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First ConfrontationI opened the kitchen door but it was so bright
I immediately shut it and scrambled to my bed.
I quaked as I took notice of the burns on my feet
the bubbling boiling skin of my eyeballs
and every pore of my body trickling pus
and there was this soot beneath my fingernails
looking so wrong, like it was imprinting me with
the brand of my carelessness; I clawed frantically
at the sheets in vain to clean them
and I tried to distract my mind but the fragments
of television faces flickering look as demonic as the day
At my window, I take a tentative peek through the blinds
and am relieved to note the presence of trees obscuring
the burning sky and I take a breath and my tongue
no longer clings to the roof of my mouth and
I donÕt have to blink so frequently and
I donÕt have to scratch so much or ponder
at the tingling sensations engulfing my being.
Sleep encapsulates me and the claws creep back
over my wrists, neck and ankles
holding me tight enough to disallow any budge and
LiberaceIn the dream I was
able to flex and extend
pressing my fingers to the
cracked window, chasing raindrops
to the rainbow.
I dined on the obfuscated sunshine
and it shone through my pores
illuminating the bedroom
so bright, but this time my eyes
I blinked and rubbed them.
20/20 vision restored to me.
Cautious yet confident, I moved past the bed
slid through the open slit
and darted to the sky.
The StokerThose doleful eyes and shy smile
are so misleading.
He is ravenous, firesome.
He flares ruby eternal within his cage.
He stampedes like a bongo drum
trekking the harsh wilderness
coursing through his aorta
unto a rapturous burst.
A cataclysm within his ribcage.
He is born anew each day.
Beautiful boy, your roughness matches mine.
I sense your endless inimitable heat
from two hundred miles away.
Your flames stoked as I stroke your hair
I'm coming to you.
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More