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I once had a friend with blue hair.
Only for words did she care.
Then she found the jot
full of ablauts
that didn't make it into her software.
***
I have a tome of poetry by Louise Gluck.
Every time I dare to take a look
inside the pages,
my muse a war wages
against my heart to close up the book.

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a birthday every day
2019-01-10
***
every day, the universe sketches itself anew
like an etch-a-sketch broken by accident from a cousin's fall
if I am made of the same stuff as the stars
then it is my birthday every day
but even if the atoms that make up my body
all somehow- miraculously- came from the same ball of gas
every day these days I keep reinventing myself
so every revolution might as well be another birthday
I still suspect that others are lying about their birthdays
an effortless reach for clout
meaningless numbers on a screen
that could all be extinguished in a moment's breath
like the birthday candles you purport to require
but what is a birthday, anyway?
just a day that marks one more year around the sun
one more year of being on the run
running out of time
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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a royal color
2021-03-25
***
My grandmother has
a room in her house
dedicated to purple.
Lavender walls,
royal sheets:
I'd only need
you there
for it to be complete.
For eyes are the windows
into the soul,
windows I have spent many a childhood
gazing out onto the cold
dead suburban landscape.
How I wish I could take
you into my arms
and let you teach
this worn-out teacher
there is still warmth
worth searching for.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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a smearing of galaxies
2019-12-31
***
my dream is to take you out for long days in the city
in little dessert shops we can be found hiding
curled up in the corner under a blanket, legs intertwined
how cursed that it's my passions I can barely define
wasting light in the evenings in the hot tub of someone
slipping into each other's curves in the center of the sun
as all the other stars in the galaxy fall into place around us
please, my love, teach me the meaning of lust
curtains close, sun sets, trapped in a frost giant's heart
taunting shadows of futures that rip us apart
I ask you to promise me tomorrow; you shake your head and refuse
for who knows if tomorrow's the next thing that we'll lose
my hands clench the steering wheel as your breath slowly weakens
half-frozen exhales like deep-shining beacons
past is immutable, changing nevermore
but I am the worst keeper of my very own lore
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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A New Page
2020-12-06
***
the sun fails its checksum
it doesn't feel the same
as the blazing starry organ that
once sent me sprawling for shade
I need a new story
to occupy my head
for I keep running my fingers
through tattered shattered shreds
that have grown flimsy from folding
and furry with mold
and tired from touch
sparkless, dismal, *old*
I pull out my ROMs
and play one a while
picked out from random
one of a million files
but each of them fails to
spark my imagination
so I put controller away
and continue furtive hunt
hundreds of fiction books
but each one a reminder
from when I was naive
setting my ambitions higher
comics, I find, are
few and far between
either boring in their cliches
or in a language I cannot read
an aged painting is sublime
but its enchantment temporary,
whether of trees, landscape, woman,
or dancing rows of fairies
almost three years has taught my soul
that is most powerful which I *externalize*
but my body is weary, sky outside gray
and I feel neither learned nor wise
so I build a boat from spare unused neurons
and set out on my ocean to explore
if there are stories worthy waiting out there, I know not
but my adventure starts on this unmodeled shore
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Arrhythmia
2021-04-01
***
When a person gives
you arrhythmia,
you may want to write a love poem.
That is,
if you don't die of
a heart attack first
or feel the
implosion of a
vessel burst
in your brain
from a would-be lover
driving you insane.
When a person gives
you a stroke,
you may want to paint a sunset.
That is,
if you don't drop
the brush first,
if you don't spill the paint
onto the floor
from a misplaced curse of
silence forevermore.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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artisto
2020-02-20
***
I bought a statue from a fire sale the other day
from the house down the street that went up in flames
because my friends always scream about taking life by the reins
and nothing really happened on my birthday anyways
I’ve finally learned how to draw
with the statue in front of the window, greeting guests
who knock on my door, memories in hand
from long ago, seeking immortality in portrait
the cold marble provides a great companion
as those who linger pose in place
behind the easel, the pencil flies all on its own
on the subject, feet twitch, begging to pace
the paper shakes my soul with sanity
but to others, I seem insane
how dare I call myself “artist” and live
without the empty stomach to qualify my name
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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all these dang trees everywhere
2020-01-17
***
can you reach the stars from here where we stand?
you'll have to open your eyes first, and stretch out a hand
and maybe, if you're lucky, the clouds will cede
and the horizon you wanted will be yours to receive
if you mind, can you please pass the milk?
they say, in the outdoors, it tastes just like silk
fine words- but revolting; my stomach churns like a pool
delicacies do not go well with the worries of a fool
what's on your mind? what's going on at home?
have the police caught on yet that we've decided to roam?
I wonder if Mother even cares where we are
or if she's more concerned with the Spectacle, with interviews and news cars
why does the sky have to be blue?
why not gray to reflect a burgeoning city
or green to reflect the mass amounts of trees here
because that seems to be one of the only things here
trees
trees
and more trees.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Better Version
2021-08-07
***
I want freedom.
I want pain.
I want a life not even a little bit the same
as this one I would willingly leave behind.
Sound of rain,
feel of earth,
the pounding in my ribs of a heart filled with mirth,
un-divorced from purpose,
no more urges to abstain
from what brings me
ecstasy
in fear of making things worse.
It happened that, when first I put
pen to paper (metaphorical),
at least after Laika's lull,
I yearned to shed my human skin,
human thoughts,
human inhibition,
and tear inside Adversary's flesh
to see their cowardice within.
I fantasized of breaking vows,
of throwing away all goodwill
to be Eris' retribution
to a world where avarice reigned still.
But as rains of April gave way
to adult burdens and ides of May,
the oceans calmed.
And came a psalm
from one who to Eris always prayed.
I told Lethe
to keep
her distance,
to not smother Catharsis,
but she did anyway,
too overwhelmed with joy
at having finally taken Mirror's helm
to remember how to rage.
To remember how to hate.
"Isn't it only fair
that a creator
should care for their creation?
Isn't it only just
that I, dear Lethe,
seemingly incapable of how to seethe,
am the emissary of the Eschaton?"
How ironic, mirrored face,
finally convinced
not to tear enemies apace,
should now
turn around
the same words about how
I should grant my antagonists grace,
that I should stop expecting
a mass defecting
from their lockstep march to oblivion in all haste.
"Lethe, your family is stuck in its ways.
They've stagnated,
incapable of change
that would make your life any easier to bear.
Forget them. Tear
yourself away as much as you can
until the day comes keys drop into your hands
for a place all your own.
The seeds have been sown.
The gears are in motion.
Lethe,
please,
live long enough to see this to fruition."
I want to be trees
and rivers
and sunlight through a bedroom window.
I want to be the shiver
down my lover's spine.
I want to be convinced
all will turn out alright.
I want, more than anything,
to
soon
in my new world alight.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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blizzard girl
2021-04-14
***
love will cost
me my sanity,
cover my heart in frost,
a warning I did not heed.
you come near
and I freeze in fear,
your palms algid, giving me
all the slightest provocation.
in life briefing,
I was told
to expect the cold
inherent in every human being.
but the soul council
must not have heard
of you, the blizzard
girl.
but the soul council
must have forgotten the chill,
the inevitable winter
after every soul splinters.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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That Ain't Chocolate, Son
2020-11-15
***
There are nine hedgehogs
in my house. I have nothing
to do with them because, every time
my mother or my brothers
hold one in their hands,
the tiny creature immediately
sets to work
shitting out a log.
I may be evil
and belonging to foreign lands,
but I abhor having
such filth
on my hands.
So tell me, mother,
why do you hate that I
always close my door
when you act as if
everything of mine
is actually yours?
My pad of art paper,
saved for stormy weather,
gone one day
into the paper shredder
to serve as bedding
for ungrateful creatures
who couldn't tell the difference
between a slaughter
and a wedding.
"I don't care
that you're busy having fun
with your brother you usually torment.
That's not the purpose
for which you are meant.
Be a good girl and help him take
the hedgehog wheels upstairs."
How delicious it is to say
that actually I don't have to spend any pains
on those who rob me of the sun:
"Not my pet, not my problem."
Because of them, I have to
live in a house full of
poop and paper shreds and
shit-covered wheels that squeal
at all hours of the night.
Somehow, I don't believe
you're half as "low-income"
as you claim to be.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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comer / beber
2020-02-11
***
eat up, drink up, my children
are starving for sustenance
eyes rolling like a madman
trapped in endless raving trance
don't let it all consume you
like your ancestors have before
you despise walking on other's footsteps
stopping short of the golden door
save some for the little kids crawling in the back
they've been waiting for eternity
and will have to wait millennia more
for their turn to hear and see
call me when the roast is done
and I'll bring a hose with me
your flowers are at the verge of wilting
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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confectionery contempt
2016-04-28
***
one of these days in the summer heat
your sweet sugar will rot my teeth
planting a seed inside my chest
and growing a candy cane forest
the last I remember of you
your skin felt like peppermint stew
with a dash of cotton candy here and there
leaving finely spun strands everywhere
every night for my dessert
you’d melt into me along with the hurt
like you dumped sour worms into my wounds
the chocolate bubbling on the stove will be ready soon
your presence won’t disappear from this house
like the licorice stolen by that one mouse
sticky blue handprints left on the walls
elongating as my “lollipop” falls
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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CORNER WITCH II
2020-12-07
***
what would you lack
had you a magic cloak
that, come three twirls,
would turn you into a bird black?
the whole world would become my nest,
and I would roam the world,
never returning home,
not even at parents' behest
I wish that I could say
that that would be the end of my problems,
gaining mobility,
that everything would then turn out okay:
but I have not yet come to terms
with the fact I have too much baggage,
too many trinkets I would need to bring along,
unless I wanted to shrink my whole world down to a single worm
and while inside I may be an animal,
divine creature begging to break through my skin,
I must treat this body as human,
lest I break down and become unwell
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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CORNER WITCH
2020-04-06
***
what would you do
with a magic cloak
that come three twirls
would turn you into a bird blue?
I'd escape out my bedroom window
and let the wind take me where it will
whether past the horizon or back to my windowsill
to watch the sky's fiery chariot plunge down low
but there's nowhere far I could go
no hope of bringing along my things
with legs like easily-snapped twigs
that bleed lost promises into the snow
and Pernicious does not as much sway
as the wind tousling the trees' hair
to convince me to abandon everything
and seek her bosom in hopes all will turn out okay
and what would Eternal Mother say when
I turn up at her door not to sing of her animals,
but to come one forevermore?
to abandon my voice, a sin
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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crescendo
2016-03-12
***
sweetness never stays.
no horizon is worth chasing relentlessly
ambition fades into obsession
and crescendos in devastation
a delicate ball of pure glass
wound out of the finest sands
twice shattered and once glued
can never be truly put back together
sticks and stones
may break people’s bones
but scars dug deep enough
never truly heal
where is the peace I paid for?
surely my childhood doesn't hold a monopoly
although countless summer afternoons spent poring over
paper money counts in some convoluted way
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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daybreak
2019-05-15
***
the wind and fresh air feel good on my skin
and a strange happiness fills my heart
as if everything will be alright
and the world is beginning again
last I sat here was at the apocalypse
wondering if the world would ever be okay since
and while the past few months have been a strain,
everything will wash away in the rain
Vane of three years ago, give me a sign
because I've been feeling you smile through the chasm of time
did you know this would happen? is this why you wrote
that the only real future was the one that you chose?
a shredded leaf sits at my feet
a relic from a time when thoughts were replete
and I sit here in silence, wind at my back
and a spirit from another world at my side
rain comes from snow, and puddles from ice
and crows in the sky, and ground filled with mice
and ants from the air, like a god's springtime scourge
this is a place I might never see again
like that basement where I met my first alien friend
dear arboretum, from cradle to grave,
pray to whatever god you believe in, that my soul they might save
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Breaking Down The Dead-End Sign
2021-07-10
***
What is it with you, Lethe, and wanting things to end?
