RiparianVeins

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I never found the spring by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

I never found the spring

I breathed small errings into the crook of your elbow eyes half skewed to the weather scheme Outside, besmirched ink or knife blade in the cusp of light Overcast and breathing, the sanguine morning I whispered small resolutions into the crescent of your pelvic bones, I stammered in the rocks and choked in the foam I never found the spring, lost in tired fronds I left you clues in the seams of your skin, the flesh sore between my teeth Milk and copper permeate the intrepid space our bodies clasp As we ripen and decay

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I never found the spring by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

I never found the spring

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Nafka by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

Nafka

"Nafka," whispered the old woman. The boy gazed up with round eyes, two moons in the evening dusk. Two forgotten suns. There once were two brother Suns. The First Sun, being the eldest, was given, as a gift, a planet of water. The Second, following his brother, was given a planet of wind. A millennium passed, during which the water planet gave birth to forest, and the wind planet to silver. From forest sprang beings of earth, and from silver beings of wind. As time churned, those of the water planet unearthed the flame which their father, the First Sun, had hidden i

Tuck is a Torch by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

Tuck is a Torch

Tuck is a torch. He is alive in an allegorical cave, giving life to the skeletons within his walls. An insect on fire—the lord of the ants which have besieged the corner of his lawn, bitten by summer. Yet, Torch—no, Tuck—lives in his cave, an insect under a magnifying glass, his belly made into a waxen petal, his thorax pinched into a stalactite and his complexion privy to the light: visible only at noon, dissipated in the proliferation of morning as the hungry aardvark, sick with sleep, extends its long tongue, devouring a turgid expression as night does the moon. Mid-afternoon and the roach

the bed sheets by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

the bed sheets

The bed sheets saw Cambry grow up like voyeurs and wallflowers: masochistically and sadistically. Upon his arrival, they made room for the supple flesh that was the boy by shedding some of their own, cleaving in the center to form a pair of hands. These hands rippled incessantly with talk, with Cambridge, the small esoteric conversation, huddled in between. Sheets do not know fear, but they know pain. As Cambry fought apparitions in his third year, his body struggled against the confines of its vapid cocoon, unthreading, disentangling, decapitating. Living, Cambry's body burgeoned with e

garbage men by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

garbage men

These mornings are the preludes of small town living. Daddy collects the long, homely road's detritus: the small scraps of iron coughed up by each devilish bend, the indefatigable furniture which sit sweetly at every awkward elbow. I stick my hand out the window in its permanently agape state, catching my own shreds of sunlight shrapnel. Garbage is our mother. It gives birth to everything novel, and the inventor who discredits it is disillusioned with his configurations because he is a fraud. He does not know the majesty of the earth, for if he did, he would understand that the things we

Atlas by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

Atlas

We are sad creatures because that in which we find pleasure is deemed "sin", and those who have found it "corrupted". We are sad creatures bound to death, unlike the anemones of the sea, because we are too tired even to derive pleasure from pain. This was Atlas's discourse, and, like the veins that swam her pale, milky wrists, it was rejected at the shore by a stubborn palm placed atop the facedown paper, above it the perturbed eyes of a man whose taciturn dreams were never enough for him—but this, this was enough, putting away the truth, tucking it faithfully from view but not from feeling, the perfect irony and

Gabriel by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

Gabriel

And so, we lie in wait for some distraught Gabriel, Who, with tattered hands in the place of wings, Will set our sorrows, confused for heart, Anew. Far from home, Some duckling suckles its mother's worth Under a spoiling sun Gabriel watches, hand over chest —Looks through the glass at your cracked visage Clutching your pride, teeth bared A testament to brutality —starved, A man named Gabriel, (mis)loved for an angel, lost his backbone On your yellowed mattress, spoilt, spoilt The milk, forsaken, which the sun strips naked; and there is blood on lips A shedding of skin; an evolution into a birdcage Where

my head is animal by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

my head is animal

Endotherm, I am not one—there is ice in my veins and as I look at him through my bangs I see that he is the same, here in the frozen lagoon Here's the smoke, here's his breath spilling from the lipped flask that faces me with sapphires that stare at me "Gimme another one," It's lust, a lover my tongue plays so effortlessly like a thief who could pass for a con-artist, which is a shame because the best ones are sentenced to no escape; I was good, I had these things—so many things but right now I'll just remain in this haunted movie, playing the last kid to die, scared legless into the roaring cold There's no fucking ru

I rambled in a fiery wake by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

