Improv 1, Week 7

The first improv for this week riff's Sandra Meek's, "Paralleling the Subject."

Paralleling the Subject

Armed with knowing the petals are inariably odd, I begin
He loves me, days I'm not looking
to reason being alone. Not it won't
stop raining. The dry creek bed out back's become the course

the world is taking, downstream. You, praying
for sun, aren't you the one who taught me
the body's a clay vase thrown
around an absent fist, who transposed
my mother's hymns beneath the staircase of any angelic

human voice? But history's the wilderness
you've wrested free of; the desert's flooded
to a mercury sheet. Winged, might my reflection
hover there among regrets,swords

of white fire,and the one hard
nail of sun,golden period stamped
after every question? As my sister's face shone
in the polished ice just
before she slipped, wrist

crumbling, discovering the body's core
a scaffold of ash, the skate's upturned blade
a silver glint, that little bit of grace
withheld.


This is a very nature-centric piece. It is composed of words dadling with river, planets, the wilderness, the desert, fire, and ice describe the wild/basic nature of the characters and their personalities throughout the piece. I attempted to do the same in my riff by utilizing different elements of nature such as the moon, snow, stalactites, and more.

The Cycle

Adorned with forgetting that the wings are unequivocally bare, I demolish
She worships me, nights I’m searching
for lies of being together. Now it won’t
start snowing. The wet grooved bark above us transmutes the evolution

the sun is bringing, upwind. You, rebuking
the moon, aren’t you the one who disrobed me from
the arm’s brittle puzzle enveloped
around an immutable foot, who demolished
my father’s beard next to the cellar of all beastily

piglet squeals? But tomorrow’s the jungle-vines
you’ve tangled into, the ocean’s evaporated to a
sand-papered lot. Scaled, shall my irises
bury there beneath time, shields

of red water, and the three softened
beds of rings, bronzed colons embedded
before each list? When my son’s nose paled
reflection in the unshaven stalactites just
before he collapsed, ankle

dissipating, unleashing the tonsil’s kidney
a bevy of muscles, the bike’s spinning wheel
a tar-black tire, that little bit of the cycle
ever-turning.

Free Entry 2, Week 7

Blue arms extend pointed nails
in her direction. A menacing purr
emanates from the deep bowels of her breast.
Planetary plates shift silently
under their souls to avoid the trample
of destitution. His hand rakes
down her spine, skeletal bones
shivering in discourse. Her muscles
clench his waist tightly,
rolling in time with her pants of exertion.

You’re touching me. I’m -
not touching you. Their lungs tighten:
free air, swirling mischievously
around them like flamed leaves
drowning on air. His nails drive
into her skin, a jackhammer
demolishing that straw house of ’73.

Swinging with bondage to her gutted teeth,
eyes rutted hollow in the dusk. I’m not
touching you. She thrusts up
against his torso, pinning him a sheep
to the slaughter. Her fingers grip
his bony wrist in a vice
unbreakable.
Bending down, she hisses,
You’re touching me.

Free Entry 1, Week 7

The gray concrete encircles my mind
like a Rottweiler’s chain choking
the life out of an anaconda.
Squeezing that citrusy lemonade
out of skin. It’s been a long time
since I’ve seen my own blood, absent
from the body’s self.

Whimpering virgin fingers tremble
in the wake of Nature’s tragedy. Dusk breathes
Mercury’s star-crusted poison
into the iron-clenched jaws of ignorance,
road-kill on the cement. Earth’s cracked veins
spell the essence of my innocence- CHILD,
chided for her beliefs in a system of non-conformity.

Everyone’s trying to be different: the panic
room of social construct crumbles like Cheetos’
chips at our toes. Ants edge out to digest
our remains, nestled between the edges
of the Atlantic
and the specific.

Junkyard Quote 5, Week 7

"Been a long time since I've seen my own blood."

-Lord Marshal, The Chronicles of Riddick

Junkyard Quote 4, Week 7

"I did battle with ignorance today, and ignorance won."

-Huey Freeman, The Boondocks

Junkyard Quote 3, Week 7

"History did not demand Yossarian's premature demise, justice could be satisfied without it, progress did not hinge upon it, victory did not depend on it. That men would die was a matter of necessity; which men would die, though, was a matter of circumstance, and Yossarian was willing to be the victim of anything but circumstance. But that was war."

-Catch-22

Junkyard Quote 2, Week 7

"This isn't a place for people to work, there's not even a door to get in or out."

-Haruha, "Fooly Cooly"