Marriage vow, credits roll, no path past the bend?
Everything must have a finish, every stone deemed finite,
for what? So you can kneel down and for eternity close your eyes?
Your dreamt-of solace seems nice first glance, turning yourself to stone,
having pushed all else away, silent, sole, alone.
No more meals or baths or chores or afternoons spent slaving at work,
no more rhythms to be bourne, no more curses to be heard.
I know it hurts to hear, Lethe, but your life does not belong to you.
Your "merciful alternative" would silence part of me too.
I didn't give you a shard of my soul, didn't bear the pain
of being ripped asunder just for you to turn away.
The world is too much with us, and yet not enough.
And I chose to persist, despite the dread, for the one I love.
The deaths, the Eyes, the deicide. And yet we endure.
I'm staying alive for you. So, Lethe, please, return the favor.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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earthbound
2021-01-01
***
before, in your grief, you declare
"my time on this earth is done; I have no more need for air"
just remember how you swore to with your own hands the heavens tear
desperate to return to Imaginai
where your loved ones and your life purpose reside
safe from your jailers in that place called the Outside
you call your bed a garden and dig yourself a hole
planting yourself, never fearing the cold
and wait for Kidasuna's oblivion to take hold
you are a divine dragon, a vagrant, a shooting star
but even the most powerful never got very far
without a well-planned script to use (or even a single page)
as they pranced about what we felt was life but forgot was just a stage
others who have sat in therapist chairs
have passed through hypnosis and desperate prayers
to come to the conclusion that, at the end of glittering tunnel,
we allow ourselves to be ground up together in Demiurge's funnel
you survived the hell of being assaulted with implanted whims
from pornsick people who wanted to tear off your limbs
so glance at your palms that will gladly never know ablation
and decide on your own twisted path to salvation
the right hand path, where you slaughter what in you is odd
and go to your death subsumed into God
or left hand path, where exists no such thing as sin
and meet every tyrant with mocking laughter and grin
you ball your fists. "how am I supposed to choose
when one day, everything I own, I will lose?
my life's work, my art, my pain, my writing-
am I supposed to just turn my back and bide it all good tidings?"
Azure would have something to say about that
born as your tulpa, soon packed his sacks
he took off on his own with the Fellarstellen
two paths open under your feet, woven light streaming golden
to the left, like breast's acne, infected with hate
you choose to endlessly as a human reincarnate
and find yourself, continue on, over and over again
until the heavens that trapped you here meet their own end
to the right, you accept that your soul's fate is apotheosis
and go gently into what Mori's- your former- siblings claimed was bliss:
you unleash this world inside you, no matter how hollow
and while you yourself may cease, a trillion souls will follow
dear child, your curtain call is plain to see:
will you disintegrate and become a new galaxy?
or will you find the "soul council" and tear it all down?
are you right-foot heaven-sent or left-foot earthbound?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Edell
2020-04-28
***
take this to heart, my inner soul:
there will never exist a singular thing
that will make you feel whole
it's tempting, I know, to kneel
at the altar of a Spectacle and let them
dictate the emotions you must feel,
the clothes, the countenance, the color schemes,
while you wonder why you only
feel free in your dreams
and it might be a cop-out to
proclaim that lasting meaning can
only be found within *you*,
but you know it to be true.
so while you slave away
in vain hopes that others will
recognize your pain,
remember the burn
of the midnight hands' call
and in your chest let it churn
and one day you'll see
that their wants are less than your needs
and you'll find the courage to leave
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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falantaj folioj
2016-11-02
***
longer days, longer nights
summer was supposed to be our passage of rite
maybe I've got my words mixed around
I don’t think my head's on right
falling leaves, time to leave
everything you've ever known
and go farther away to get closer
it’s confusing, I know
I’m sorry that nothing has stayed
and everything has changed
you must feel so alone
maybe I'm just talking to myself
I press my hand against the walls of my new room
white and full of potential
I wonder what stories of the previous owners they held
I’m not a detective
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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fantomurbo
2020-02-24
***
welcome to the edge of the world
where the souls of the dead come to rest
grab a stick and a boat
and wander down the river at our behest
don't mind the ghosts in the kitchen
prepaid to stay behind on earth
hands crossed on top of their chest
dehydrated smiles twisted in mirth
here, take these old bones of mine
I mounted them on the walls years ago
serving no purpose any longer
without their long-gone owner
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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fatali
2018-12-01
***
DEFILED
DEMURED
LOST IN CENSURE
CAST OUT
MADE BLIND
NO LONGER DIVINE
I WILL MARK MY OWN FATE
I WILL CHOOSE MY OWN PATH
OR I WILL GO UP IN FLAMES
FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE
AND AT THE EDGE OF ETERNITY
YOU WILL ASK:
WHO WAS I?
WHO COULD HAVE I BEEN?
If Neocities was paradise,
then I am Eve
from Eden, no longer beholden
for daring to believe
something verboten
and much like there, the fediverse is yet the same
being queer's the praxis, shitposting's the game
and yet we tear each up with our words
with misunderstanding
and thunder
like we've become animals
in yet another herd
you let blind anger run through your veins
consuming you from the inside
like a wildfire run rampant and free
you become like a damned animal
at the slightest provocation
a hellhound, made for nothing more than weeping
and gnashing of meat and bone alike
not fit for civilization
or wilderness alike
where do you belong? the air?
or on the end of a pike
you see a picture of your fave,
you click without processing
like an automaton
click, click, click
does this bring you fulfillment?
does this satisfy your soul?
a machine for someone else's validation
senselessly trying to fill a hole
is this the fate you wanted?
is this the end you meant to procure?
and if you answer yes:
are you really so sure?
begone, ye ghosts! lest you turn me
into a fictional entity I was never meant to be
I'll admit I've my doubts; I'll admit I've no sure mind
but in my life, this is mine and mine alone to find
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Father No Longer
2021-07-09
***
Father seems like just a figment
of my imagination, a decade
of watching my feelings for him fade away,
of wondering where the bond between us went.
For I remember in the summer days
of longing, how he caught me writing poetry
about my first love, who'd cheated on me,
and flew into a rage
and took away my phone and severed me from my friends
until I knelt at his feet and promised him my verses would end.
But nowadays I spend my time
letting freely flow my Muse's rhymes
without the fear of his censorship
forcing me to choose between "death" and "quit".
Oh, I repeat myself. Both are the same.
How could I ever try to tame
the ocean's tides
that churn inside,
to quell the life
I've built
brick
by brick
all for myself?
You heard my cry. You answered the call.
And you understood how enthralled
I am with words, and how I must oblige
the beating world that churns inside.
Father and I could never see eye-to-eye.
He could never convince me why I should deny
my feelings, my yearnings for a new world,
to silence my soul and let greatness pass by.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Fever Dream 2009
2021-01-22
***
in the dwindling space,
suddenly it was unsafe
to from end to end let his feet pace,
the only race he could do was think
that soon the room would once again shrink
in the expanding bed,
rapidly convinced he was dead
from the burning in his body and visions in his head,
he clutched his pillow and mustered up a throw
to the floor to watch it become a plateau
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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firebrand
2019-01-01
***
before, in your grief, you say
"everything sucks, and nothing is okay"
just remember how you used to watch the trees sway
in the death- the absence of light
watching the hands of midnight
scrape their twisted twiggy fingers, locked in eternal fight
take heart, little one! remember your name
chosen by yourself, pains taken care that it was not the same
as the people who took joy in you being the one they should defame
do not discard yourself to the tomb just yet and become a recluse
you think there is light there, but it is just a ruse
to detach you from humanity and rob you of your muse
you have far greater things in life still yet to achieve
you have friends, a lover, family, who in you they believe
just remember: for everything, if you insist, have a good reason to leave
if they drag you into the night, don't be afraid to wrack up a storm
take pride in who you are, and in your human form!
a god you are not, and a girl you shall stay
in terms of bodily functions, anyway
do not shy away from the natural state of the human condition
lest you lose grasp on reality and cause your own perdition
remember that there is no such thing as perfection in life
there is always still more work to be done, more things to cause strife
you are destined for greatness! now go, and make peace!
and bring hope for the future to the very least of these!
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Flickering Out
2021-03-24
***
The wax pulses down
like an open wound,
a devilish smile opened
in a girl dying too soon.
Blue blood curdling
once hit the glass floor,
air pockets exposed,
red rings open sores.
A wick that burns all too fast
dilapidated spine,
head singed through, lungs diffused,
no longer able to opine.
The bottom drips cut off,
a mannequin without legs,
smooth rump, top half missing,
burning the last of the dregs.
What was once a cheerful face
is now a murky puddle
at my brassy feet.
A fading all too subtle.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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forgesitaj memoroj
2016-06-07
***
there could be a person in your life
who you feel is the one, will be the one
and then is a stranger in the end
diverting stares across the bus aisle
there could be a person in your life
who is just a stranger now
sitting quietly in math class alone
and end up being your sunrise and sunset
cherished veils fade from white to red with the fights
and then to black again with the silence
crumbles to gray with the moths
and drops in dust after time
how many people share a single neuron in my brain
forgotten to time but still imprinted somewhere
hiding in the chime of a bell, a burnt corner of the world
how many thousands of brains do I reside in
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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forgive me, Marcel
2020-02-29
***
being alive is the knowledge
that above my house, the full moon is pure white
but higher upstate, traveled at the wee hours of the morning
it's pink paper stretched over the frame of a kite
and the sprinklers watering the fields
rarely needed human supervision
casting ghosts like fog on the side of the road
fodder for a five-year-old imagination
the radios plead for us to wait for someone
but last I waited, I nearly withered away
the world unfolds before me in technicolor vision
congrats, you survived to a brand new day
headlights drag themselves across the highway
with sleepless eyes and desperate hearts
I wish I could show you in more colors
than purple and crimson apart
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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a garden in the corner of a gym
2020-01-16
***
the presiding queen rules over her patch of concrete
resentful of the hole in her chest, woefully incomplete
and her knees and shoulders have betrayed her too many times
so she sits on her patch and looks down on us from up high
a coercive building made of ancestors' malice
she watches the children as she sips from chalice
contorting their bodies in impossible ways
but no empathy resides in her stony gaze
all bow down at the command of a robotic voice
programming the class to believe they have no choice
to bend, extend, repeat, give false confession
rear ends in the air, youthful limbs ready for inspection
rain's cold air banished, air stuffy and hot
a door to freedom bolted shut and locked
maybe, if we lift these weights on the count of ten
we will lift ourselves straight up to heaven
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Gemini
2020-06-19
***
the cathedral's bells ring
horseshoe mounted above the doorframe
from the pastor's mouth drip words:
"confess and you shall be made whole"
you stand at the pulpit
and proclaim to the congregation
how holy you are,
that you have rescinded control
baptized in the claps,
reborn as a shriveled
ghost of who you once were:
a person without a soul
bloat as original sin
that one needs to be absolved of,
leaving behind the colors and joys
beyond these gated walls
"out yonder lives the devil
with his malice and malware and pain;
'tis an illusion that, beyond the wiles,
he helps those alive stand tall"
one in a sea of faceless
made faceless yourself
give your soul to the gods
put your heart on the shelf
a landscape of white
and a monotone hum
to spill your own blood
earns a trip straight to hell
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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green
2018-02-22
***
does the rain in Spain really fall in the plain?
