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More from ~Quemaqua

Featured in Groups:

group avatar #DD-Catalogue
The Home of Daily Deviations group avatar #Love-Literature
For The Love Of Literature! group avatar #Word-Smiths
 group avatar #transliterations
from one world to another

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September 22, 2011
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blue sluice

by ~Quemaqua

cast off care like blue
snowfields into rigid water,
and wash with mud the thrust
of earth, our skin soft as salt mines.
built you are
of bitch and buttercream,
of soured elements in the blue
dot of a pin-prick spotlight
and windowed skull.

we can watch the fire fade
into a black rat canvas,
into blue gates that tumble up
and loose finger grooves,
smear eyes across your face like warpaint,
faster and faster,
momentum in the race to nowhere.

and once done, we turn,
we go aground and push
up the lines of blue backs
orbiting the moons of that
rising ass, around corners,
a shattered life in starshine,
the masks
beneath the dream
of every glance.
:iconquemaqua:
Based loosely upon the following picture, as per #transliterations prompt 9: [link]

This may not be erotic to anyone but me. Hard to say. I love the picture and it brought out a lot of things deep, beautiful, and bad.
:icon:
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Daily Deviation

Given 2011-11-15
blue sluice by *Quemaqua suggester writes: Blue Slice has an understated flavor and portrays a relationship in an intricate way. ( Suggested by =angelStained and Featured by ^Beccalicious )
love 0 0 joy 0 0 wow 1 1 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Feb 2, 2012
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DLD (Daily Literature Deviations) in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.

Keep writing and keep creating.

--
Come check us out at =DailyLitDeviations! We look forward to hearing from you!

We are dedicated to promoting the work of poets, storytellers, lyricists, article writers, and anyone else who works with poetry or prose right here on deviantART.
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:iconquemaqua:
~Quemaqua Feb 3, 2012  Professional Writer
Thank you much! I continue too appreciate the DLD support. You guys are awesome!

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.
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:icondailylitdeviations:
=DailyLitDeviations Feb 10, 2012
You are quite welcome! :hug:

--
Come check us out at =DailyLitDeviations! We look forward to hearing from you!

We are dedicated to promoting the work of poets, storytellers, lyricists, article writers, and anyone else who works with poetry or prose right here on deviantART.
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:icondavidpoet30:
~Davidpoet30 Nov 16, 2011
i really love this its an awesome piece
Reply
:iconquemaqua:
~Quemaqua Nov 16, 2011  Professional Writer
Thanks so much, mate. I appreciate that.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.
Reply
:icondavidpoet30:
~Davidpoet30 Nov 17, 2011
no problem i really loved it and i hope you check out mine and you are like emily dickison in your writing keep it up and may i read this at an open mic as long as i credit the author so of course i will need your real name email to me on here please
Reply
:iconquemaqua:
~Quemaqua Nov 18, 2011  Professional Writer
My name's no secret around here, I'm Michael J. Riser. You're more than welcome to read the piece if people know who wrote it, and if you direct them on to my website ([link]), so much the better!

Good luck with your writing.

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.
Reply
:icondavidpoet30:
~Davidpoet30 Nov 18, 2011
thanks michael and i will be sure to read it tonight at an open mic i am attending
Reply
:iconarchelyxs:
~archelyxs Nov 15, 2011
Congrats on the DD, love! :heart:
Reply
:iconquemaqua:
~Quemaqua Nov 15, 2011  Professional Writer
Thank you. =)

--
www.theflyingmonkeyapparatus.com - that place, where that one guy does stuff.
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:icon:
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sunlit philosophy flowers sprout from dead
men. the women don't
weep.
the hollow head of Horus shouts (
with joyful mouth
) vaults of twisted images
in heads salt-spun.

and my love holds a candle
up to the sun, crying
out Look, this is yesterday, the beautiful
thing,
but I say
It's sandwiched between evils,
crushed and flush with it
Self gone
 broken
between bits of bitter chuff
once sweet
salvation.

we can do no
better, not any
better than this thing where the earth
goes dark, back to the bush and the nipple,
the lush and silent song
we suck as we fill ourselves
with grain and sin.
she loves us
and in love
feeds us plots
whersunlit philosophy by ~Quemaqua
bringing out no Mona, no
Mary, just the memory of the dark
hammering on the door
to get in, saying Come on man,
the sun's almost up and I'm
dying out here.

thump
tha-thump, now the knocking
is a beating in my chest that keeps on
going though I'm yelling
at it to stop, but it goes on anyway
pleasing itself with things, the way
the necks of kings do on
chopping blocks, reaching down into
that heart-hell irregularity,
thump tha-
thump

shit, we expect too much.
it's just a wad of gristle too
long out, too hard and full of dirt
so even the dogs won't chew it,
a kickball on beach sand,
going along from
foot to foot, wet and sinking
past bringing out by ~Quemaqua
Dog Training Her head lowers, neck rigid, pointed toward the dark hole in the earth. There she smells the foul breezes that blow from the corners beneath the world we walk. They're alive in the air, sentient things that move and settle into the spaces where so few find pleasure. She hears the footsteps of animals in them. She feels their scents like playthings thick enough to take into the mouth. She closes her eyes as she inches forward, nose tunneling between the bright colors of fallen leaves. She strains toward the dark.

"That's enough," I tell her, and with a glance of reticence she pushes up and walks away.

I suppose she might believe me, or underDog Training by ~Quemaqua
Hell It was somewhere around 3 in the morning, just under the 30 overpass heading south, the kind of crossing of time and place where you evaporate from the world, winding your way into the recesses of your mind that have projected themselves beneath the road. You just stare and drive and watch the headlights flash across all the yellow bits on the asphalt without ever seeing any of them. They go past like sleeping fireflies, as uninterested in you as you are in them.

Your mind needs these intervals. There are things to be moved, sorted, and misplaced. Meanings to be discerned. Tender spaces to be wounded.

I was asleep inside myself as the overpHell by ~Quemaqua
blood, stairs, nine wands, one burning bleed red and think green,
for life's wounds turn sleep's themes
to cobblestones piled in high
Whitechapel walls where dreams
(born and broken into rows)
find each other; maybe murder; die.

two corpses on a dirty shore.
one speaks in tongues, one speaks no more.
a pregnant belly blackens suns,
dreamers dream like loaded guns.

the furnace glows and glitters gold
as time declares the whore is sold
to a man who casts looks right and left
like dice. regret leaves him bereft.

we awaited nights for dreams of sand
where moonglow circuits fluttered and
stuck like cups in the mouths of dogs
and cats, and sleep was in the fog

that layblood, stairs, nine wands, one burning by ~Quemaqua
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