I rambled in a fiery wake

I met fire in (form of) man once. The starkness set my skin to burning; left it raw. I was beautiful, simmering, waking to that gaunt bliss often expressed in photographs. Yet, in time, the love ate away. Careful not to be devoured, I welcomed hesitation into the room of frailty, until it, too, was no more. Perpetuum mobile, perpetual motion. Humans alight, with prickled skin and lustful tastes. Wheat fields, joined by gravel limbs, joined by scraped throats; quivering lungs; rough hewn spirits. Youth, joined to adulthood by tenuous fingers of sun and passion and br

His Skin by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

His Skin

Sir, like a wilting flower, sits by a static windowsill, watching passerby without notice—though, with large, fond hands; fond of touch, and of a violent elegance. Boy, bring me a drink, but in his eyes, there is a sea without shore, a knowing of salvation lost. Speckled hands, an inversion of his, with valleys where mountains loom, rivers where roads start and then end. Boy, akin to fawn: strong and sharp, but blunt in his tastes and therefore in possession of feckless hands. Glass is dropped, and— Pleasure is violent as boy's delicate features flare charismatically, a lion biding its

Love is an Allegory by RiparianVeins, literature

Literature

Love is an Allegory

While that is all very well, my love, I fear it is a lost cause. The question begs: can the world of the divine ever know of the world of the mundane, and the latter the former? My dear! After so many years, is it your intention to reveal to me, now, that you are devoid of belief? When you see my visage in your dreams, am I no different than I am now? Yes, my form may be shakier, and in its dream state, your mind may not curve the light into my physical likeness quite right, but the concept of me—those things that I have chosen to live and die for—manifest. And, is

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sea whispers by RiparianVeins, visual art

sea whispers

RiparianVeins

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Jewels by RiparianVeins, visual art

Jewels

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wood by RiparianVeins, visual art

wood

RiparianVeins

About RiparianVeins

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Artist // Hobbyist

Dec 7
United States
Deviant for 15 years
www.instagram.com/rain_child_8/
She / Her

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My Bio

EDIT: Dear lord, it's been forever since I've been here. If you're interested, I still do art sometimes @ rain_child_8.

This is my age-old collection of juvenile memories and thoughts, bathed in green and stretching into eventual adulthood. Sift through, if it pleases you.

Favourite Visual Artist

Danny Boyle, Donato Giancola, Sally Mann, Sarah Mei Herman, Karen Knorr, Dorothea Tanning

Favourite Movies

American Beauty, Sunshine, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, The Dark Knight Rises, Beasts of the Southern Wild, Donnie Darko, Inglourious Basterds, Slumdog Millionaire, Gattaca, Another Earth, Fight Club

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

This Will Destroy You, Radical Face, Sigur Ros, Sufjan Stevens, Nick Cave, Anam Cara, Mogwai, Stars, Johnny Cash, Explosions in the Sky, Max Richter

Favourite Writers

Jack Kerouac, Vladimir Nobakov, Ayn Rand, John Steinbeck, Foer

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RiparianVeins

Jul 12, 2012

i've been feeling so strange lately

0 min read

as if everything is an almost, but in the least agonizing way possible.  there used to be two of me:  one that appeared at one a.m. on the periphery of sleep, curled into a ball, and the other that the mirror reflected and who sold herself into the world like a photograph.  these two seem to be merging, now, and it is the most subtle and rare feeling, like the sun's breath on your face or a boy's fingers on your knuckles (both of which i desire). read:  freudenschade (https://www.deviantart.com/freudenschade) watch:  Beasts of the Southern Wild

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RiparianVeins

Jun 24, 2011

News: The Hope Contest - Winners

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Thank you for all your participation!  Here are the winners! Features ~ohsparrowsong (https://www.deviantart.com/ohsparrowsong) pseudolectual             magnetic north             james             dear dreams             Franklin             Emmeline             the patient             chasing smoke :iconannsquare: Hope             Warriors             10 Confessions: Zoe             The First Step             Untitled Warmth             Newspaper Boy             Water             PrussiaXSwitzerland _ Updated News Article Contest Information Theme:  Hope Start Date:  February 2, 2011 End Date:  June 22, at 12:00 a.m. Pacific time (revised because I wil

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RiparianVeins

Jun 24, 2011

The Hope Contest - Winners!

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Thank you for your participation in The Hope Contest.  Without further ado, here are the winners! First Place inhale, exhale. repeat. by ~ohsparrowsong (https://www.deviantart.com/ohsparrowsong)             More from ohsparrowsong (https://www.deviantart.com/ohsparrowsong)s gallery:   pseudolectual             magnetic north             james             dear dreams             Franklin             Emmeline             the patient             chasing smoke Second Place The Little Match Girl by :iconannsquare:             More from annsquare (https://www.deviantart.com/annsquare)s gallery:   Hope             Warriors             10 Confessions: Zoe             The First Step             Untitled Warmth             Newsp