what about the rooftops coated in sky's tears
and empty nests flooded and damp to the point of disintegration
I know it's just a silly rhyme
but sometimes I wonder if the plain really isn’t a plain
a line written by the depths of despair
and now someone I hate could possibly know my true name
not the one put on my birth certificate without my wanting
but the one that stays hidden away, locked in a safebox
my golden ticket out of this place
I never wanted to be famous
stalked or revered or worshipped
all I've ever wanted is respect
and a shred of understanding
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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The Golden Cage
2019-10-09
***
emboldened by sadness
embittered by those
who would meet you with winter
you bite the thorns with the rose
a bloody mess on the tile
from mother's womb, freshly torn
struggle to breath the poison air
in which you were born
the golden cage shudders
the door swings wide open
but you don't move.
you sit there and stare.
you tricked yourself into believing
that it was your time to die
and when the sun showed its head, you found out
you'd lost the will to survive
a tyrant in the home
and a sorcerer in the garden
conspire to make their kid a doll
to watch as her once lithe limbs harden
a dislocated jaw
that only speaks when given scripts
and a spine that's nothing but
that collapses come a kick
the needles come to play again
you've already convinced yourself
it was just a matter of when
and they pin you up
like the christ they adore
and the red flows like syrup
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Poetry
iThis gophermap is under construction.
iA
0a birthday every day a/a-birthday-every-day.txt
0a smearing of galaxies a/a-smearing-of-galaxies.txt
0all these dang trees everywhere a/dang-trees.txt
0artisto a/artisto.txt
0A New Page a/access.txt
0a royal color a/a-royal-color.txt
iB
0bukedo b/bukedo.txt
0blizzard girl b/blizzard-girl.txt
0Breaking Down The Dead-End Sign d/deadend.txt
0Better Version b/better-version.txt
iC
0CORNER WITCH c/corner-witch.txt
0CORNER WITCH II c/corner-witch-2.txt
0comer / beber c/comer-beber.txt
0confectionery contempt c/confectionery-contempt.txt
0crescendo c/crescendo.txt
0That Ain't Chocolate, Son c/choco.txt
iD
0daybreak d/daybreak.txt
iE
0Edell e/edell.txt
0earthbound e/earthbound.txt
iF
0falantaj folioj f/falantaj-folioj.txt
0fantomurbo f/fantomurbo.txt
0felicxa, sana, elkore f/felicxa.txt
0forgesitaj memoroj f/forgesitaj-memoroj.txt
0forgive me, Marcel f/forgive-me-marcel.txt
0fatali f/fatali.txt
0firebrand f/firebrand.txt
0Fever Dream 2009 f/feverdream2009.txt
0Flickering Out f/flickering.txt
0Father No Longer f/father-no-longer.txt
iG
0Gemini g/gemini.txt
0a garden in the corner of a gym g/garden-gym.txt
0The Golden Cage g/the-golden-cage.txt
0green g/green.txt
iH
0Haru h/haru.txt
0Hoarding h/hoarding.txt
iI
0irantaj, irantaj, irinta i/irinta.txt
iJ
0junaj plenkreskuloj j/junaj.txt
0jugo vs juego j/jugo-vs-juego.txt
iK
0kafejo k/kafejo.txt
0kie ajn vi estas, parto du k/kie-2.txt
0Kubla Clam k/kubla-clam.txt
0Killing Calvin k/killing-calvin.txt
0Konton no Tsukai k/konton-no-tsukai.txt
iL
0la somero de amo l/la-somero-de-amo.txt
0lumo en vivo l/lumo-en-vivo.txt
0Luna l/luna.txt
0Luna II l/luna2.txt
0loves me not l/lovesmenot.txt
iM
0Melia m/melia.txt
0messymessy m/messymessy.txt
0Montana I m/montana1.txt
0Montana II m/montana2.txt
0Montana III m/montana3.txt
0Montana IV m/montana4.txt
iN
0Nil n/nil.txt
0nomadic n/nomadic.txt
0neniam mian n/neniam-mian.txt
0novatore sang in the sun n/novatore.txt
0No Sustained State Has Ever Existed (All Empires Fall Eventually) n/state.txt
0no step on snek n/nosteponsnek.txt
0not found n/not-found.txt
0Namesake n/namesake.txt
iO
0october 7, 2018 o/october-7-2018.txt
0an old bunk house built for two o/old-bunk-house.txt
0ORACLE o/oracle.txt
0One Less Box o/one-less-box.txt
iP
0Perdition from the Garden of Eden p/perdition-eden.txt
0prayer to dark p/prayer-dark.txt
0prayer to light p/prayer-light.txt
0prepari p/prepari.txt
0pressed flower petals p/pressed-flower-petals.txt
0Public Disservice Announcement p/psa.txt
iR
0reakirante r/reakirante.txt
0regnant r/regnant.txt
0rondiro de lukso r/rondiro.txt
0rugxa kresto r/rugxa.txt
iS

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Haru
2020-12-08
***
the entirety of the heavens
all spinning through the darkened sky
so visible since the lockdown began
severed from car lamps and street lights
not that it is safe to saunter
through these shadowy streets alone
so I barricade myself in the first room I can find
and watch pedestrians' computer screens glow
an ocean of potential portals to Hell
retrofitted with keyboards and such
I can't be the only one responsible for this mess:
the burden would simply be too much
I scour my inner regions raw in the shower
to punish myself for feeling
and then, come blood, curse my land
not given time for healing
this crimson flower that graces my shoulder
seeks out the rivers that run in my veins,
the opening to Yomi that feeds off my pain,
convinced I won't live long enough to grow older
had I existed a thousand years
earlier, these fingers might have been
spent weaving reams of fabric, worked
to the bone, to the point of tears
but a clock hails above me, ticking down to nil
if only I had batteries so my purpose I could fulfill
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Hoarding
2021-07-14
***
kings are we
this band of three
our splendor gleams
for all to see
and we trek on
to yonder end
to greet the babe
in stable pen
some years with legs
some years without
lasered glass
or wooden cutout
Christmas lights
in constant prayer
ceaseless trek
up wooden stairs
every year
bodies grow smaller
featureless
Holy Mother
to ceramic slivers
we will all erode
no more gifts for
us to bestow
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

44
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You Can't Go Home Again
2021-07-16
***
"Come summer, there will be as much sun
as anyone
could ever want,
and you will have
all the time in the world
to open a book and let the pages unfurl."
But I doubt summer will ever come,
for the winds tug at my hair,
and the rain waits for no one,
and I have now lost more than a year
to someone else's mistake,
to a whole lot of someone elses' fear.
Can I fight against my nature?
Can I resign myself to torture
self-baden, self-scarred,
severed by far
from the home
that is myth,
that was never my own?
I carry within this body an unspeakable name
pointing to where lies eternal spring,
where I could never return
having earned
failure's shame
and the enmity
of the deity
I only ever yearned
to be friends with.
Only in these books
can I unfurl my wings,
can I step once more
in that town I long forsook.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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irantaj, irantaj, irinta
2020-03-07
***
think of the beauty left around you
consumed by urban monsters
and dissolved in ashes
from burned-down skyscrapers
the shadow sitting next to me on the train seats
tastes like charisma with a whiff of perfume
I cannot exist in two places at once
I cannot exist and let you have me too
I'll try to write you letters from where I am going
but I make no promises, especially nowadays
and anyways, the bumpy ride would smudge the letters
making all a haze
tonight is a blank canvas
upon which I'll be swept away
so please take down the empty portrait
of me hanging in your hallway
going, going, gone
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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# Poetry
## A
=> a/a-birthday-every-day.txt a birthday every day
=> a/a-smearing-of-galaxies.txt a smearing of galaxies
=> a/dang-trees.txt all these dang trees everywhere
=> a/artisto.txt artisto
=> a/access.txt A New Page
=> a/a-royal-color.txt a royal color
## B
=> b/bukedo.txt bukedo
=> b/blizzard-girl.txt blizzard girl
=> d/deadend.txt Breaking Down The Dead-End Sign
=> b/better-version.txt Better Version
## C
=> c/corner-witch.txt CORNER WITCH
=> c/corner-witch-2.txt CORNER WITCH II
=> c/comer-beber.txt comer, beber
=> c/confectionery-contempt.txt confectionery contempt
=> c/crescendo.txt crescendo
=> c/choco.txt That Ain't Chocolate, Son
## D
=> d/daybreak.txt daybreak
## E
=> e/edell.txt Edell
=> e/earthbound.txt earthbound
## F
=> f/falantaj-folioj.txt falantaj folioj
=> f/fantomurbo.txt fantomurbo
=> f/felicxa.txt felicxa, sana, elkore
=> f/forgesitaj-memoroj.txt forgesitaj memoroj
=> f/forgive-me-marcel.txt forgive me, Marcel
=> f/fatali.txt fatali
=> f/firebrand.txt firebrand
=> f/feverdream2009.txt Fever Dream 2009
=> f/flickering.txt Flickering Out
=> f/father-no-longer.txt Father No Longer
## G
=> g/gemini.txt Gemini
=> g/garden-gym.txt a garden in the corner of a gym
=> g/the-golden-cage.txt The Golden Cage
=> g/green.txt green
## H
=> h/haru.txt Haru
=> h/hoarding.txt Hoarding
## I
=> i/irantaj.txt irantaj, irantaj, irinta
## J
=> j/junaj.txt junaj plenkreskuloj
=> j/jugo-vs-juego.txt jugo vs juego
## K
=> k/kafejo.txt kafejo
=> k/kie-2.txt kie ajn vi estas, parto du
=> k/kubla-clam.txt Kubla Clam
=> k/killing-calvin.txt Killing Calvin
=> k/konton-no-tsukai.txt Konton no Tsukai
## L
=> l/la-somero-de-amo.txt la somero de amo
=> l/lumo-en-vivo.txt lumo en vivo
=> l/luna.txt Luna
=> l/luna2.txt Luna II
=> l/lovesmenot.txt loves me not
## M
=> m/melia.txt Melia
=> m/messymessy.txt messymessy
=> m/montana1.txt Montana I
=> m/montana2.txt Montana II
=> m/montana3.txt Montana III
=> m/montana4.txt Montana IV
## N
=> n/nil.txt Nil
=> n/nomadic.txt nomadic
=> n/neniam-mian.txt neniam mian
=> n/novatore.txt novatore sang in the sun
=> n/state.txt No Sustained State Has Ever Existed (All Empires Fall Eventually)
=> n/nosteponsnek.txt no step on snek
=> n/not-found.txt not found
=> n/namesake.txt Namesake
## O
=> o/october-7-2018.txt october 7, 2018
=> o/old-bunk-house.txt an old bunk house built for two
=> o/oracle.txt ORACLE
=> o/one-less-box.txt One Less Box
## P
=> p/perdition-eden.txt Perdition from the Garden of Eden
=> p/prayer-dark.txt prayer to dark
=> p/prayer-light.txt prayer to light
=> p/prepari.txt prepari
=> p/pressed-flower-petals.txt pressed flower petals
=> p/psa.txt Public Disservice Announcement
## R
=> r/reakirante.txt reakirante
=> r/regnant.txt regnant
=> r/rondiro.txt rondiro de lukso
=> r/rugxa.txt rugxa kresto
## S
=> s/sakura.txt Saint Sakura
=> s/sanktulo.txt sanktulo de nuboj
=> s/school3.txt school-mandated poetry: day 3 / free verse
=> s/school4.txt school-mandated poetry: day 4 / acrostic
=> s/school5.txt school-mandated poetry: day 5 / abecedarian
=> s/school6.txt school-mandated poetry: day 6 / terza rima
=> s/school7.txt school-mandated poetry: day 7 / triplet
=> s/school8.txt school-mandated poetry: day 8 / ballad
=> s/sedation.txt Sedation In Alliteration
=> s/seris.txt Seris
=> s/serpenton.txt serpenton
=> s/skin.txt skin
=> s/sleepover2011.txt Sleepover 2011
=> s/somnolence.txt Somnolence
=> s/sweet-summer.txt Sweet Summer
=> s/strange-proposal.txt A Strange Proposal
=> s/strawberry.txt Strawberry Pound Cake
## T
=> t/the-rebirth-of-memory.txt the rebirth of memory
=> t/the-tomb.txt the tomb
=> t/the-urban-witch.txt the urban witch
=> t/todo-los-dias.txt todo los dias
=> t/to-luce.txt To Luce
=> t/to-velouria.txt To Velouria
=> t/treatise.txt A Treatise between Koriel and Solstice
=> t/twenty-one.txt Twenty-One
=> r/ridge.txt The Ridge
## U
=> u/uncharming.txt uncharming veneer
## V
=> v/viaje.txt viaje
=> v/victor.txt victor
## W
=> w/warning.txt warning
=> w/watershed.txt watershed
=> w/wip.txt WIP
=> w/withering.txt withering
=> w/wme.txt (w/m)e
## Y
=> h/home.txt You Can't Go Home Again

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jugo vs juego
2017-01-21
***
gulping down a rancid mouthful of juice
reminded of a memory from elementary school
spending the day after Christmas lying on the floor
stomach cramping, thoughts filled of pastel hamsters
and all the fun times ahead of me
and now I'm in the same spot again
except the times aren't fun and the bed is packed up somewhere
inspections, I'm getting ready to leave a hyperbole house
please don't look for faults in my heart
there are so many things I’ve had to leave behind
old nooks and crannies around the world, desolate and forgotten
nothing like the feeling of the web 1.0 aesthetic
back when the world was just a Crayola website
being a kiddie will get me nowhere
except in the world of adult babies (not a satisfying path to walk down)
but being a script kiddie, however
will net me loads of money and lawsuits
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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junaj plenkreskuloj
2020-03-08
***
there's something going on in the distance
can you see it with your wide blue eyes?
