I Am Santo

Fiction, poetry, music and mindscape pictures by creative artist Jason Santo

Bent

Folly is the rakish thought,
The waved saber at entropy,
That growth would permit
A gentle or linear path.
No.
These shades of today
In their antediluvian assertion
Stretch pallid beliefs
Like worn out skin
Across bones aching from experience
And each limping step
Into tomorrow
Quivers with unattended reason,
A dogged journey through dust-stained gales,
Where turns are inevitable,
Wise.
Chic is the unflappable ballast
Of a storm-tested heart
But oceans drown even the most revered,
The dedicated flailing
In undulating agony,
Choked by the churning salt
And white-cresting brutality
That spills from predictability.
Oh they’ll fight,
Those intrepid hands hardened
By rain-slickened rope running
Raw and hot,
Loosed by sideways seas.
But forgiveness lay
In the corner of passivity,
Where strewn survivors litter
Tide-smoothed sands.
The path veers
With passion or placidity,
Each a knuckle in the tangle
Of our striving.
And a sun lurks above
Knowingly
A beacon of straight-line promise
And refracted, bent reality.

 download film Rings

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Ingenue

Chin high, shoulders up
Wishes clarion in eyes
Carrying allure
Like beaded water that traces
Those fertile curves
And exacts the dendrite push,
The endocrine longing
Of instinct’s furious boil.
The sting of new day
Is the lament of yesterday,
Opportunities not taken
As her gaze lowers
And lioness confidence
Envelopes four-walled solitude
Of this starved prairie.
The claim of naïveté
Unhinges
Loosely buttoned-up willpower
Of fear, nervous wonder, awe.
And the wavering now
Thinly reaches between two
As the draw to become one
Gnashes a seductive grin
On the last chance to beg
For fallow hope.
One snap
And the complexion of fresh haste
Flushes with torrid crimson,
A tide swallowed by the moon
Of fierce attraction
And her irrefutable, lithe hunger
That turns this belly skyward
As if there never were opportunity
To escape unscathed.

 download full movie Marito e moglie

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These bones roll the way forgiveness does from the tongues of mothers, effortless, but with care. And the shell of potential clangs like dusty canastas, the hollow of escaped souls lingering the way the sense of a last kiss might. This path winds and welcomes, but the end rarely in sight plays to that whimsical mood of noon in Summer, when the world spills promise light golden sunshine and the air clings like a young lover’s embrace. Eyes strain for the end in sight, and the rattle of pour us lightens frames, air slipping like lust into the hollows of uncertainty. Why not? Just go, slip fingers beneath lace and find the warm wet of opportunity welcome like rapturous balm that covers but never heals. In time every scar fades to dust, every cracked support sheds pressure and purpose. And into the ground these shallow complaints sink, like dill seed searching for stalk, as if somehow the groan will win sunlight and favor. But instead the roots surrender to sharp bitterness, the tart of accumulated experience stinging eyes. Play drums on these here leavings, the deposited shell of romance and rancor. For it’s all that’s left to keep a beat with a heart lost on the road to ruin long ago.

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Published by Jason Santo on | Permalink

My rage is a Hellfire won. It’s prophylactic temerity. Taste this seed where the yawn and ache demand. Be here in the presense of a thousand years of stammering bliss. What the evidence portrays again and again with reckless disregard is that this never mattered; that each and every uttered word, committed action and kindness offered was a snowflake melted on an upturned hand; incidental and insignificant. Enjoy the latest snowfall. Let those lovely shapes disintegrate in your alleged warmth that hides such sanctimonious greed and oh how hate urges to devour your liver, your kidneys, your heart. Oh how these teeth bared grind against each other like knives on the sharpening stone; just die. Go far away into the abyss of memorials, I have nothing left for you, your taste or your anguished fuckery that clicks and clacks like stilettos along the long, empty corridor of promise. What degrading mirages we strived for. Such horrific heat ripples on the forever sands reaching into failed forever. The greatest trick of love is that it meant something at all. Like an eclipse bathing the world in dull amber or a funeral shawl drawn over pulled shut eyelids, everything is transition, a darkness that too will abandon to greater forces of Science or God, some fictions spilled like carelessly poured whisky that burns like your craven blush of affection. The only truth is death, each flickering second a footstep toward the absence of breath, of faith, of love. May it eat me alive and spit out these tinder bones for the fallen’s inferno. Like you did. Like everyone does. At least then the pain will end. The body no longer able to scar. The mind no longer able to remember. The heart, thankfully, no longer able to beat.

