Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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No more of this. The rush slows. The polished stones of lonely devoid of their stabbing edges, the flow of days pouring ever deepening calm. The roar hushes. Rivulets of expectation eddy and foam. Slower now – never still – but slower; gentler. There’s a song rising up from here. The words have new meaning, […]

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Hell is loneliness for the abandoned. To finally have slept adjacent to another’s tender warmth and basked in the aura of together, what a lie. What a temporary fuck; blissed out senses in override like an old beat up sedan pressed too hard into fourth gear over the baked, naked heat of late Summer macadam. […]

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Strangling the sun, the air in suffocated gasps drawn through struggling lips; what an eclipse tongue plays over heart. In orbit, strangely in control of each hope, each sentiment, the two rarely align and mystery swirls in the spaces between, cracks and crags eager like wet sex for domination by the thick length of desire. […]

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This lust. It’ll kill. This quick sting of cupid’s quill. This longing for the hurry and still. This caving in and shattered will. To argue is to fail, to hold cheap umbrellas against hail and pray to God with a wail, a cry, a hunger and skin drawn pale. Sheet white, sweat glistening, the wonder […]

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The sigh was a measure of indefatigable longing. It stretched as if wind across a desert, as if her lungs were chasms at the edge of the world that bore into Earth’s passion hidden deep from the surface. “Break me,” she instructed. And so he moved over her, his lips and fingers tracing her contours […]

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In the hunger of the land, where sun and soil mixed with water and great chemistry pervaded the answer to larger questions with a kind of indefatigable disdain for logic, he stood. Never one for vague pronouncements to the nature of things – the climbing trees and the scent of the verdant reach, the clawfoot […]

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These vowels, these long shapes passing through rounded lips and coughed in consonant wrapped shells fired from discordant thought, well, they have no target. They’re sprayed into the great above, rippling past cirrus intention and falling short of weightlessness, tumbling down with fury, a rain of shallow indignation and blustery but hollow fervor. Being unkind […]

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