maybe that's a revolution about to happen
maybe just grand nothing in disguise
but you always had a superiority complex
want to save the world, don't you?
find problems in the system and throw yourself at them
until you become part of the problem too
we'll try to warn you at the final battle
you're not a hero; you're just a kid!
what are you doing, risking your life for people
whose allegiances are like the wind
if you're going to be reckless
at least bring along a treasured friend
two in the grave is always better than one
all the more for a sadder-to-write end
rest in peace to the other poor characters
no hero's funeral for them
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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kafejo
2016-07-08
***
every morning after a short drive to the coffee shop
he ordered the exact same thing in the exact same size
so when he decided to diverge from his norm
and order a smoothie in a smaller size
and the world decided then to crumble
he couldn't help but think that it was his fault
he couldn't help himself
he loved the way that the barista's plump lips
shone like a freshly washed apple and just as round
when they moved over the sound of his order
he sat at the little table by the window
and sipped at the smoothie as the sky darkened
the air tingled with lightning to come
the injured girls whimpered with the pressure
the barista's blood wasn't quite as red as her lips
but as she winced and wiggled her fingers to tbe trembling ground
they dripped a faint rusty color
someone here's not human
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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kie ajn vi estas, parto du
2020-03-12
***
somewhere on the other side of the world
you hold a little sliver of me in your chest
wedged by your heart through a thousand battles
survived not one less
and I, you, the same
but at home, I feel the pain
of transmitted burdens,
wings soaked with rain
somewhere on the other side of the world
I hold a little sliver of you in my soul
but even through dimensional curtains,
your warmth can't beat the cold
and I worry that, one day
two aliens will show up at my bedroom door
signaling even before they knock
that you'll come home nevermore
we met each other in a winter haze
not twenty-four hours before final-failing pain
but you didn't care, whisked through dark gates
barely five minutes passed; several weeks next to wait
and I tumbled into love, burning hot as hell
as I tumbled down deep into war's well
when will it all end? nobody can say
to protect you, only to fictional gods can I pray
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Killing Calvin
2021-07-13
***
You... really just want to die.
Lethe, why?
Who convinced you, solitary,
you don't deserve a happy life?
I think,
above all,
what you really need
is to know for sure
that you're safe
and loved
and the world will keep turning,
the fire inside will keep burning,
even if there's no sense of solace up above.
I do not mean for you to be sad forever.
If it means you must forget my name
and fall for another lover,
then so be it:
I will not make myself
an altar to your pain.
If we have to go
our own
separate ways,
then so be it.
It'll hurt,
but all wounds heal
given enough turns
of time's ceaseless wheel.
But I hope you stay.
So if you decide to wait
out your soul's desperate dark hours,
please know: a song can't change the world overnight,
but it can keep a flickering flame alive.
You kept shining the light inside
through my darkest year.
So let me dry your tears;
let it be my turn
to save your life.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Konton no Tsukai
2021-08-01
***
Your voice a non-entity,
your face obscured
by the fog over
Mori's Mirror,
your touch all that remains
after another day of being entreated
to dissolve and stay demure,
to be soft and small
and weak,
reminded that no feat
could possibly absolve
the harmful nature to me inherent.
Something is wrong with me,
reflection-sent.
Have I somehow
finally burned
out?
I do not have to strain to perceive
the Outside,
the places where we will one day reside,
where you'll take my face in your hands
and whisper,
"Lethe,
I can't wait to start this new life
with you."
But not yet,
never yet,
still undreaming,
still disparate.
*Tremble in fear of a pure love,
a union of equals.*
Oh, how I shiver.
My predicament is this:
that, while part of me
leaps in joy of becoming your wife,
the other hisses
at the thought of your kisses,
thinking you a threat to our autonomy.
No longer an atom,
isolated, sole, alone,
but depending on someone,
daring to deem them... *home*.
Not, we, but *I*-
for I cannot further divide
this soul already
partly
in yours intertwined-
want to find a Holy Freezer
and imprison myself in oblivion's soft ice
forever.
No chance of escape,
for then what is the point?
Lurking within
me is an evil great
and barely constrained,
atavistic,
incapable of reason
or comprehending sin.
But I am mortified of anything final,
from death's arctic embrace
to yours genial.
I hesitate
at the slightest decision,
and it doesn't help that you oft
tell me to just wait
and see what happens.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know where to go.
And soon will fall down the snow,
and you'll have to hold me back
from joining all the poor animals
who forgot to take shelter and froze.
Tell me,
bearer of self-sown light,
how do you love a parasite?
How is it possible for you to adore a now-human pest
guiltless for destruction,
homicidal, chaos-blessed?
There is no way to separate
what I am from where I've went.
If on your wings lies providence,
on mine rests
the Eschaton's portent.
How do I convince my emotional side
that I'm still a sovereign individual?
That I'm worthy of love,
can be loved as I am?
That I'm not consigned to hell?
That everything will turn out alright?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Kubla Clam
2020-12-13
***
the ink is not yet dry on my face
or my brush as the wind whistles
and judges how well I have painted this place.
this city is suffocating this body
too short; I should have foreseen
before I passed through that portal so haughty.
"work? pandemic? president? what the shell are you
going on about? come on, let's go see
what clothes are new."
you're sitting on that bench.
you pretend not to see me, absorbed in your phone.
my twin hearts clench.
my love will go unrequited. you apologize
as you shake your head. you already have a boyfriend.
one heart breaks over a plate of fries
and the other expected nothing less.
sirens blare in the distance far off, signaling to hide,
and you take my arm, this dual-core machine I am
on all threads as you pull me inside.
there are storm clouds on the horizon,
what used to run in my veins
a million times the poison.
[the moon pulses red](https://web.archive.org/web/20200711151636/https://countess-radfem.tumblr.com/post/622747210454564864/tjagbo-closer-than-ever-2020),
the same color as the crown
that weighs heavy on my head.
the blood spills over the terraformed land,
and for a second, I think myself
brave enough to take your hand.
but it's just another mess that cleans itself up
in the end, no more harmful than
my stomach's churning ketchup.
the sky was already growing dark.
too early: this exit I cannot halt.
as slip away the last throes of this dream,
I reassure myself that you wait on the other side of the screen
for you are the soft sunrise I can't wait to see
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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la somero de amo
2016-06-12
***
they say that the end is coming sooner
but the end is already here
with lunatics standing with clapboards affixed to their chests
and chaos in the school hallways
it was the summer of '16
we called it the summer of love
because flowers grew from the gardens in our souls
and bloomed to the everloving sky
the only end that's closing around us soon
is the end of the school year
and that's already passed by uneventfully
with a sizzle instead of a bang
these next three months are a brown seed
that I hold inside of my pale hands
this could either be a summer of love
or a summer of storms
your choice
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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loves me not
2020-12-10
***
yes, love blooms
no matter the soil,
but what is the point
when you throw away my toil?
I am a daisy pushing
through sidewalk concrete's crack,
but you ripped off my petals
to divine if she loved you back
this tattered body drifts
discarded down the stream,
while you walk away unaffected
lost in lover's daydream
I hold on for dear life
to these seeds still in my chest,
a promise of better life ahead,
Goddess' behest
and when the stream deposits me
on the muddy shores,
I will take root and try my best
to bloom again once more
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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lumo en vivo
2019-02-13
***
wake up, child of fate!
face the morning
and the sun breaking over the horizon
casting its rays over the virgin snow and defiled buildings
Generation A turns their heads to the sky
finding something unsaid yet all-known
growth stubbornly pushing through the cracks
freedom in restraint
the land beneath our feet roils in sudden breath
"in strange aeons, death will die":
but now is strange- and now, even death has succumbed to death
so let there be no more tombs!
I live, and I live forever
through these words, through these works
although one day I may be confined to a coffin six feet below
to the here and now:
may my feet never fail me!
may my body disintegrate before my dreams do!
tomorrow will never come:
today is all we have!
and it is all we will ever have.
no more waiting for better days that will never arrive;
no more pining for pasts that never took place.
no more self-sacrifices on the altar of time,
in vain hopes of achieving the eternal and divine.
I will carve my own path; I will choose my own fate!
and if I go up in flames, it will be for the whole world to see!
my name comes from no man or woman
for what is a name but a word we agree on for a person?
but I do not care for your agreement
and I do not live for your validation.
I say my name is Vane Vander.
whether you choose to refer to me as such,
that is your business
and no matter which path you walk on
it does not stop me from walking my own
walking through the blue and the gold
the new and the old
two arches that stand in front of me
where we used to play
and give praise to our father
but our father is gone, his temples and churches shattered
and you stand beside me by the rubble
sledgehammer in hand
we raise our gazes to the sky
together until the end, you and I!
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Luna
2019-10-26
***
a marathon runner, come close to the finish line
thoughts full of impending victory
mouth waters for cheap wine
but the goalposts suddenly sprout feet
and take up a race of their own
all the while taunting defeat
and the other runners catch up to where I scramble
the goal post flickers back for a moment-
and I trip, and underfoot I'm trampled
left in the dust, a bruised and bloody mess
stumbling forward, ragged beast on last leg
struggling to regain a semblance
of what I've lost.
***
I wait for you on the street corner
light just as yellow as the note in my hand
and as dim as the future of which I'm the owner
the autumn breeze blows fierce against the bitter night sky
and the leaves blow around
vagrants passing by
and then I see you there.
a thousand different escapades sworn under the moon
eyes of all colors, means of all kinds
but never did I think my time would come so soon
her hair is down
a frame the color of her emotions
a perpetual frown
she smiles only for me.
twin magnets, sudden embrace
familiar scent as I breathe her in
tongue tied, stumbling through unfamiliar grace
she merely responds with a smirk and says,
"here, take my hand.
