#darius greene

[bennettmarko]

[therosydreams77]

(Darius Greene)

[geisternatur]

Listen/purchase: Feral Beds by Darius Greene

Brush the witch moss from your face and storm his lips. Sew the black clouds to the sleeves of bulging ships. Why teach the crickets how to shoot their bows, they won the War before we were even born. Don’t count the graves by rusted rakes who cross the glooms. The terrible clocks know their hands far more than you. No one wants the crowing of your sad glow, just bring them the soft hiss of the rain and snow. I’d rather hear a lions tree with roaring bees. I’d rather lay in feral beds of sticks and leaves. I’ll cut the eye out of a summer moon, from an oily puddle sick with the rainbow bloom— so you will never starve for color and light when you find yourself drowned at the bottom of the world. You will grow a baby star from out your loving head, swimming deep and deep and deeper down and make your way on. Catch the red sun on a muddy hook of snail. Break the chimes or be impaled on wedding nails. Why teach the creeper vines to strangle what they climb, they won the War long before we were born. Don’t count the waves of silver grass as each one gleams , the ghastly meadows know the way far more than we. No one wants the crowing of your rank or fame, just bring them a wild kiss of the lighting flames. You’d rather hear the ghost owl cry where beetles stir, you’d rather lay in feral beds of wheat and fur You will run from nightmare houses hunting the plains on raving legs and starved for children’s names. I’d rather let them eat your bleeding heart than keep you in a hole so deep you’d never grow one at all.

[humongousfanhologram]

(Darius Greene)

[queeroldweapon]

Lake of Sorrow - Darius Greene

[geisternatur]

Anhören/Kaufen: I've Gone Away von Darius Greene

[geisternatur]

Be kind to crows for ruin swims the land,give them gifts of prose for all the damned.Be kind to those who want you ‘tween their teeth,what hunts you down can get you on your feet.Don’t tell it to the albatross or terns,just sing it like the mockingbirds might burn;for pretty song birds lose their voice in lust,the robin’s blind by their own red bust,they once were sparrows now they’re only dust.Why oh why, we once were fates,we coiled our hands like fervent snakes.our faces burnt and starved by weather -to say we will no moreBe kind to crows for ruin swims the starsgive them gifts of words and songs of heart;be kind to those who share this ruined feast,to those you leave the rot beneath your feet.we all have one hand talking to the ghosts,the other stuck in mud and shit and woe;To kick rock while others bear the roll-a hollow act will lead to hollow soul -what once were mountains now are only stones.

[geisternatur]

Time is just a Place that moves around a bit, Says Gran’ mather who’is oft’ unseen, a green and sullen sheen on the orbs inside her gleams an eidolon of mists and dreams

There’s something rather cryptic in the shape of her shadow and sometimes you can see right through her, behold the mystic auras of her antiquated gowns

her shoes are submarines the color blue.

Behold her lamp like eyes and her spectacles for miles

that cast kaleidoscopic prismic patterns on the tiles.

‘Forward’s just a backwards way to get somewhere you hate’,

says Gran’mather who rarely says a thing when she’s up late.

It’s supernaturalistc in the way that she moves, I swear she seems to float on by

behold the state of rapture in everything alive every time she goes outside.

Behold her flowing gowns and her antiquated vials that cast kaleidoscopic prismic patterns on the tiles, her notable forays in the spirit world are praised but her cats are always wondering why their dinner’s late.

Her crystals all—they shine inside just like you often do.

Her shower smells an awful lot just like folk singers do.

A derpy sort of sofa, a feeble hook for coats, a place where you could sit down and maybe have a cup of tea or read, and sometimes in the kitchen there are cookies of a coconut nature.

Coconut cookies. In the kitchen by the knives.

Time is just a Place that moves around a bit, Says Gran’mather who’is often in an eidelon of mists. Behold her flowing gowns, her antiquated vials, the fractals of kaleidoscopic patterns on the tiles. The rows of flowing beads, her shoes like submarines, her transcedental creeds above her stoic figurines.

It’s ever hypnotizing all the fat clouds smoke

she blows in perfect rings when she tokes

A Thing is just a You when you’re not being quite yourself,

says Gran’mather once sixty shades of elf

Behold her lamp like eyes and her spectacles for miles

that cast kaleidoscopic prismic patterns on the tiles.

her notable forays in the spirit world are praised

but her cats are always wondering why their dinner’s late.