virtual ink

writing from twitteria

[“This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.” ]

deja raconte: intifada - ii

viperslang:

there is a breathless anarchy to our eyes

centuries fractured like pint-sized railroads

in alabaster walls of a ravaged caravanserai

the salt of 29 years spread their taste of a million

lifetimes lurking between worn-out wrists; the hours

of nightingales denuded inside rivers of…

Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Electrical Storm by @petfurniture

yr sky’s smudged pencil no matter the weather

the most beautiful thing in this life is a voice

             calling out from beneath the rubble

(((yr job is to find yrself beneath the waves)))

my girl scout badges: Advanced Mewling,

Soup,

        Color Theory,

                    Crippling Agoraphobia,

                                       Kitten Admiration,

                         Handwriting,

         ASMR, Shiny Things,

S h a m e  

runs time through her fingers like a skein of silk

a girl who snaps shut like a golden locket 

she is a smooth river stone you hold

in the palm of your hand   I’ll be

the attic crisscrossed with frayed wires

             & you be the spark

that lights me up   a very precise way of trembling

i’ll be the mausoleum    you be the moss

a cool date would be wordlessly watching you

balance all the light in the room on yr forehead 

         baby y’re the only circle of hell

                             with

                              a

                           waiting

                              list

bend me,       break me,       annotate me

still life with dark circles, chiffon, & a tangle of limbs

a mind like a victorian valentine

a mouth like a magnolia blossom floating in a bowl

of cold water     when the live oaks turn  into circus tents  

& the honeysuckle whispers        bad ideas in yr ears 

an evening wrapped in grey cashmere

the dust that collects in the folds

                    of the sitting room curtains

                      a tremor in the chandelier

      o to be noticed without being seen

if i could be anything i would be fictional

nothing more beautiful & tremendous than

                                            the blank page

 

  written by @petfurniture

curated from twitter feed by @deja_raconte

#FeedPoetry is where I curate twitter timelines and arrange tweets into poems. 

viperslang:

Because of you, I don’t wear my claws

out like an open pack of hunting knives.

I have put my battle teeth away 

I don’t have to eat the raw meat of war everyday

& I now know that I need to open the mouth 

of my heart a little wider if I have to shift

my vowels

from hurt to heart 

—  Scherezade Siobhan© 

Creative Commons License  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

deja raconte: You bring out the Naxalite in me

sacreamour:

After Sandra Cisneros’ “You bring out the Mexican in me”

You bring out the Naxalite in me

cartridge betwixt teeth, tongue a

flamethrower, eyes in contagion this

spine;- a ready rail of dynamite in me

The mangled breasts of Santhal in me

The rifle ripped belly of Bengal…

(Source: viperslang)

Noir’s Arc by @KevinDeanGander

my three chord blues progression  

like a hall of mirrors

like apples.

like a snake oil salesman

    coring souls 

    clipping away at my internal wires until

  this incessant ticking goes away

There is no disarmament. 

I am the fucking calvary. 

The sun, crashing like a cymbal for the eyes.

Amber waves emblazoned by a smile.

  She is the robin trapped in my ribcage,

  on a curve  : through razored fonts,

           barbed words, poetic ashes.

knit me a security blanket

                      — using a string of words.

the signpost spins in the wind and

        I’m lost as to which road is right. 

Finger by finger,         eventually

 bid the rope                adieu.

more          specter than spectator

I’m just the guy on the runway

     with two guiding flashlights.

Believe me or       leave me be.

Build with me a world worthy of us

Carving lyrics in my coffin. Crawl inside,

hear their their rattle   and feel

the hiss     in their kiss    lips like demolition. 

Patience like tectonic plates      I beg you,

    burn me

    because —

I am the monster at the end

                            of this book. 

 written by @KevinDeanGander

curated from twitter feed by @deja_raconte

#FeedPoetry is where I curate twitter timelines and arrange tweets into poems. 

Carpe pseudonym by @TinyNietzsche

Void, sweet void

Let’s get dilated.

I got all your glaciers in retreat. 

                when

All I ever wanted was to be covered

in doppelgänger husk.

 

Atlas shirked

My favorite color is on fire.

   occasionally glancing up

from the pain.   abstract your age  

don’t think       verbatim

 

L’abîme, c’est moi. 

  Fuck the gendarmes.

Fold me closer,

     space-time continuum.

A cognitive dissident in the machine.

 

Abyssturbation

Rock you like a subtropical depression.

       I’m okay with continents drifting. 

Where have all the adequate times gone?

 You can barely break the skin

    with a weaponized    blood feud

 

Nihilist, negate thyself. 