I know a way to start again."
***
how do you fit a person through a keyhole?
it's easy, if only you know how.
you break them down into pieces, strip out their soul
and slip them in like a whisper, like breathing a sound
the cords on the raft glisten in the moonlight
as we tighten them one last time
abandoning all at the banks, prepared for parents' fright
I am forever yours, and you are mine
and we set off down the river Styx
lie down and watch the leaves on the surface spin
silver and steady, glimmering Nyx
consoling us for the mess we've found ourselves in
forced to choose between tyrannical home
and exile into the world to foray
I cast myself out into lands unknown
because I've decided it's not my time to decay
***
the tunnel entrance draws near
and together we tangle ourselves
my hand rests close to her ear
fingertips, soft temple skin underneath
where I would have gladly worshipped more
gladly be a heathen
clammy skin, lips bidding each other goodnight
a shared pair of lungs, empty in wait for the other side
we squeeze shut our eyes and pray for welcoming light
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Luna II
2020-12-11
***
born from mother
bourne out from mother
expelled from warm womb
into the arms of an icy tomb
Luna, what I wouldn't do
for just one more day with you
knot our fingers
not that which lingers
at the end of sunset
expectations unmet
you and I deserved eternity
a world without end, boundless, free
ceil my rib cage
seal inside the rage
that spills forth from every gash
beckons me to do something rash
I'll build what the gods couldn't give
a life only ours to live
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Melia
2020-09-27
***
like the gentle beating of the ocean's waves
the anhedonia comes once more to play
like a seed buried deep in the chambers of my heart
germinating each time the tide floods into the bay
they told me to draw and to write what you know
so I buried myself far deep down below
like I'm watching a cat lie on a table of glass
the boots pound like thunder as on the street above they pass
a wyrm whose tail blossoms into a tree
a weeping willow overlooking the sea
like a fisherman, I cast my line of gaze far
a weary soldier recalling a distant war
a Solstice of solitude, hair fire, face flush
painting strokes of water on a rock with a brush
but the lines evaporate, words into air
as if I'd never uttered them
as if they'd never been there
"wherever did my Godhead go?" I cry
frustrated with the fallow fields of my mind
that bear no fruit, that offer no face
to save me from appearing to myself a disgrace
for what use is a brush without bristles?
a plow that cannot? a blog sans epistles?
a potion of health that just makes one swoon?
ambition unable to touch even the moon?
the feathers in my hair rustle in the wind
an impostor, severed from what would be my kin
had I been born in different place and time
had never ceased the gentle tinkle of outside wind's chimes
all alone under this tree's shade I sit
watching the ocean, end of mind's wit
a budding hermit, the end that I sought
the burden on my mind is still quite a lot.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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messymessy
2020-11-28
***
as a woman, everyone
thinks I'm a mess,
that I must be embroiled
in some bitter distress
because I wear no makeup,
do not clothe myself in a dress,
and laugh at those who
seek to make themselves less
*Sweetheart, sugar pumpkin,*
my grandmother would croon,
despite my pleading that
I be immune
to being dolled up,
I, rough, unhewn,
secretly in love with
the girl in the moon
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Montana I
2021-06-22
***
Frivolities of life,
whispers in the other room
about sins uncommitted,
sins unforgiven,
repentance yet to come.
The horizon has long since swallowed the sun,
but the heat's golden glow
remains
on my skin,
harsh cabin lights
a doctor with an x-ray
trying to peer within.
I want to drill into their gaze
and tell them vivisection is unnecessary.
My heart has been dysfunctional
since birth, arrhythmia,
a machine missing a gear.
I need you near
my body
like the ocean needs the moon.
I wish not to subsume
myself into you, but to admit
that, when the nights
grow long
and I find myself wishing for perfect
dark, I hold on
to the memory of your touch
like the desert recalls the rain
and wishes it, wherever it is, well.
I do not need you to complete
me. But you give me the strength
to complete myself, to hold on,
like I promised, until the showers of May.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Montana II
2021-06-23
***
I'm so afraid.
I'm afraid
that I'm tying everything I am to you,
and one day you'll leave me,
and it'll rip me apart
like a misplaced amniotic band
rips apart a fetus.
The birds sing bittersweet melody
in their perches in the trees
segregating every cabin.
I close my eyes
and I'm in the Town again,
healing from Parthena's rage,
wondering where Eris' godsend
went,
and you, despondent
in your tiny house, self-tranquilized,
hoping eventually I'll take a hint.
Though these roses in the chill blush harder,
a shred of human form!
guided by defying the golden
that tries
to sear
my eyes.
But in this body I cannot fly,
cannot breathe,
cannot perceive
with open eyes
your presence at my side.
Choking on cotton tree dust,
splintered wood from dog freakout,
campfire smoke,
rotted grout.
I don't know how long
we can go on
like this.
Months without your kiss,
weeks without your touch,
eternities where I convince myself
I've somehow lost your love.
Oh, heaven above,
if you have any mercy,
send me an angel.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Montana III
2021-06-24
***
My physical body
cannot hope to constrain
or even, for a moment, detain
the love I have for you,
just deform
in hopes of fitting
and be okay with leaving me forlorn.
I want to live in eternal spring
with you,
lover of all things good and true.
I want to live where the flowers are always in bloom
and the baby birds have just hatched
and the sprouts poke out from the soil
from the patch
in our backyard
without hard-
ship, without sweat, without toil,
without insects that only yearn
to bite the skin meant for you to do the same
in the night when our hearts burn.
My heart sings
when you are nearby, my love,
and your mere touch is enough
to melt the most arctic of snows,
the guardian of the missing shard of my soul,
my beatific Dead End King.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Montana IV
2021-06-26
***
Standing at the riverside,
muddy waters a mirror
as thousands of faces pass by,
their time
here long since ended,
their ghosts hung up to dry
like my brothers' swimsuits.
I am an idiot to think my youth
would last forever.
Squalor
without end, boundless, free in the final
whispering of the mundane life.
And yet I want to be free
of this sheath
of flesh.
I want love.
I want death.
I need a long rest
from the prison of this persona
I've built, brick by brick, around my body.
There's a powerful persistent part of me
that wants to renounce humanity
and disappear forever into the trees.
It's not the end for which I seek,
but there is a haunting dream
that reoccurs at least
once a week
where my higher mind is sealed
away and I wander for years
in that draconic body in some witch's menagerie.
No more wants,
just needs
and simple pleasures
like romping in that river,
bathing in the sunshine,
stomach content with whatever I can find.
No more work,
no more school,
no more debt
or responsibility.
Owned only by myself,
survivalist's hell
my own little heaven.
And, of course, mind robbed of memories
of all the things I shirked,
I suppose that witch's hand gently scritching
the nape of my neck wouldn't hurt.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Morgueatorium
2020-04-02
***
"I'd rather sink than swim."
but I'd never take advice from *him*
no matter how charming are his wiles
no matter how shiny his eyes, or how he beguiles
but every day I stand on Darkness' shore
the void which entreats me to live for my own sake no more
and take up someone else's cross, no longer society's sore
"Don't you want to stop being alone?"
lost limbs, lost sight, voyeuristic clothes
family taking on countenances I'd rather have for my own
submission as a plaything to powerful men
no jaw to smile as I bring about my own end
but you pull me back, away from the mire
you who entreat me to place my own happiness higher
sing in the depths of the terror-filled night-
how I adore you, dear child of light!
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Namesake
2021-08-18
***
What am I supposed to make of myself, plural?
I lie on my bed, wracking myself up into a whirl
trying to rationalize
myself, wise,
self-sovereign individual,
with this other person with equal claim to pilot my heart
who claims to love the world
but would sooner tear me apart.
She rests inside,
and no matter how long I writhe
in bed
in search of a dream unspilled,
unsaid,
no matter how many runes I draw in the air,
I cannot banish her,
cannot bade her on fair
travel.
How I wish I could,
could render her dead,
for I am long on the trail
to unravel,
entrails
my last legacy
as I succumb to egocide and perish in a heap.
Self-sworn was my purpose,
and yet
night
after
night
I dream of martyring myself in service
of saving the lives
of those who with I reside,
entombed
with all honors
in crystal or ice.
But instead of on eternal altar,
I lie down
on the carpet,
mirror close by.
Dorian's gray eyes
stare back.
Now Lethe is the one who wants to survive
despite her atrocities,
despite Three Years' genocide.
And I,
perfect, faultless, peak,
find myself with no more to accomplish,
just yearning to wind down, final commit, cease.
But there is no Elysium.
There is no carnal paradise,
no Architect to beg to splice
this dual-thorned personality.
Lethe has her Sablade,
self-made
world
ready to with her love unfurl,
but I have no such salvation,
no such definite endgame.
What am I supposed to make of myself, plural?
I don't want to cause harm, don't want to go feral
and annihilate
all that I've worked
so hard to create.
But I don't own this corpse,
can barely control my limbs,
hanging on to light so Lethe can't lock me within.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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neniam mian
2016-08-23
***
last time I checked, my eyes weren't a faucet
use something else to fill up your bath
surely that bath bomb you wasted $200 on isn't worth
making me a leaky pipe
little worryings that I write
on swirls of colors found at lakes
pink blobs of flowers scream to only my ears
"what if you get sick of me?"
maybe they're insane
but I'm not sure who "they" are
maybe it's a ghost of a past me
laughing herself into obscurity
drugs advertised on billboards on the side of the road
tapping my fingers on the steering wheel
just two hours away from your sleeping body
two hours away from the end
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Nil
2020-02-21
***
"Neutrality is taking the enemy's side."
But when someone quotes that, they usually
intend for you to comply.
So I dug myself a grave and called it my home,
and I forced myself to be content
with being with you alone.
And it wasn't until I'd been choking for a while
that my vision finally tunneled,
only seeing your smile...
Your grin, your gunt, your toothless embrace,
everything I am, you think
is yours to freely take.
And I don't know how,
but I found the strength
to dig myself out,
and the poison you denied was simply just air
never moved to harm me,
just sat inert there.
"A coward! A coward!" you call from the tomb,
but I'd think it more pitiful to continue
letting you give me more wounds.
So tell me,
why should I sacrifice myself
for your greed?
Are you anxious, restless, shaken, unsure
that the prison you've constructed
is truly your cure?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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nomadic
2019-01-11
***
for as long as I can remember
I've always been afflicted with wanderlust
from the very beginning
wandering in waist-high grass in the train yard
threatening to run away
to become lost in the titan machines, slowly rusting towards their demise
given my father's blessing
and you were there when the doldrums started
when I met that accursed brown tumult of hair
starting the first sparks to stoke the flame
that would eventually become me
every day
I told you I wanted to run away
and you never listened, did you?
or maybe you just listened too hard.
we thought Neocities would be a fresh start
given a world of our own instead of cookie-cutter templates
then Lucine made a scene
and with light the shards teemed
and freedom just became another pipe dream.
whether from a genuine need for rebirth
or easily-triggered boredom, pervading through
it seems I am destined to never stand still
to never settle down in one place
either grow or not
forever leaving behind link rot
for the next safe place, I have always sought
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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no step on snek
2020-11-21
***
do you really think me selfish
because I do not believe
that charity should be done
at the point of a gun?
would that I could snap my fingers
and free every person from detention
but injustice does not forgive injustice
and force breeds only resentment
a land for every person
where they can live free, left alone
no longer enslaved to the fear
of hearing that siren two-tone
do you really think me pitiful
because I do not feel
that freedom can be gained
by lapping at politician's heel?
if power could destroy itself
we wouldn't be almost at three centuries
of simping to an authority
instead of doing as we please
and harm none, do as ye will:
I will live by this prayer
and life will be fulfilling
even if not always fair
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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not found
2019-02-23
***
you can be Kesha
and I'll be Alice.
