone, everywhere :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 1 0
Sometime Monday Morning
I saw you,
stillness dancing,
from the other side of the street;
so real, I knew I dreamed.
I wanted to hold you,
but didn't know how;
your back said you didn't either;
your hair smiled-
a grin that knows everything  
and isn't telling.
You turned a corner and I turned, too,
in your wake, in full pursuit, driven;
governed by laws of attraction;
something in fractions,
divided in half.
I saw you,
seeing flowers,
wanting to join them and afraid to touch;
you hovered there and shook.
I pitied their fragility.
I needed to hear you speak but I was afraid to kill the dream and
I knew I'd never get back to sleep, so at the last wall between us,
I stopped,
stood there, watching,
and then woke up.
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
Sepia :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 3 2
your poem
My friend,
whom I have reached for and missed;
you who are so magnetic
the raw elements of my flesh are drawn in;
it seems peace is not metallic.
I have left a note on every leaf
sure to meet the rain,
so they will run for the lee side of your chest
and quake,
and everywhere you walk,
people will stop, gaping,
"How colourful he is!
How he sounds like the breeze!"
Would you be soothed?
If I feed you the roaring, dancing
children of my heart,
will you sing?
Oh, that I could return this delicious, furious stickiness
you have given me and fill you to the
corners of your stoic smile!
Then I could hear ten thousand miles of sky
scream victorious and know,
you are free and at last, alive.
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
as I lay, sleeping :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
unbound, defeated
I'm missing, in the absence of exposure
to the animal that mapped my land;
you sang, beast, and I listened
then you went, less afraid to leave,
bound, with cracked lips
and bruised eyes,
for the slick thighs of technicality,
to bury burning hands
inside the loophole within the dance;
out of the reach of unfiltered light
terrifying, I imagine,
to live unjudged
when you don't believe it...
for torments known by name,
prometheus chose the rock
only you could stop me,
and you did
telling me the wings were wax
I study the sea between us
understood, but stuck
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
an abundance of winter :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 1 2
a lot of nothing
Intimidated by a tetchy sun,
sneaking through a bloody bored sky;
more to-do's than I have years
and I waste a lot of time.
Am I ruminating or getting ready
for the blowout I know will come?
Whichever, I stop doing
when I see what's not been done.
Here you are, five more minutes
going, going...gone.
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
Mature content
So Much Snow In Russia :iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0
there is a question,
dancing, in this
blue-grey seaside nightmare,
writhing in the wet defeat
that's pounded, roaring
from the scissile mass
of heaven's white-hot sulking beast
it grinds, teeth gnashing
the fingers of the great groan of reason,
seduced by a log in the babbling stream~
inexhaustible & incomplete
:iconconcupiscentcubert:concupiscentcubert 0 0


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Artist | Professional | Literature
Current Residence: the deep end
Favourite genre of music: good
Favourite photographer: undecided
Favourite style of art: photograhy (mostly conceptual, b & w, nature), painting, music, poetry/lit
Favourite cartoon character: Samurai Jack/Aku, Space Ghost, The Tick


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bcduncan Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2010  Professional Traditional Artist
Only slightly belated... Thanks for the favourite! :)*
elti Featured By Owner Dec 15, 2009  Professional Traditional Artist
thnks 4 the fav
elti Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2010  Professional Traditional Artist
emm and again :)
Felix-BLACK Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2009  Professional General Artist
Thanks so much for adding Foppish Fiend and Clocks And Coffee to your favorites!
MiriamPerez Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2009  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks for the :+devwatch: =)
MiriamPerez Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2009  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks for the :+fav: :D
Cradlesin Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2009  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks for the fav :D
xxohemgeeitsBRI Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2009
thanks so much for the fave! :D
Juno-Moon Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks so much for the :+fav: on The Old Man and the Sea [link] :thanks:
concupiscentcubert Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2009  Professional Writer
My pleasure! It's a great pic, and I love the Hemingway reference. I'm using it for poetic inspiration :)
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