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Literature Text
am shared, a woven steam dance
elevated by forever remembrance
by smashed donut bits or clock parts
as weeping willow pillow plums
droop noodles upon prairie pups,
like worms wrested in west fields,
notice holes adorned indeed, by high
expletive shorn secretive
lemon days.
in gold as focus flitter crescent curves
woken and wayward from social unrest
double-dragon glib going bubble stones
drowned sight stripes hold level would
as would could follow as much to there
as whence and whence could claim the
supple doors of thence. and so are our days
born between the necessity of goodbye
and the slip morning solace of song.
elevated by forever remembrance
by smashed donut bits or clock parts
as weeping willow pillow plums
droop noodles upon prairie pups,
like worms wrested in west fields,
notice holes adorned indeed, by high
expletive shorn secretive
lemon days.
in gold as focus flitter crescent curves
woken and wayward from social unrest
double-dragon glib going bubble stones
drowned sight stripes hold level would
as would could follow as much to there
as whence and whence could claim the
supple doors of thence. and so are our days
born between the necessity of goodbye
and the slip morning solace of song.
Literature
anfractuous.
and I have so many things yet to show you.
none of this is beautiful
when compared to hair whipping out a car window
in a night so deep and far-flung from city lights
that you can see by starlight for miles.
desert grass desert dust sighing in the wind
chasing at the tires and the sky–
oh my god the sky oh my god that sky,
she calls for only her wildest children tonight.
she calls for us to gallop against each other
against each other our shoulders brushing with canyons with coyotes
like brothers
like sisters
she calls for us
calls after us
as we pelt free and far-flung beneath her blue-black belly
pregnant with planets
Literature
Unsettled
fire stepped out of its place in the hearth -
a shift like turbulence, a silent rattle
in the dead of sleep that lifts eyelids;
yet time turns over and over -
as thoughts in the sleepless do -
never a pause for any one,
never a concern for tired bones.
it wrings the cloth in me;
nausea and a smile are
unhappily wed, for no one
asked for objections.
when will it end?
the feeling of standing on the edge
wobbly legs, lightheadedness;
the home is cold, bitter and blistered
and still tomorrow stops by for a visit
even in this bleak subsistence
I must answer the door with repletion
Literature
Interconnected
A stone thrown
Sending ripples out
Into the ocean
Lost to tides
Or
Becoming tsunamis
On this one
Shared
World
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Comments4
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Wonderful alliteration - I could almost hear this aloud while I read, which is remarkable, because my brain is very focused on words on page/screen.
ShadowsofLight777 I think you might like this.
ShadowsofLight777 I think you might like this.