Atavistic Vital Signs-Mick Hugh/Mick’s Neon Fog

There’s a whole city downtown we’ve been meaning to check out. It sounds cool. Bars, clubs, art galleries, several eras of architecture set in stone and glass. It seems exciting, to think of the lives bustling up and down elevators, and in and out of boutiques. Eating $100 plates of steak and whatever that dessert is they use a blowtorch for. There’s entire sub-cultures there, lost kids reading poetry and obscure guitarists at open-mic nights. I’ve heard about dub-step and the venues they pack four nights a week. There’s a popular jazz club open till 6am. And an all-night diner where the drunks and the burned with the glazed-over faces sit half-asleep waiting for something greasy to eat, and then just looking at their plates before leaving. We could be living down there with cafes right across the street, walk over in the mornings or the afternoon late at night to meet some stranger who reads Camus as much as I do. We could run ourselves up and down city blocks every weekend and never see the same thing twice. We could run those same blocks any Tuesday night and have just as much fun seeing those same things we’ll never see twice because light never touches anything in quite the same way — that’s just physics. We can meet all our new friends on any street corner any time and visit apartments till we find molly to buy. We can stay up late till long after the sun’s rise and just talk, just talk. Lay in the grass in the park and just talk and just know what the other is feeling and thinking and stand up at the same time without a word between us and decide to try the diner for breakfast. We can stroll the waterfront and sit beneath the 5th Street bridge to watch the people run by and eventually fall asleep at a friend’s near Goodale. We can fuck like we used to when life felt eternal and death was a distant age that scared the shit out of us. We can dance at the festivals again. We can leave the city behind every summer and watch the hunters take down mallards till we hear the far-off ocean call our name, and we go and find a new friend to give us a ride. We can be scared again. We can be scared to death that life will pass us by.


[Mick Hugh is the creator of Mick’s Neon Fog. And an all-around bad ass.]

Kids – Howl Davies

‘Look alive, kid’
You say it in a righteous waiver,
my own words, they sounded better
when I used them,
back around the time when I was
itching for control
in a burned-out car I saw, then stole,
stitching patterns onto worn out leather
you know damn well I said it better.

But I’m not here to argue
rather, I came to bid farewell
and after one last night of just reproach,
of threats, of quotes, of knocking up
another pretend pornographic actress,
who’s hacking at her limbs and laughing
about her matchstick sepia fantasies.

And after that has come and passed,
the headache over, there is one last
thing that must be said –
I hope I’m never here again.
Sure it’s been fun, but I am fucking tired
and I’ve barely scratched at twenty
and my body’s giving up on me,
and I’m mangled, twisted, dented,

and I’ve said this almost daily,
I have repented and I have found the light,
as a deathbed atheist, hallelujah,
but it would never get past you,
compulsive lying, it comes and goes,
because when I’m honest, I’m cruel and I just
don’t quite know what balance to adjust to,
and I think far too much about this and

irrelevant childhood pyres,
that shouldn’t’ exist but still I always
push for them to form a place
in a black-lit tone in a worn-out space,
but all I know with certainty is that
if you’re looking for a heartfelt goodbye
I didn’t come here to deliver that
I just came here to leave,
and that’s all, kid,
goodnight.


[Howl Davies is the creator of The Sounds Inside.]

Interpretation of Shadows-Olde Punk (RamJet Poetry) & Christine Ray (Brave and Reckless)

Interpretation of shadow

culmination of the pale deaths

cogito ergo, en utero

vagabond goth kids thrash around the room

time slow, I don’t know

I never want to go home

right here with you

I fell down again

tripped into you

spilled my soul

we are the midnight heretics

let’s smoke a bowl

and talk about kids and politics

I wonder what your shadow says

I am left stunned, paralyzed

by your movement in the dying light

 

Friday night blues

Misfits in Hybrid Moments

Tired Dustbowl town

Torn blue jeans

untucked flannel shirt

skull cap cool

Riding our skateboards

Nowhere fast

Biding time

Ringleaders

of our gang of two

No need for sidekicks

when we chase

twilight shapes together

We are everything we need

 

Time and space seem to conform

to your every desire

You set a fire in my heart

that still burns in the next county

I tattooed your name on

my fingers with a Sharpie

and a sewing needle

That day on the bridge

by the creek when you

said that you loved Layne Staley

I watched you gather the shadows

and banish the dark

Everything stood stark

Bas-relief of your religion

I swore I would become your disciple

Following you home barefoot and stoned

 

Comrades-in-arms

You and me against the world

Things so clear, so simple

And then. . .