***
#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #collaboration #winter #forest #wintersun #sunlight #frozen #newengland #death
(at A Death)

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Covered. Cold. Sin is in season. Disbelief in the evidence. Laid out and direct. Like sunlight on a cloudless day. Blinding. But obscured by the thick frost of derision, that chill of hate for the mirror that can’t crack soon enough. Right there. A blind man could see it and yet, reason vanishes and the tumble wins. The suffering. Embraced. Grunting long into midnight. Sweating hard agitation when softness attempts to lull. The muffled honey voice of care and blessing. There. All around. Unmistakable and then failure. Communications down. Hypnotic livewires skittering across wet avenues begging for mercy. Against these titanic beliefs. These etched-in-stone commandments that won’t crumble, shatter, sift into forgettable sands but instead cast the fiercest, suffocating shadows. Sinking unimaginable black. Sea bottom agonies. Crushing. Hear that. Hear it. A siren wails longingly. But these stones in these pockets are home. Unrisen. Drowned.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #woods #forest #newhanpshire #dovernh #sunset #dusk #winter #goldenlight (at Eulogized)

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A careless fire, this blister-founded lust chews mercilessly through the dogeared days of apart; of longing for one another in the soft glow of morning, before the hard shadows retreat and stretch and the fight of hours quake minds preoccupied with petty things, the digressions, the supposedly important tasks of responsible souls with rents, loans, the odd piece of material nonsense that drags like a lifeless body through unstirred woods, picking up pieces of flim and flam and weighing it all down, an anchor to free living and immovable even with the most ferocious of tugs pull, pull, pulling with the tenacity of Helios and his solar chariot, a deus ex machina of failure to unshackle from the torture rocks crack, crack, cracking but never breaking, uncrumbling, resistant to this blissful ardor arousing senses and grand seas of emotion that flood, capped and crest-waving, the threaded clouds of belonging mixed with the brine of release, the saltsweat stinging on tongues and the tidal wash of such smooth imaginings, like polished stones, a communion bathed in alter wine and somewhere He laughs, the grand joke of distance, of years and miles, such cruelty that the afflicted lose their blessings, cower under parchments consumed with blast furnace passions. Alone they wish for answers, their begging like snowflakes on their tongues, the taste of each appeal as cold and vanished as their constant goodbyes. It’s twin-soul yearning, this filament illuminating, heating, bringing light where darkness governs; a plea like a star fallen from a galaxy. “See us? We are light. Together we are home apart from Your design.” And the dark, weakened by their rapture, surrenders, a light-year devotion blinding the scared and empowering the dreamers, the lovers, us.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #forest #woods #trees #winter #snow #snowstorm #blizzard #noreaster #winterstorm #newengland #newhampshire #dovernh (at New Star)

Published by Jason Santo on | Permalink

A careless fire, this blister-founded lust chews mercilessly through the dogeared days of apart; of longing for one another in the soft glow of morning, before the hard shadows retreat and stretch and the fight of hours quake minds preoccupied with petty things, the digressions, the supposedly important tasks of responsible souls with rents, loans, the odd piece of material nonsense that drags like a lifeless body through unstirred woods, picking up pieces of flim and flam and weighing it all down, an anchor to free living and immovable even with the most ferocious of tugs pull, pull, pulling with the tenacity of Helios and his solar chariot, a deus ex machina of failure to unshackle from the torture rocks crack, crack, cracking but never breaking, uncrumbling, resistant to this blissful ardor arousing senses and grand seas of emotion that flood, capped and crest-waving, the threaded clouds of belonging mixed with the brine of release, the saltsweat stinging on tongues and the tidal wash of such smooth imaginings, like polished stones, a communion bathed in alter wine and somewhere He laughs, the grand joke of distance, of years and miles, such cruelty that the afflicted lose their blessings, cower under parchments consumed with blast furnace passions. Alone they wish for answers, their begging like snowflakes on their tongues, the taste of each appeal as cold and vanished as their constant goodbyes. It’s twin-soul yearning, this filament illuminating, heating, bringing light where darkness governs; a plea like a star fallen from a galaxy. “See us? We are light. Together we are home apart from Your design.” And the dark, weakened by their rapture, surrenders, a light-year devotion blinding the scared and empowering the dreamers, the lovers, us.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #forest #woods #trees #winter #snow #snowstorm #blizzard #noreaster #winterstorm #newengland #newhampshire #dovernh (at New Star)