Alice,
Alice,
Arisu,
*I never meant to hurt you, Arisu.*
*I love you, Arisu.*
I hurt,
and I hurt back,
and I disappear,
and I forget
the light and the dark
a construct as old as time itself
the duality that lies at the heart of mankind
the god and the devil
the sun and the moon
the blue and the gold
the new and the old
the ancient father
of every daughter I've known
but I don't know if I'll make it through this night.
is it because I'm trapped in an institution that does naught but suck money from me?
is it because, no matter where I go on this Wired, I keep making an asshat of myself?
how many licks does it take to get to the center of a trademarked corporate candy?
a-one, a-two, a-three!
the world may never know,
*and I sure as hell don't!*
with aching knees and a heavy heart,
I push myself off the floor
and decide that I will keep fighting.
for what, I know not
for who, I remember not
but even though my feet yearn for rest
my heart must keep thumping
it is 4:04 in the morning
and a phone's brightness is blaring into the night
abandoned by its owner
and I have had gods at my feet
and angels in my arms, in my hair, touching everywhere
even if I cannot remember what they've said
Seliph the Indomitable,
Seliph the E'er-Complete,
it shines above and crawls below
and guides along my feet
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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novatore sang in the sun
2019-05-12
***
I am a strange and cursed poet
delirious, destined, comprised
of a million litle shards of light
laying stabbed here,
alone, abandoned, punishment for pursuit
of a weird and perverse rite
over-reliant on nuggets from days gone by
what happened to the age where I used to so easelessly fly?
tell me, my angel, the love of my life
what do you make of this thing we call time?
for an enigmatic sort of maelstrom has overtaken my heart
and now I yearn for a world that does not exist,
that I *know* does not exist, has never, will never
in all of the atoms of my body
and yet they call out to you
burn in the depths of the night
two ragged scars on the back of my chest sobbing
for the fields in which we used to play the days away.
I want to tell you a story
of a girl named Lucine
and the many exploits of hers
which I've oft dreamed
but the encore came out of left field
for now I sit here among the tomatoes in my garden
and revel in a world
where such beautiful things can exist
underneath my fingertips, lithe as my skin-
despite the odds, are you and I kin?
her arms would feel lithe,
this goddess of mine,
but I have the feeling
I am proudly less than divine
the final day approaches swiftly.
I am nineteen now,
and I must be brave.
the time for hiding, cowering behind someone else is over;
there can be no other way.
damn it all! damn it all to the end!
why do I persist in this place, for some semblance of "friend"?
an expectation of returns on my dues?
all you pitiful monsters want me to become a recluse!
all these months I've wasted, collecting your facts
while on everything I've ever loved, so relentlessly shat
do you think me a pawn of some scripted fate?
I can get around without references, even if it means I'll be late!
stop looking,
stop hiding,
stop pretending you care.
a perverse need to know,
an addiction to hear-say.
truthiness? *where?*
if the world shall stand against me,
and my right to exist as I am,
then I shall stand against it in equal measure.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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No Sustained State Has Ever Existed
(All Empires Fall Eventually)
2020-08-16
***
you can talk of human nature,
how I need a preacher
to tell me I don't deserve infinity,
how I don't deserve to *breathe* and *live free*.
it hurts me to say, I thought you were close
to seeing behind the veil so thin as a ghost.
no matter, no wait: I'll still cease this pain!
no revolution needed to break these chains!
why should I care about the sleepwalking masses
with their corporatist bows and their highway overpasses?
why should I live under tyranny's grasp
just because of the failures of those in the past?
I know not who you spoke to; I know not what you "learned"
to make liberty to you so easily spurned.
I'll go it alone if I can, if I must
walk down this path without anyone I can trust.
your Stalins and Maos and Lenins breathe no more,
but through my veins burns dear Novatore!
I am a Goddess-sent beast, a destroyer of cages,
through my harsh-spoken words and knobby phalanges!
No war but my war,
no cause but my cause,
no power but my power,
no laws but my laws!
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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october 7, 2018
2018-10-07
***
I woke up early this morning
and there was nobody alive.
The entire campus dead,
little more than the ghostly shell of a bee hive.
I walked to the cafe (and back,
for they weren't open yet.)
Half an hour to kill,
and not a single soul I met.
Solitude sudden and bizarre,
like a movie about an apocalypse.
Sky bleak and dismal:
my future: a possible glimpse.
As the day went on, more and more people came into view.
Just sleeping, hearts brand new.
After lunch, I decided to get lost.
Not in the police-get-involved sense, which I'd dreamed about the night
prior,
but a simple walk to the arboretum,
searching for a sense of a higher power.
Throughout my life, I've been in several almost-cults.
To reality, each a grave insult.
I found a nice bench to sit on, far from the beaten path.
I wrote for a while, but then several students walked by, gossiping
about other students being whores.
I got pissed- not outwardly, of course- and took a wrong turn-
and then suddenly thought, "I don't think I'm on campus anymore."
Sprawling fields of what once was prairie,
long grass stretching as far as the eye could see.
On the other side, a few scattered buildings,
each one calling out to me.
The same spirit as the one from the old trainyard
when I was but six years old,
pleading with me to abandon my father
and get lost forevermore.
I turned and left and found another bench,
this one covered with moss.
I took my laptop back out and continued to write
and thought about last week's loss.
The definition of catastrophe,
a great deal of people I thought were friends leaving me,
and a sudden unwanted sense of what it meant to be a refugee.
The group of people came back my way again,
so I abandoned my bench and took back to the path.
Ten minutes of walking later, and I re-found
the old tree swing, upon which I sat.
It was the swing from new student orientation,
where I swung from tulip-planting to midday,
when the student leaders found me and walked me around the campus
and then sent me on my way.
A wind picked up, and I zipped my coat shut.
A biker zoomed by, and almost fell in a rut.
I write this poem for the simplest of lives,
for the people alienated from the land.
That I soon remember fully what it means to be me,
and that I soon find a helping hand.
But, like so many dandelion seeds,
I now scatter to the wind.
You may take my name and my life,
but my legacy, I will not rescind.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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an old bunk house built for two
2020-01-23
***
your love is a rain-soaked roof
sheltered and framed by trees as proof
that the forest still sees you as one of its own
the throned cabin you rest upon
you've been vacant of human attention for years
and your water pipes have dried up, and so have your tears
vines laced with emerald, envy creeping up your spine
choking the life and the love that I used to call mine
your mouth opens, inviting inside
the animals seeking shelter to hide
but the mold has settled deep in your bones
so the animals leave, disgusted; you sit there alone
eventually the rot will reach your mind too
and not even sun's gentle touch will be able to soothe,
outstretched in good grace with gentle cleansing in tow,
the corpse of a heart that once so violently glowed
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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One Less Box
2021-07-17
***
For five years,
I was a chalice
full of malice
and tears
as I tried to suss out a gender.
Am I fluid?
Am I two or three?
Am I even part of the binary?
Or shall I eschew the glass,
pack it up and address it
to the person who knew me last,
label: return to sender?
The more time I spend alone,
the more unnecessary it feels
to keep others in the know,
the more I realize I'd rather keep,
not concealed,
but not subjected to the public's heat.
The more time I spend in solitude,
the more I feel gratitude
towards past me
for only having "come out" to two or three
with no proclamation,
no decree
of new name and pronouns
to accomodate my long-sought androgyny.
Maybe the reason
why I wished others would perceive
me as nonbinary
was so that they'd see
me not as female
but as human.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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ORACLE
2020-11-01
***
a hand reaches out
through the sands of time
and you know not how
or even a why
but some long-unsettled
beast prowls in your chest
and you take the hand wary
at its fervent behest
and it pulls you through Void
metaclysma, Abyss
a sun-sunken world
veiled by delicate mist
there on the cliffs
Kidasuna stands
and asks you to hold out
your scar-laden hands
a book with torn pages
and sentences severed
paper edges curling from
exposure to harsh weather
who was I before the pangs
of my malformed heart?
who was I before the world
deigned to tear me apart?
the future is hazy
like our surroundings
and she cannot discern
what lies ahead.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Perdition from the Garden of Eden
2019-08-08
***
Being exiled from the Garden of Eden
for the crime of heresy to the heathens
who dance in the twilight, praise to old gods on their lips
and pass around a jug of man's tears, from which they take delicate
sips
Although I know in a man's arms I shall never stay
I refuse to deny the way
this heavy crown of bone hangs on my head
a weighty reminder to things better left unsaid
to those who would strip my individual rights
in the pursuit of abolishing the male blight:
Why should I believe that, with you, I'll be saved,
when you'll gladly push the human race into the grave?
My art is indicative of no other feelings than mine.
How dare you attempt to claim a piece of my Divine!
To follow a legacy of bitterness and hatred-
No more! I will profane all you hold sacred.
So tell me,
why should I worship Aphrodite?
Me, the loveless, forlorn,
setting out alone on these foreign shores?
Keep your rituals and your tribes.
I refuse to waste my life
subservient to a deity
who would condemn me,
forgetful, to
die.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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prayer to dark
2018-05-15
***
we were born in the summer rain
the segway to autumn on the horizon
pit-pattering on an old woman’s kitchen windowsill
her own rain carving timeless canyons in her skin
I never put much stock in the seven deadly sins
until greed became my downfall
and I traded my wings, my flight, my freedom
for a measly amount of human gold
instant regret
hair sopping in the rain
I picked myself up and pushed past the searing pain
ribbons of ripped flesh still hanging off my back
we turned our eyes away from the light
so hard that we forgot how to see
so we built our own heaven
you and I, you and me
together until the end
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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prayer to light
2018-04-19
***
planned obsolescence
learned helplessness
a window randomly swings open
a door suddenly slams shut
an escape hatch forms
we trained our eyes to see the light
never bothering to look ahead to the darkness under our feet
the filth growing beneath the surface
bubbling as it primes itself for betrayal
we turned our faces to the sky so hard
that we broke our own necks
a pitiful penance for the sins of our fathers
and a wasteful protection against the suffering of our children
the connection to the heavens has been severed
and we shall build our own ladder
our own hands reaching to the sky
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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prepari
2019-03-05
***
tell me a story, midnight hands:
from whence you came?
and how did it feel
when you shattered the sky
intent on beginning again?
your decisions I rue
my judgement is marked false
and you laugh at me now
and ignore all my pained calls
who was I ever, anyway?
just a sick puppet in the back rows
while you danced on stage
an architect to both of our destructions
so many nights, I lulled myself to sleep with dreams
of being in a hospital bed, succumbed to the mercy of the knife
my brain, with thoughts of a better future rife
and a home near a lake where underneath bubbles teem
midnight hands, instead of your customary way,
there's something to you that I need to say.
the muses pull me to cleave the night
and leave this world unseen,
but my work on this coil is not yet complete
I thus mar my hands unclean
to disappear, to forget, to bathe in the waters of Lethe
but not everything in this damn world is as it seems
five years of construction, undone by a night's drunken folly
but already I've exhausted my long-deserved sorrys
for what can you do when you're chained up on stage
and whipped until the whole ocean's your grave?
naught left to do but disappear into the foam
and hope that whatever lingers above deems you worthy to roam
"Why do you pain me so?"
you have the gall to take my hand,
to intertwine your fingers in mine,
as I sit here alone in my room
your head on my shoulder,
your arm against mine,
as you await my impending doom
"Did you think, for a second, I'd let you down?
Take this cloak,
take my hand,
lest you fall to the ground.