You are looking at me differently

Long sideways glances

Words unsaid hang between us

Make me uneasy

Make me question

Make me look at you differently

A thousand exploding possibilities

Our first hungry kiss

Butterfly wings starting a hurricane

on another continent

We shed clothes

My tomboy armor

You lay your trembling heart against mine

on my parents’ rec room couch

Our shadows fuse, dance on the wood paneled wall

 

Slipping into each other

Like the lyrics of a Red Hot Chili Peppers

song

From a changing perspective

I learn what I thought was wrong

My head flips an ollie

This is so much better than Molly

We are writing a whole new story

Into the chapters of a small town

So far into you I can hear every sound

Slam and crash in our punk rock romance

Our souls laugh as our bodies

entwine

Now I know what your shadowy signs

Had to say, “Come and love me fool”

Etched into my forever

On a young and hungry Saturday


[Olde Punk writes RamJet Poetry  and Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless]

Bursting Pure And Blooming-Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles

Nicole Lyons

Landlocked and scraping my belly
in the depths of their apologies,
I learned to hold my breath
in an ocean of abandonment.
The bitter taste of sunny days
danced upon my tongue, twisting
with the weeds of their neglect before
I swallowed them, and felt
the tear of my lungs
bursting pure, and blooming
the greenest words
from my throat.
The feathered stroking
of doubtful creatures making homes
out of the shame in my veins
screamed for release,
and oh how I released them.
Into deaf ears and cruel eyes
my soul flowed, spilling
truth and pouring pain
into the deep pools
of their shallow love.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

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Are you following Secret First Draft? We think you should be!

Secret First Draft is a site of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective that is dedicated to highlighting the stellar work of the members of Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and friends of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.  We also bring attention to other fierce writers we think you should be reading.

 

There’s no place like alone-PBBR

PBBR

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

By pbbr

I ran buck wild for a porky child, sometimes even faster than the bullies chasing me. Bare-skin feet scrambling across playgrounds, through alleyways, through drugstore parking lots. They caught me once, I can still feel their blows. They caught me twice, I can show you the crooked scar. There were love handles on my side and dirt in my neckline, but there was not a third time. Adrenaline is the speed of children.

Running through the woods I was almost home. But I was out of breath in the Texas sun, heavy shoulders rising and falling under my sweatstained shirt. The pines were too skinny to hide behind. Catcalls and fistfalls were approaching fast. Then a ditch beside the channel whispered my name. There was a cargo barrel at its bottom and I slid inside, a rusty comfort beside the tide. In my mind it was a spaceship…

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Burning at the Stake – SRP

SRP

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

back-alley
Burning at the Stake – SRP
when you’re sure in your ways
no one can tell you
the truth
and we’re right at all costs
as desperation sets in
when I’m cornered and pinned
is when you feel no shame
you look unsure of yourself
let me give you a hand
let me open the door
help me to understand
when I’m engulfed in the blaze
no one will tell you why
and we’ve struggled and lost 
desperation’s a friend
and they are smiling at me
because
its the 
end
SRP
[SRP is a co-creator of Sudden Denouement and driving force in the collective. He is a musician, a writer, and a friend.]

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The Imbeciles and the Junoesque Facade – Bishop Hermes

Bishop Hermes

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

tumblr_lrwjd3fTDX1qh8xwzo1_500.gifThe Imbeciles and the Junoesque Facade – Bishop Hermes

“I know you” said the desperate one to her that descants alluring scores
For the feeble hearted are callously drawn in only to be mutilated and buried evermore
For she like the swarthy widow spins webs for fools flight towards ecstasy
As they glide in blinded hope of their heart being harmoniously joined only to end in entropy
And they live in these rings of quandaries
Unable to escape and unaware of its boundaries
And most will waste away and wonder off into nothingness
And they along with the half wits that make it out would all speak of no regrets


[Bishop Hermes is an exceptional poet/musician who came to Sudden Denouement with strong recommendation from Sperantia Zavala. We are excited to have him contributing and feel strongly about his poetic vision and look forward to a fruitful collaboration.]

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Have You Ever Wanted to Be a Member of the Sudden Denouement or Secret First Draft Literary Collective?

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and Secret First Draft are holding a joint Writing Contest in the month of March to elicit new writers for the Collective.

Writing Prompt: March Madness

Unpublished/Original work

Each entry should be more than 50 words but less than 500

Each writer may submit 1 to 3 (maximum) pieces of writing for consideration

Submissions will be accepted: 3/1/2017 through 3/31/2017

Full prize information to be announced soon!

1st Place Winner will be granted membership in the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

2nd, 3rd and 4th Place Runners-ups will be granted membership in the Secret First Draft Collective.

Send your submissions with your name, your pen name (if applicable), the address for your blog and a short biography (1 to 3 sentences to): Suddendenouement@gmail.com

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and its sister sites Secret First Draft and The Whisper and The Roar are forums for divergent literature that we hope excite and challenge you.

The top three posts will be published on Sudden Denouement and the top five posts will be published on Secret First Draft.

Finalists will be contacted by Sudden Denouement no later than May 15, 2017.