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If it’s said aloud enough, then maybe it’ll be true. Love you. Love you more. Love you most. The repeated assertion that you’re the sun around which orbit is necessity for being. The light of you breeds possibility, even in this world of reigning confusion, where clouds billow tall in once perfect skies and shed tears of regret to feed the bloom of wisdom; oh it’s pain. It’s the latest tattoo on thinnest skin stretched taut across bone. A foot, a rib, a shoulder blade. It’s the trial of being marked by permanent commitment. And you are the dried ink justice of these most cherished successes. Or are you? Is it you that sits at the front of each choice as is told in the countless fables before night swallows this busy mind? If that were truth, then would each day be entropic origami folded into itself? Would lust swim so deep in these choked veins, threatening to burst with yearning for more, better, different? No one is a moonlit night in the middle of summer over the still waters of a quiet lake. No one is that freedom to plummet, swim, stroke, hold, and breathe in naked surety. And maybe nightswimmer love is impossible, yet each decision played gambles the ever increasing ante of your future. It has to stop. The selflessness hinting at corners and plaintive claims require action, as this fumbling is Coptic spoken to the deaf ears of now. No one is listening but this cracking heart and your young one which looks this way and to the sun for guidance. May each guide you to new discovery safely. May each dispell the long shadows of a failing self.

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#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #dusk #woods #forest #sundown #sunset #trees #plants #daysend #sun #solar #sunflare #nature #child #youth #discovery #silhouette (at Discoverer)

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We shared the close breath, both in the quiet solace of release and the noisy satisfaction of killing hunger. Drinking the courage. Letting our atoms spill in every direction and flailing with wild hearts; there was little to be said in the darkness afterward. Tears glimmer and streak, surmounting Sisyphean hills of cheeks rounded by son smiles. Alone is cruelty and the prison warden is this failure to see through routine, to adhere to the course of greater things. The sun makes a promise and keeps it. The man stumbles at each word, no confidence exuded and no sense of duty maintained. No matter how much truth words appear to hold, the hollow echo of their utterance carries more weight than any alluded sentiment. They are as thick as wind, pliant as rainwater and a disease worth inoculating against; a breeze of uncontainable virus sought, dissected, blamed, fought. A bit of air puffed in the face of ardor. A bit of science slighting the horizon, like dusk in the gray. Crack open consonants and each is a yolkless egg chanceless at birthing anything but the space lying between angry neurons, a symphony of rage given tempo by a lazy conductor who waves his arms like that grizzled tree standing long in the day, shadows carrying more weight than any declaration. Fool heart, how you give. Awaiting to receive. More than seed, but in a vacuum devoid of truth’s sun or water. Wretched destinies unfold. All due to the rusted stain of what’s said and what’s meant, the delicate imbalance of candied candor made sweet with sugarcoating, yet lingeringly bitter with coy deception. So it happened. So it’s ash. Sweep up the print and tidy away memory because it fails every time with applied meaning where meaning was absent; where the clutch and fuck were only that and the rhythm behind the chest was a wind up toy’s synthetic patter, graceless and predictable, but never reliable.

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(at Wound)

Published by Jason Santo on | Permalink

There’s a home in that sky,
Blessed and cotton dream-like
Where ribs aren’t broken
And poking from the deep cuts made
By their gilded edges.
They try to trap these secrets
These small madnesses that lay silent
As dormant volcanoes,
Apparent but ignored.
Small cities of hope spring from within
Looking up with reverence
To an unfurling Heaven,
And futures as improbable
As the permanence of these lands.
Pristine clean white bone
Like the snow and fallen ash
Freeze and choke ideals, hope, love;
It can’t be allows.
Find the strength in the firm grasp,
The taut muscle shaped by each coming year
And battle the break, the snap, the failure
Of these gray cloud minds
That echo the sky only when
Day mutes shadow
And eye unshielded stare straight into tomorrow
Viewing rusting bridges,
Cracked roads,
Fallen buildings
Laid to ruin by unleashed nature.
We are born weeds.
We will continue on.
Thriving in our reach for an elusive sun
That rises forever tomorrow
Yet steals today of joy.
Please fight.
Rest, mend, heal.
Listen, be vigilant and on guard.
Hold sticks as swords
And perry ghost thoughts
Haunting each crooked threat
That eyes and mind allow.
Stay calm and your Vesuvian fate
Can starve while your heart grows
In the enriched soil of knowing
Love, self, good fortune.
And from behind the scarred cage
It will beat stronger
Staring at skies of daring blue,
The color of youthful eyes
Shaded with faith.

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#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #forest #woods #winter #son #boy #child #kid #innocent #wonder #hope #love #snow #ice #gray (at Fight)

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