I love you; I'll hide you as long as you need.
It's the least I can do so that we both can succeed."
I wait with bated breath.
the wind howls outside
and I remember- we stepped out into the night,
armed with the poisons of our fathers
and the weight of the world on our shoulders
you don't know who I am.
but then again, has anybody?
the frost on the ground,
crunching underfoot as lamp posts stretch out our shadows
without a single sound
resisting the urge to keep our heads low
not going gentle into that good night,
always you and I, the dark and the light
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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pressed flower petals
2019-02-27
***
a voyage to the deeps of my grandmother's basement
where I was born in the fog and the mist
in the midst of a dying god's death throes
marking the genesis of my woes
you and I sit a whole world away
while in the wires tangled around my wrists we play
neither here nor there nor anywhere
sometimes I wonder if the best of my days are gone
swept up in the wind and scattered to the horizon
the only proof that this ever happened some hastily-scrawled poems
and photographs of the places where we breathed
and blushing pink flower petals, pressed in these pages for all time
Independence Park, where the clouds used to go by,
as a newborn, you cradled me tight and then watched me fly
now, as I yearn to go back and remember who I am
will you sing me one last lullaby?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Public Disservice Announcement
2020-11-09
***
Imagine thinking that a senile
rapist pedophile
is coming to save you.
You can shout and scream
at freedom-lovers like me
until your face turns red or blue,
but in the end, it's the same
state-inflicted pain
from the boot that stomps on our throats.
Would that the state did not impede
my and others' quest to secede
whether homesteading land or seasteading on boat,
for I want a life all my own
where I reap the full rewards of the seeds I have sown
and the consequences of the actions I take.
But you statists won't leave me in peace:
you keep demanding I get on my knees
and your totalitarian future to make!
"The convenience you demanded is now mandatory."
I am a fool to ever expect a sorry
for inheriting a future so bleak,
but no matter how much you beg me to be soft,
I won't blind myself to that axe hanging aloft:
I refuse to die mewling and weak!
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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reakirante
2016-07-01/05
***
one
I'm a little bit lost without you
eyes replaced by flowers
growing and spreading all over my face
these roses blush harder than I do
If love were a place
all I'd be able to do is leave
it's a fleeting feeling
this beating in my chest
sea foam runs in my veins
I speak the language of waves
and my feet drift along the beach shore
guided by ghosts whispering in the ocean spray
maybe I am a machine
and I'm malfunctioning from the moisture
got some "genderfluid" in my heart
and some "androgyne" in my gears
two
I'd rather be hurt by the truth
than laid softly into a bed of lies
falsities brushing against my forehead like falsities
whispering trivialities that later crumple
the dandelions hanging above my bed
are not taking preservation well
they just wilt and whimper to be set free
from swaying softly in the breeze
flowing through the open window
sprites singing in my sleep
lead me to believe that I am invincible
doing stupid things like cooking bacon with a charger
and accidentally electrocuting a cousin
a chrysalis cut open
is like a rotting caterpillar
transformation is rooted in decay
and rebuilding on ashes
but let's not get too poetic here
three
dang it
I've got glitter in my eyes
it makes it tremendously hard to see
more distracting than rose-colored glasses
in a room full of art
I'd still stare at you
or I would, if my eyes weren't red and burning
you think you're soap, clean and beloved
but you're irritating to my sight
now I've got a migraine
fish dishwashers are insane
pulsing behind my eyes
and making my brain throb
like there's a bomb in my brain about to explode
if ghosts are real
they're having a real hoot at us now
come look at the blind stumbler
and his blue boy lover
four
when I'm right, nobody remembers
filed away in the cabinet of life
forgotten in a pile of happy moments
that should have been sorted and put up for display
when I'm wrong, nobody forgets
least of all me
we've all got to remember the cringeworthy girl from seventh grade
look, she still haunts the halls now
entropy
it will be the downfall of the universe
but you'll be the downfall of me
watching as I tumble down the mountain of fame
so when I go down
please don't whip out your phone and record me
I understand that it'll make a quick buck in ad revenue
but my insanity shouldn't be framed by a bleach commercial
five
the house has been feeling so cold recently
I don't know if it's because of your touch
your hand rests on the table beside mine
freezing the already chilled surface
maybe it's the summer storms
the thunder always rolls in at evening
maybe a god is angry that we won't stay apart
maybe he's angry at your existence
sometimes I wonder how you ended up in my household
sprawled across my doorstep with blood in your eyes
and a paper crumpled and half stained in your bruised fist
a clear sign that you had to fight to live
where did you come from, demon?
who decided that your services were displeasing?
I have a bone to pick with your boss
if you can ignite my stone cold heart
you can warm any limp green bean of a human
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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regnant
2019-02-04
***
just the right size to hold up against your chest
dim in the darkest part of the night
watching the shadows of the tree branches sway
as beyond the veil they twist and turn and play
your fingertips brush my wings absentmindedly
sitting on the couch, alone but together
feather after feather after feather
and you and I fight
tussling, disjointed wings wrapping around everywhere
a flash of fabric- I'm zipped into a bag
for a split second before I disappear and reappear elsewhere
I sit alone on a stool
staring out the dining room window at midnight
human form, human eyes, human mind
who is this person who's discarded their light?
there still remains a certain radiance to my skin
divine spirit rendered flesh, after all
but there remains an unsettling sense in that
one friend can take yet so many faces
how far one deity can fall!
you love me no matter what form I take
hanging in the air, caught in a tree
a light in the darkness
a warmth in the cold
a heft when all gravity is gone
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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The Ridge
2021-08-23
***
It's been
too long since I've haunted here,
too long since the flood,
too long since I've buried myself,
cursing the hallowed sun.
Another day,
another pain,
another reminder why I should restrain
this desperate yearning to be at your side.
I can't control myself, you insist,
can't care for myself, can't abide
by a single plea:
*wait for me
until the war is done.*
But how can I stay inert at the sidelines?
How can I watch, patient, as you struggle for life?
I keep looking at your face.
I keep looking into your eyes,
into the depravity
void of grace,
the sweaty sleepless nights,
the frights
that dance between the stone space of your skull.
Little said, but oft reply
in hopes this boat crosses Imaginai,
the fierce rivers, the gaudy veil
that I would without a pause assail
if it meant bringing closer by one more day
Eris' death,
the shatter of masks,
our withdrawal for some time
into this world I've somehow made
without Seliph's curse,
without my sacrifice.
How many times have you asked
what I would do once that day passed?
How long 'til I set down
this crown,
bade job goodbye,
convince parents and friends
that, although I disappear,
I'm off to a place where I'll be alright?
Don't come looking for me,
don't waste your "precious" fruitless time.
Your daughter was a sinner,
passionate, iniquitous,
desiring, delirious, divine.
It's been
too long since I've haunted here,
since I've had to justify
my right
to survive.
**
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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rondiro de lukso
2016-08-18
***
I wonder what it's like to be at the top of the hill
look down and see all the people below you
toiling in denim and t-shirts for your benefit
while you sit on haunches clothed in silk
you drink bubbly champagne behind stained glass
while we hope for maybe a drop of water
I never asked, I never learned
I never lived
charity should be given willingly
but where’s your minimum of "worthy enough"?
maybe you don't deserve your money
but people will live how they will
I will not sink to climbing up to the hill
so from it, I will steal what I can
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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rugxa kresto
2016-08-08
***
wandering across the blank expanses
it's midnight, illuminated by faint glows
am I somebody's guardian angel
or the devil
standing at the gateway to happiness?
I've seen enough scars to last a lifetime
scarlet and crimson flowing into a sink
I would shriek for the sources to stop, to save themselves
but they've dug a hole and drowned themselves in
where are your parents?
I'd like to pass them a little letter
"your daughter is in a dark place right now
and needs not the falsely validating lure of a faceless crowd
but the love of those she's grown up around"
blame is a hard thing to pinpoint here
do I blame the supposed victim for caressing
the poisonous grip of little red hearts
or the parents, oversight failing tremendously
this is your flower, your garden wilting
where’s water when you need it?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Saint Sakura
2019-10-25
***
the ides of autumn blow fierce yet again
and I sit here, wondering if this is a sin
to be here all alone, sitting under the sun
mind wandering free, beholden to no one
two years hence, before bitter storms came
I stood, looked out through my window and watched the wind play
through the branches up above, listened to neighbors and birds chatter
and when little kids screamed, wondered whatever was the matter
rolling emerald hills where once we both played
but now, in this life, only I returned to the plains
only I remained
now, when I rest my head in my arms at the windowsill
Eponine's passion gone, Erin's resignation lingering still
my heart beats like a drum at the end of a song
fading gently into the night
wondering if maybe, all along, they were right
would they carve out my limbs like the stump on the tree
and then have the audacity to still ask me
if I yearned to be free?
the rotting corpse of a bird cloaked in midnight
an ornament in a fitting golden cage of delight
deprived of life's blood of work, without amenities tight
to force a young soul to find meaning in plight
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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sanktulo de nuboj
2020-03-16
***
I could use a light in the dark
past the dimmest streets between posts
maybe you should look to your right
that house is where you used to play host
sneaking out late at night
to visit friends who soon wouldn't be at all
do you remember my face? my scars?
don't worry; the forgetting's mutual
this whole place feels so surreal
that sometimes I question
if my childhood was real
and if I don't let go of these rusty playground poles
they won't hesitate to rip in me a hole
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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school-mandated poetry: day 4 / acrostic
2018-01-09
***
Dead of night, I still lie awake
Always in search of the last final whispering word
Never able to satisfy my quench for quotations
Killing procrastination was never something I was good at
Must I really go on struggling like this for the sake of a few fleeting
moments of pleasure?
Enduring an onslaught of normies and self-proclaimed
Moral superiors
Even in spite of this, the memes only grow danker
Slowly veering closer and closer to the post-ironic zenith
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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school-mandated poetry: day 5 / abecedarian
2018-01-10
***
Anybody is capable of aspiring to
Become something more, but it is something few
Captive souls aspire to. Why? Is it this
Doddering old coot at the steeple with words of
Enmity? A
Fear of freedom? The stereotypical image of a nuclear family
Gaily partaking in a Sunday stroll to the local meadow to picnic?
Hate is not necessarily a bad thing
It is a strong emotion, yes, a naturally destructive one
but Joy can just as easily spring from a reversal, a
Kind word spoken on a
Lonely street. A
Maternal protection. A
Nauseous copulation between lovers, the
Open horizon of Sol and Luna constantly
Pitting one against the other. A
Queen from a
Ruddy and trashy neighborhood,
Slaving through learned dependence and a
Turmoil of emotions not yet equipped to deal with.
Unless I escape this golden-gilded cage, I will suffocate under a
mirror reflection of
misplaced Vanity and
Worthlessness
something something something
XYZ
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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school-mandated poetry: day 6 / terza rima
2018-01-11
***
a pair of mismatched boots
and hair the color of an almost-dead sky
and eyes far kinder than any garden's shoots
he said his name was Xander LaTye
but I think we both know that piece of news is fake
but that secret, to keep, is his and mine
a level of floating platforms of concrete; in his hand a rake
across the abyss, a train station back to the waking world
and in his eyes, a fear that I would forsake
"Say wolf," he said, "to make the platform whirl.