You forget your memories first.

Two is also a crowd.    Murder me

daily.     Be my  infinity.

They are all short straws. 

        syntax   for the feint of heart. 

 

Atticus flinched

Show me on the doll where I went wrong?

Here be crayons 

    I was told there would be no meth

You had me at irreparable harm. 

   Act your voltage.

 

fail fatale 

A hazy shard of splinter.

   Like a bridge over indifferent waters,

you’re on your own   abattoir of dreams

   a spectre, wrapped in a phantom,

inside a ghost.   hide your eyes or I will

take them. 

 

I [chernobyl] you 

I am self inflicted.  

    snidely her      whiplash vanishing

       point out your flaws.   You don’t have to

live like a subterfuge.  

the inner terrors  wear schadenfreude      

 

Daguerreotypes 

I set my zeitgeist back an hour

    echo chambers   won a volcano. 

The better angles of our nature.

                  Tangled up in grey. 

                   I [eternal recurrence] you.       

Take me back,  

                    unfounded fears 

 

Godot abides

Exhume me.        the stigma

   of an anachronism  déjà voyeur 

I miss the times when we were silent

  Stay pyrite   kismet    an open hand

gesture     to paint     what I unsee. 

don’t let your abysses grow up

      to be nietzsches

 

 written by @TinyNietzsche 

curated from twitter feed by @deja_raconte

#FeedPoetry is where I curate twitter timelines and arrange tweets into poems. 

( note : he asked me to make them “tiny”, so i did :))

Season IV of #FeedPoetry commences.

Recommend twitter timelines you’d like to see me curate here.

I am @deja_raconte.

Go!

:)

magenta mists and binary shadows by @_Minaret

The numbers I tossed on a piece of paper stare back 

      with quiescent wajd  Your lemmas endure hāl

 on the way-stations of proof.   transfinite patterns in a fractal tree. 

     unearth Ibn-e-Myskuea oeuvre     the outpourings of love.

The terrace levitates me at the helm of space 

          Auroras flickers above: dancing spectre tricked out 

in pastel coloured veils,      earmarked a heretic.

As a line, I’ve got my angles right:

                                           to the vector belong the spoils.

I pull through megrims, and sail via orison mats.

You’re all gimbal wires and no bridge—

            I’m about to be swallowed up by the 24th hour; 

 how your words emit      digital non-ink        

I can envisage that gall and bitterness roiling on your face,

             it makes me want to hold you in my arms 

and punch you in the midriff.   : where I coast in neutral 

without the soul.

this seeming film of cobwebs floating in calm clear night. 

 Convince the world you don’t exist but only your words.   

Chase me up and down the alphabet, I am the dance 

of numbers into infinity and you haven’t come up with 

                                        the definition yet.    

                                        To my questing eyes,      

                                        You’re on the verge of….

 written by @_Minaret

curated from twitter feed by @deja_raconte

#FeedPoetry is where I curate twitter timelines and arrange tweets into poems. 

Disco skull by @DogMia78 

Popsicle people branded before birth,

    clutching your empty custody

                           in the mouth of my fist.    

 nanoseconds when every single face I see today shifts

   into a hissing ghost.   full of stones 

Cut all your wires and witness the world

        through another box  The blinking dataset on

the sky signals                        that the end is near.

                     there isn’t enough roof. 

This portal of entry suggests a cosmic wound

                      too deep to decipher.

My words bounce against the curvature

                   of your unconcerned spine      

I dine on colours,

                      I drink of sounds,

                                              I fall in cycles.           

It’s all about loving those who burn more

                                              than those who shine     .

Amalgamates take time         find a shelter in a teardrop

I saw our cars collide on the intersection of your palm lines

This deletable page break

                                between paranoia and a dream.

ǝʌıʇɔǝdsɹǝd

   I need you to be my irreversible agonist

   Notice period is a purgatory 

I have been counterfeit for ages but tonight

   you noticed me, a lost prophet that bleeds with conviction

void memory slot for sale now    pieces of skin with heart

     and a pulse. 

    Unfuck the world

 

 written by @DogMia78

curated from twitter feed by @deja_raconte

#FeedPoetry is where I curate twitter timelines and arrange tweets into poems. 

Dialoghost : ((doused & unashamed))

dialoghost:

certain evenings
(chest-deep in sliced bananas
& segments of unfinished sunlight)
arrest the whirling marble of heart’s mouth
& eye’s mind

divested of glimpse

fiercely unlacing a primal soil, folded & pressed
into your palm like a snow laden bough of bluebells
we spear like talismans…