Friday Night Features
Friday Night Features is a weekly feature aimed at displaying
a cross section of the some of the most striking, entertaining
and fantastic literature, photography and artwork from across
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The WorkersTheir happiness was amputated upon waking,
before the first fibres of sunlight trickled across
the cities early morning traffic,
at the bus stop the flesh carved robots wait,
stone faced, briefcase-anchored
with black and grey suits they stare so straight
forming neat mechanical rows
FullnessThere is no full mind touched
By the golden of silence.
There's no fulfillment, in a filled,
Hasty, important, valuable mind.
Does the light shine through
A nerve-thread web,
Or a clever bush,
Weaved, grown by the needed?
Or does it radiate,
When meets a brilliant prism,
The lack of blocking,
The lack, of
If we not show ours
Was made to let go,
Not to absorb, like black hole,
Swallowing the whole,
But letting it reflect,
And shine brighter,
Than ever before.
And does the wind catch
A stone glider?
Or does it lift up,
Who made it lighter?
Who lets the force contr
Rachel's ChoiceI thought it was over,
I wanted nothing,
To do with him.
He hurt me,
He lost me.
What can I do?
I want to know,
It would make it,
Make it all,
I didn't want it to be,
But I needed to know.
And when I did,
When I finally,
I mourned the loss,
Loss of my,
And of my life.
No one understood,
They probably never could,
But the choice was there,
And it was mine,
Mine to make.
To keep it,
Would be the end,
Would never be,
What I'd always hoped.
I'd be stuck to him,
The one who hurt me,
from your lips
like a muted song -
one lone melody
and trill along
your cheekbones -
an inhale of
(my weary fossil love, my sin)
an exhale of thin-fingered
but no note
to carry on
I'm lying on a bed of broken glass
Icy stars are laughing at me
The blood runs but it runs cold
The beating stopped long ago
No bonds hold me yet I stay
Why run when you've nowhere to run to?
They laughed & pointed
I don't know where the others went
You said you'd never leave!
Said you'd stay by me...
Why'd you cry for me if you never meant it?
My persecution, my crucifixion
Tears roll from blind eyes
Hit the lights & end this
Wind whips a bruised frame
Bite the tongue that wants to scream
Where'd you go?!
I need you
by glances taken
in measures of not time
open chambers, concentration,
Us and Themthe left behind all scatter
with visions of limbs torn
in anticipatory blow
and hopes no longer bright.
it's just a snarl
come out of the dark.
it's all the same in the dark;
us or them, all reason scattered.
us and them, all bodies torn.
no triumphant call, no horn to blow
only the fires left bright bright bright.
and from every mouth the eventual snarl.
behind bolted doors they bite and snarl,
sounds ever haunting in hazy dark
clouds of greasy-thick smoke and scatters
of books, clothes, shoes - a doll's dress, torn,
aloft in the updraft of receding blows;
a lost ghost imprinted blind and bright.
so many minds, brightest of bright,
weeks months years wearing at the snarl
condemned for lack of air to dark.
us or them. every plan scattered.
us and them. all faith torn.
holding fast every chance blown.
the silence creeps in quiet, steady blows.
the fires no longer bright.
the voices no longer shouts and snarls.
no solemn mind to hold vigil in the dark.
what vestiges of greatness re
LunulaeThe moon waned anorexic,
Bones flaunted with risque abandon.
Night stretched thin, translucid
In lamplight and wavering haze.
Anaemic rain, cloaked
In slack shimmers of loose cloud
Entrails. Summer, but wind whistled
Frigid through spinal craters
And rattleskin ribs.
The stars went out, purged one by
One. A glimmer, a shudder,
A sickle-cell muse.
Aerophane moon: bird-boned, bird-bred
An exaggeration.She had hummingbird heartbeats as you left,
Dragging her down like
And she wanted nothing more than to write for you,
To romanticize her feelings until her translucent lungs were empty and charred and broken to pieces,
And she felt so very sick to her empty stomach when she saw your reflection in her dreams.
But she was just an
An exaggeration of feelings put into poetry
That she very much believed was nothing but the truth,
Like broken seashells you had brought to her with
Crystalline waves thrashing behind your ears and the thick air crashing into your body, like
The seastorm you had named h
the PromiseThe gallows of the soul---
mysterious as they are intangible,
perceived by the most mortal of means
hold their essence before my very eyes.
Such wickedness, I think,
Obtained form when the devil-hour struck,
brought a presence from those crimson gates,
Inevitable in its demise.
Without the means, without the will---
I fell, but with triumph on my lips,
down the broken arch of heaven.
"Swear," he whispered then, "Swear."
I enter as a passerby,
offering furtive glances to couples,
Strangers who wage war against each other
from within their own consciences.
Canvases waft across the blank corridor
Liaisons of thunderous smoke and crumbling cities
that strobe through a room furnished with diverted eyes.
Each time the parable fades to black,
I find it easy to believe
that something so Dark could regulate existence's most intricate enigmas.
Malnourished worlds are debris in an expanse littered with passionate stares,
Stares that penetrate the transient night to shelter just one.
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