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Literature Text
It scares me that this could be
my last poem—
something more than a goodbye
but less than my soul;
a mere imprint
on half a white page
just begging to be read,
read,
and re-read.
I haven’t even begun to grasp
the hintings of love,
its quirks & random tendencies
to be set aflame
when you look into the eyes
of someone staring back
at yours.
It isn’t fair for fear
to house in the hollows
of your stomach,
because there’s so much more
that’s worth the good
you’re too shy to touch—
knowing you’ve been burned before.
So darling, don’t leave me roses
on my grave;
read to me,
in your happiest of voices,
poems and quotations
you’d give your heart for
to trade.
Literature
The Virus
the moon was indifferent
the sun didn't care
the birds sang out loudly
the people weren't there
the goats all roamed freely
the lonely dog barked
the street-lights blinked slowly
the cars were all parked
the dust had all settled
the air was now pure
the earth began healing
the virus was cured
Literature
the daughter universe
Lonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little houses
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion g
Literature
cycle.
(birth.)
i walk home, crisp shoelaces, bloodied nose
middle of autumn, frothing at the mouth
kids took summer skin too far, brought on apocalypse
i tell myself it will be over soon, wintertime freckles
will be here
incensed
(childhood.)
stove milk and delicate murmurs
the technicolor alphabet teaches itself
purple bowls with animal faces
hospital bracelets around tiny wrists
won’t come loose
mama
(adolescence.)
the clouds are gasoline, wisps of gin, addicted
there is vomit on the floor, new candy sores
sky is burning, orange with hungry flame, vying
i don’t know who to talk to, crying
let me go
alive
(adulthood.)
doctor
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Getting on a flight tomorrow. Hoping to write more and more and more poems for a long time.
Comments4
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This is absolutely beautiful.