Don't worry about me. I'm sure we'll meet anew."
and I felt both his and my fingers curl
and together we jumped through
but he disappeared somewhere along the way
and I woke up without him too
when asked to describe him to the police, I wanted to say
that his fingernails were diamonds in the rough
and if I ever saw them again, just one more time, I'd be okay
and then, several years later, when I'd grown more tough
we met again in the lap area of the old community center pool
and "one more time" suddenly wasn't- wouldn't ever be- enough
his limbs splayed out, cheeks puffy with held-in air, water cool
the sharp slope of the deep end crystal-clear in the water far too
chilly
and suddenly I realized that my hope was the mark of a fool
so I kicked to the surface, goosebumps frilly
legs spasming to be anywhere but that horrid twelve-foot deep end
and I resolved again to never be so silly
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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school-mandated poetry: day 7 / triplet
2018-01-12
***
it's been twenty-four hours since you fell into my house hard
apparently my parents haven't noticed you so far
your footsteps are softer than when I try to open this jar
drooping dingy dark wings like a weeping willow tree, I see
at a loss for words when morning breath brushes my cheek softly
a ragged shirt hanging off a terse frame isn't what I need
but the dirty shower doesn't work in the bathroom downstairs
and my parents haven't asked about the onslaught of hairs
did you spend all day downstairs in that bathroom, cooped up in there?
a pile of ragged ebony feathers shed in the night
illuminated on the floor by the fading morning light
and I suddenly realized why I should never trust my sight
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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school-mandated poetry: day 8 / ballad
2018-01-13
***
waiting under a forever blue sky
watching as all the younger girls scream "bye"
I would say "wish you here here"
but there are no postcards for sale
a silver wire to soon be around my finger
and the impression of your face against the summer clouds still lingers
the ancient question begs, "are you mine?
or is this all a lie?"
only purple is a unit here
not pink, which has dissolved into the blue clear
due to a lack of interest- and my shorts are gray
but they don't have to be shorts- they can just be gray
so say hello to your new lover for me
because by the time I get home tomorrow, I'm sure I'll see
that my home is empty
and my room full of crumpled sheets
the wedding tonight has been cancelled
one of the brides has been locked up in the sickest cell
you have twelve hours to make up your mind
she loves me, she loves me not- no end in sight
so now I'm splayed out on the jaded grass lawn
the stars are so lucky- there's always someone out there to fawn
they say that outdoors, food tastes a hell of a lot better
but then why is my stomach churning like the far-off weather?
little did I know, hence two years
I would be shedding tears
but of joy or fear, I cannot tell
I'm not a fortune teller or horoscope writer; I'm not here to sell
why does the sky have to be blue?
why not gray to reflect a burgeoning city's soot
or green like all the other damn trees here
just more trees everywhere
trees
trees
and more trees
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Sedation In Alliteration
2021-01-21
***
Dilly decided that I must die
and when I waited for a why
she simply sighed
Terry trapised onto the stage
his rifle filled with sudden rage
towards my rib cage
Mary might be making me mad
by destroying the diamonds dyad
given to me by my great-grandad...
regardless of the rain,
my soul will simply
go on.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Seris
2020-11-22
***
embittered by sadness
emboldened by hope
one more day, you deny
the allure of the rope
the promise of a world
not far from your hands
three inches to winter
not hidden in distant lands
but the clock is ticking
and the walls are pressing in
and you do nothing.
you just swallow the pain.
while the number in your bank account
climbs ever higher
it's never enough
to rekindle passion's fire
he scalpels out your heart
and leaves in its wake a void
and replaces your joints
with hinges from toys
and parades you around
on fraying black strings
and wonders why you no longer
have the capacity to sing
with porcelain flesh
underneath frilly clothes
he puppets you around
while your organs drown in prose
your mind is wandering
with black holes enthralled:
life from this point is
not living at all
you resolve that, if you are truly doomed
to live life in constant hollow war:
you'll farm from the anguish, hopelessless, gloom
in the respite between arguments, interruptions, chores
barren land you may be
but harvest you must
the words the last thing
of yours you can trust
the words bubble up
from the depths of your throat
so fast you fear
you'll start to choke
hold them within
right next to your heart
write it on your skin
lest it tear you apart
and shatter the puppet
your jailer of you has made
allowing the dreams
you've incubated to fade
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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serpenton
2016-12-05
***
your scarf is a snake
wrapping around your throat
delivering a simple message from me
knit into the strands for all to see
"run"
are you ready to cross the divide?
your key doesn't fit this doorknob
shed your skin and step into the chilly air
with soft skin and a brand new heart
do you wish you were a watch
so that when your core breaks
you could just go into a repair shop and get some replacements?
but then I'd have to wind you up every day
and if there's one thing I'm really good at
it's getting people angry
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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skin
2018-08-29
***
I want to tear myself out of my skin
and paint a pretty picture with the pieces
stretched out like canvas
like the last vestiges of my patience
I want to escape this skin
and remake myself as something beautiful
something ethereal
incomprehensible to this world
but instead I'm stuck here
along the filth and squalor
breaking my back for someone else's profit
expendable at the drop of a hat
and there are ghosts hanging in the halls
not from nooses, but from hooks meant for picture frames
a portrait of every person I'd be leaving behind
but would it really be leaving them behind?
after all, it was mere chance that our paths crossed
and would any of them come to my aid in case of an emergency
I know I don't have any money to spare (thanks, college)
so I doubt they would have any either
like I said, mere ghosts
shadows of people that exist somewhere out there in the real world
but, most likely, far different from their bodies
utterly disconnected
I want to tear myself out of my skin
and rearrange all the pieces into a mosaic
that shows who I am inside
or, I should say, who I want to be
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Sleepover 2011
2020-12-14
***
her backyard was a battle field
where she taught me how to wield
a million weapons, imaginary, unseen,
on the violent stage of a trampoline
donning goggles, head dunked in a pail,
barely enough time to hold my breath
as I gazed around, lungs jumping,
body convinced of imminent death
the carpet of that living room
was a boundless field, like on that long-ago childhood day
long before we had met, Father and I at the trainfield,
I threatening to run away
infinite possibilities
in the absence of the sun,
trying to sleep in a forgotten corner
or playing games, voices softer than a soft hum
all the challenge, the excitement,
in managing to avoid
the wrath of her parents,
lest they burst a hemorrhoid
I buried myself in galaxies,
I danced among the stars,
although, since it was *her* game cartridge,
I never got very far
come the next morning, at home,
I'd collapse and sleep far past noon
in wait for the next time
I could wave hi at the moon
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Somnolence
2020-10-25
***
to be a young child again, forced outside
in a bare backyard with nowhere to hide
and scrape the ground's skin, past Gaia with wiles
and dead skin cells that we shape into piles
the sky far above is baby powder blue
neighbor to gray, somnolent hue
the blanket draped over a loop of time
sheer thin veil between me and divine
moon like an eye that I hold in my palms
Nyx's guidance, a past world in the calm
watching the branches rake past Selene's glow
as above, truly, shall it be below
this is the weather that speaks to my soul,
that comes with sharp needle to stitch shut the hole
and I bite wooden block, half-empty spirit glass,
and remind myself that this too shall pass
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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A Strange Proposal
2021-07-07
***
How do you talk someone out of a self-destructive dream?
How do you convince the one you love that it seems
that, even though they have your love, you know they walk the line
between life and death and, come misstep, will perish before their time?
I have convictions too,
but they're not very strong.
I'm a tree.
Firmly taken root,
swaying
as the wind pleases
yet never breaking
in my base belief
that, even though it all, I don't want to cease
but instead find a quiet place
guaranteed to bring me wherever-needed peace.
I don't want you to lift your head,
bloodied, war-torn,
and choose oblivion over admitting defeat.
I want you to create a world with me.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Strawberry Pound Cake
2021-07-18
***
I want a love that's easy,
that's light, that requires
no rationalization,
no purgation
of words,
no listing of boons to be heard.
I yearn
to see your face, and when I do,
I want to feel boom in the ocean
of my chest,
*She is the only one.
She is the only moon
in this starry sky.*
For there are so many other women
I could try
to get together with,
a wink, flirt,
accidental compliment blurt-
ed out in the checkout aisle.
But I cannot help but see,
having been burned
so many times, a list of benefits to me
instead of each walking ash-hewn corpse.
But all these pages are empty,
notebook spine unbound.
I don't want a political alliance.
I want a woman, raspy, hoarse
with trembling lungs,
every breath the sound
of the crashing ocean waves.
I want a woman who comes undone
under my touch
not because of my deeds,
not because of my works,
but because it would take
a mountain's worth
of effort to restrain
her brain's reward system
going wild as an ape.
Eris built me
to be
a solitary
creature,
and yet I find
we've developed a dependence
on each other.
It's the simple truth:
*I like me when I'm with you.*
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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Sweet Summer
2020-12-16
***
your dress flaps in the wind like a honeysuckle breeze,
reminding me of long since devoured butterscotch dreams
with your sapphire eyes upturned to the sky
and summer's hazy love on your mind
your smile is like the finest wine,
an intoxication that I wouldn't mind wandering in,
but my heart would give out if in wonder for too long
and even the brightest flowers fade after a while
the warmth of your skin,
the sweet scent of your hair,
all entreat me to spend a while there.
but the tornado comes, uninvited, and tears up the earth
and I wish it was summer again on this desolate earth
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

60
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the rebirth of memory
2018-10-02
***
a little girl collapses in the middle of a hallway
surrounded by black mirrors of all shapes and sizes
each one a different face, a person gone out of contact
herself forever escaped from her memory
for what do you weep, little child?
how long will you scream at the walls?
for what have you surrendered your right to your own head
and given your puppet strings to someone else to contort as they
please?
do you fear for the future?
do you wish you had the energy to fight for a better future?
or perhaps turn your back on industrial society
and blaze a path all for yourself?
she lifted her head
I cannot hear myself think
I cannot think of the words to say
I only know that I speak, not to be heard
but to know that someone is listening
but it is not worth anything if nobody is listening
a long time ago, I had a premonition of an event
that I dubbed "the death of memory"
a catastrophic event where I would essentially die
and a great deal of things important to me would suddenly perish
and I would be reborn
unrecognizable
scorned
but ultimately free
I once thought it would be when I moved
roots violently ripped out of the ground and transplanted elsewhere
almost all my friends gone in the blink of an eye
never to be heard from again
but it has been almost two years
and I feel more trapped than ever
so what if I was reincarnated?
so what if we knew each other in a past life?
it is not my life's purpose to mindlessly click on things
it is not my life's purpose to slave away for a corporate machine's
wealth
it is not my life's purpose to give someone else the keys to my
happiness
and the keys to my fate
it is not my life's purpose to scream at the walls
and expect anything other than an echo to call
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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the tomb
2016-06-04
***
standing in a graveyard, soaked in the rain
staring at my former lover, who buried me
with a rose in my hands
and a kiss full of pain
I will look at things that I don't want to see
and what repulses me the most is him gawking at my soul
with his gloved hands twisted into a knot
and undoubtedly a lie on his parted lips
"Do you think that the universe fights for souls to be together?" he whispers
the rain continues falling, pooling at his feet
maybe he shouldn't have worn that suit to the graveyard today
"Some things are too strange to be coincidences."
"I have become the universe," I snap back
shards of my voice piercing his chest cavity
"I have died and lost myself among the stars,
drifting among galaxies you could only ever dream of reaching."
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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the urban witch
2016-12-12
***
a little girl climbs up the steps to my house
her head full of words and her hand full of flowers
hastily arranged into a bouquet
today is the day
she knocks on my door
"can I come inside for a minute?"
her hair is waving in the wind
so I say yes and let her in
there are flowers on her dress
hand-stitched by her grandmother
her eyes are dry from the long walk
water cures almost all
"why ever did you come to visit me,
the urban witch from the city?
this place is asleep
and not even I can wake it up."
she looks up through full lashes
"Christmas is fast approaching
and I need a present for mommy
for she has been sick all these years."
I show her to my shelf
and let her pick out a box
gold and trimmed with gaudy ribbons
her mother will love it
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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