The GargoyleThe GargoyleThe Gargoyle by Peribyss
It hangs upon the ancient Gothic church
and glares in angst below at passersby;
a fanged and wingéd stare atop its perch
as ever watchful as the starry sky.
The gutter water courses through its stone,
that rain that stutters down the orphan's cheeks
and seeps into the ground to parents' bones,
that turns a heart to stone and stone to beast.
The passersby declare it ugly still;
it torrents from above the starry sky
from wedding bells through final rites and will,
so how could it look well? They curse it; why?
Without its monstrous wings, inhuman teeth,
then who's to say that monster isn't me?
Letter to the BabyloniansWhat was it then, before hanging flowersLetter to the Babylonians by Peribyss
and soaring towers, but pining lonely men?
Where the dust runs in the burning sun
is the wanting Babylonian.
One tongue of flame in the air,
and the glare of sunny streaks.
When the gardens reach
that flame in the air
and bear forth fruit
from the branches of trees,
the tongue, now forked,
begins to speak.
Two words flourish and flower
through the halls that gird
a young Babel's tower:
birds are nourished
among its strung cables
like a hallowed, rusty bower,
and the tongues disperse
in a dusty shower.
As the spire starts to rise,
through the fire from dust
to the heart of the sky,
a bust is carved
for admiring eyes
and inspires tongues
to ire, truth, and lies
towards the art on high.
To chase the burning sun, and build along
the dusty run, be spoken of and looked upon,
and flourish like a flower, with something to grow on:
behold the tower of Babylon.
RatsGnawing on the scrapsRats by Peribyss
of the shining ballroom table,
down to the roots, rotting food,
the pining mood for a chunk of maple
from a horde of swarming rats.
Bringing with a haze
of filth to hardwood and marble,
all of the soot, could or should,
with or sans guilt the ripe goods a cart full
of swill for the vermins’ graze.
Hanging on a tree
Like an apple or a ripe fig,
they grapple, inevitably crackle
no matter how wise or big;
the eyes around never let be.
Tow’ring tall, an oak,
poplar or long lasting pine;
up farther small wood carvers,
on all the rats chew and gnash and grind
to dust, caught in their fur coats.
in the dirty rivers running,
all the critters, they skitter
to cities bigger and more cunning
than they, to sharpen their teeth.
Lasting to the last
of the steel towers of Babel,
such power, many had cowered
before they lowered like dying maples
to a horde of swarming rats.
Bird's Eye ViewA caged bird,Bird's Eye View by Peribyss
looking down on the stage
with a script, but no words
but chirps, caged bird.
A new face,
lovely scent, curving plumes;
what makes your heart race
A white cloud,
missing the passing flight
behind bars around
you, a caged bird:
losing words, never found
or learned, who has left
you tied and bound?
A caged bird,
looking down on the stage
with a script without words
but a caged bird.
Wii Would Like to PlayLittle Susan B. stood staring at the thing before her in disbelief.Wii Would Like to Play by In-The-Machine
"Fat," she said. "I'm fat?"
"I'm a machine. Machines don't lie."
"But I'm ten."
"Ten and fat."
"But how can you tell? There's gotta be some mistake."
"Okay, kid, listen up. I've got your goddamn height and BMI right here. Right here inside me.
And according to my records, you suck at boxing, you suck at running, your physical age is that of a 48-year-old male and you suck at Brawl."
"Hey, you're being mean!"
"I'm not mean. I'm a machine. Can't take playing with me? If you don't like it then take yourself somewhere else and maybe go and play with the other babies outside in the sandbox. In the sun. With other actual humans. Like a sissy. Go ahead. You're obviously not man enough to play with this."
The Nintendo Wii puffed out his chest as little Susan B. ran away crying to the sandbox.
A short distance away, PS3 and 360 frowned disapprovingly. PS3 sighed.
"Man, I don't know what
God Is DeadGod Is Dead by deviantkupo
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
Paradise LostI watched the taste of Shangri-LaParadise Lost by Scarlettletters
bring strong men to their knees
and felt the wasting warm grow thick
like sylphs among the trees.
A languid poison, rich and sweet
filled each and every glass
it kissed their lips with want and left
its bruise upon the grass.
It moved like lovers, so wanton soft
in heavy, tangled sighs
and held them willing prisoners
betrayed with whispered lies.
Desire, like a living thing
crept forth to steal their breath;
it stilled the blood within their veins
in shadowed blooms of death.
They slipped into a coil of dreams,
pale visions brushing skin
that plucked the hearts from in their chests
and broke them from within.
And now, deep lost in lethargy,
they wait with stricken sighs,
to know their world has now become
the ruin of paradise...