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Literature Text
There's no boil in stories if you give
them the same beginnings.
A ruler,
pink pajamas
and an old valentine box
could prologue the launching
of a thousand black holes
that Helen would redamance in shame.
But you- you are friends with cliché
and her fade-to-blacks;
carrying her two-person bites
in your backpack
as if the hammers she'd left
on the middle of my skull
wasn't solidified to tar-
and the submission of your unsense
must push me further to
permeability; my vertigoed
saccharine boy.
Cinematographs could only try
to reinvent a color that remains
undiscovered;
as the aphasia
of a word that's not met
the tip of any tongue
becomes the measure for
earthquakes & pangaeas
unbefit any scale.
[The third side to a flipped coin
is walking opposite the equal sign-
hiding the answer.]
And he is here.
In front of me.
Making me infinity back
to where I began.
[Watch me
as he presses repeat.]
Literature
Telepathic
It was like touching the tentacle of a feather, something so soft and insubstantial that you couldn't even be sure that it was actually happening. Sometimes it felt like someone was watching you, other times it felt more like a faucet turning on slowly in the back of the mind. At other times it felt like a kind of distant radiation, of which you could only hear a vague kind of static, like the microwave was on in the other room.
It wasn't any of those things, of course. And while I hadn't come up with a name for it, I knew in the core of my being that it was a bad thing that was happening to me.
Unlike the state of the Beings, it is empty u
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
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
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