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Literature Text
There’ve been poems going around
with times for their names;
and it made me wonder out loud
[and a bit more than little]
of what I thought about
at 7:00 pm.
i. [I have a photo of a man
stuck as a boy;
as I will always be the girl
sipping hibiscus tea
then calling myself a vampire.
I think {I’m sure} we’ve forgotten each other.
And it’s blundering that I had half my words at the ready
to be about him.
Time check: 7:12 pm.
ii. If things are going
twice as fast as they are,
maybe thrice-
could they go even more
fast-paced?
I’m kind of looking forward to that.
Not at keeping track,
but at watching myself
devoured.
{What colors would I give out?}
iii. My best friend must be tinkering
with the sound ‘confused.’
If you add us up together
you’d end up with more differences
than sums.
That’s how broken you get when you grow up.
iv. There’s no sleeping for atrophy;
the way we don’t have reverse phases.
Time machines have never been more
metaphorical-
but if I write more in this stanza,
it’d come up a cliché
and I want this daughter christened poiesis.
v. god, semi-colons make everything
appear softer;
albeit temporarily.
Something incomplete
and random
at 7:59 pm.
vi. But then I’m always
less than a hundred percent
{and evaporated}
at any time of day.
vii.
Had I gone and spun this
at 6:55,
would I have been suspended
in that five minutes of leeway?
Literature
Sudden awakening
Aghast and panic-stricken I awoke,
risen from a dark, deep slumber.
I found myself in an alien place,
once my home, but no longer.
What have happened I soon understand,
and a look in the mirror confirms my fear.
It shows me having grown even older,
with a little new wrinkle here and there.
Trembling, no longer able to stand
I fall back in my chair, into despair.
Why does this keep happening to me?
Is my life now finally beyond repair?
Literature
Journey to an unknown world
I turn the page and look
into a book
to see
what world's awaiting me
in some abandoned reverie.
I get lost in my mind
and one more time
I turn around.
I'm waiting for the sound
of footsteps falling on the ground.
Is someone there to guide me
on this journey
through my mind?
I wonder what I'll find
if I just go in searching, blind.
And if I stop or falter
only time will know to tell
what I have done to alter
someone's story told so well.
If I write this adventure down
penned in my own hand
will I know what's lost and what I've found
in journeys through this land?
© Sunny M. Jackson 2013
Literature
The Alchemist
You place your faith
In the maps and charts
Of fools.
You seek what God could never give
To those mighty Conquistadors,
Resplendent buffoons in pantaloons
Searching for a lie.
The fire dances tonight
In your inkwells and your elements.
It overlooks
The shirts, phantom-pressed,
And countless cups of tea
Undrunk, now cold.
The gold
You really desire lies beyond
The Aztecs and the Incas. It lurks
In you. Drag it out, screaming,
Into the pitch midnight
And then, maybe, you will see:
The treasure was always here.
You just needed to claim it.
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You have no idea how much I love this.