Sta.sh
| This thing was more than 6 years in the making. I think I'm done. I think it's pretty good. |
| Deviant Login | Shop |
 | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
| This thing was more than 6 years in the making. I think I'm done. I think it's pretty good. |
One of my many superpowers Sometimes I walk home with a painful bursting bladderOne of my many superpowers by `Bringa
past a dozen weeing men
just to feel superior.
My Father 1 When he was 30My Father 1 by `Bringa
my father had built and torn down
and rebuilt again a shed
with his own hands;
had planned a future for himself and his wife
and the two children he knew he'd have.
My father had serious hobbies.
I remember the oscilloscopes and the smell
of ammonia.
He would come home from work and pore over
financial documents, figure out how to keep us
safe and secure and comfortable.
Because that is what grown-ups do.
And he'd worry and frown and talk seriously
to serious men.
It was clear to me then that there was a line
between child and man, and that I was
on this side and he on the other.
That was fine. The line would
2nd person fiction and You You like fiction written in the second person. You may not admit it to yourself, but deep down, you really do. It teases you with its confrontational otherness, its flamboyantly displayed post-modernism, its teeth.2nd person fiction and You by `Bringa
Do not look at its teeth. You do not want to look at its teeth.
Fiction written in the second person and you have a long history of denial. At first, you were sure it couldn't be done. Then it was done, and it was done to you, and you liked it, too, but it was only the one time and you were kind of drunk. It was an experiment, and it was interesting as an experiment, but that was all it was.
Only, of course, it wasn't.
Fiction
Riverdrum Many things have been handed to me over years:Riverdrum by =Vigilo
a drum full of water, once. I threw it away,
of course, but it returned, again, again,
until I took it under my arms
and called it mine.
My riverdrum is full of water that is full of light,
but it cannot scoop up a brook of stars.
I have two children. They have made
a game of watching the cows below that
walk towards me and never reach me. The first
one to spot the cow closest to me calls out 'Cowherd!'
I have a wife. I lose her like one loses grey hairs –
achingly, and with sadness. Perhaps these hairs
float over the river of oil and water that keeps us
away. Perhaps she l
flash your witch-eyes,
stare to sleep
