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Literature Text
creak
like your bones like
the old door on its rusty hinges
soft like
tiptoeing on rickety boards
in chilly winter. yes. yes. yes.
your eyes are splinters
prickling fiercely at the back of my mind
you are you are you are
the last puzzle piece
and my wish upon a star.
like sinking toes into carpet
or watching people bet on things
they can't afford to lose.
like cravings for weird food
and attention
and maybe some soft
words once in a while.
like that, yeah.
trickle trickle
of river and blood
or tears.
salt rust clean.
you are clean.
you are.
like the breathless moment
before gravity rips a rollercoaster down
or gravity crashes burns kills murders.
gravity of the situation.
grave.
grave.
chalky tombstones and plastic flowers.
you are nothing and
you are everything.
sunrise sunset
drowning burning
softly softly
sleeping.
like numbers like concrete like
stained glass and
harmony.
ripped pages in books and
broken glass and
the discolored cotton candy
the vendors have to eat.
sugar rush.
tender please.
weightless touches and
silent whispers and the
word 'gentle'.
waking up in the mornings
with fog in your
throat and crust
around your eyes.
warm disconnections.
like the simple pleasures
of teddy grahams
and
lego bricks.
yes.
like your bones like
the old door on its rusty hinges
soft like
tiptoeing on rickety boards
in chilly winter. yes. yes. yes.
your eyes are splinters
prickling fiercely at the back of my mind
you are you are you are
the last puzzle piece
and my wish upon a star.
like sinking toes into carpet
or watching people bet on things
they can't afford to lose.
like cravings for weird food
and attention
and maybe some soft
words once in a while.
like that, yeah.
trickle trickle
of river and blood
or tears.
salt rust clean.
you are clean.
you are.
like the breathless moment
before gravity rips a rollercoaster down
or gravity crashes burns kills murders.
gravity of the situation.
grave.
grave.
chalky tombstones and plastic flowers.
you are nothing and
you are everything.
sunrise sunset
drowning burning
softly softly
sleeping.
like numbers like concrete like
stained glass and
harmony.
ripped pages in books and
broken glass and
the discolored cotton candy
the vendors have to eat.
sugar rush.
tender please.
weightless touches and
silent whispers and the
word 'gentle'.
waking up in the mornings
with fog in your
throat and crust
around your eyes.
warm disconnections.
like the simple pleasures
of teddy grahams
and
lego bricks.
yes.
Literature
'Empty' she says
Julie was fingerless on one hand, the left
It was a soft pad with three intact knuckles
and a partial thumb. The arm was pitiful,
skinny with the elbow pink, red, and jutting
out from her bent arm. Her veins were impressed
from the inside, showing hot blue
right through the skin;
that skin was pressed paper.
Julie was only a nickname,
the deliberate half-choke of her name, Julienne.
People never talked about the ugliness of her hand
or the diseases she seemed to readily inhale with
those shuddering blue breaths,
mottled white and purple lips.
They tended to talk about how maybe
Literature
----
i wish i could singe my words
to your body;
maybe then i could
keep track of them.
if i could wound you,
split your skin and write
into the ice-scabs
run elastic through the seams
and tug,
until i am compressed
to a sugar pill,
small enough to keep in
the crook of your elbow
past the sun's death.
i want to remain.
woven into your various systems
and whispering through dishes,
wrinkles in your palm,
enveloped in the quietness
of lamp beams,
blinding and naked.
i want to keep you up at night,
have one-sided conversations
disintegrate into your memory,
into the burble of your constant mind.
Literature
from inside my veins.
i want to sing out of tune,
become undone, fly a giant
marshmallow to the moon;
i want to jump on a sponge
three miles long and a mile wide.
i want to speak in bubbles,
just to pop all the words i wish
i hadn't said.
because i'm allergic to the sound
of wind-chimes, sea-food, and the
coasts of france.
i'm dying to become someone, but i don't
think i have a chance.
so i will throw my beer caps away,
i'll light the warehouse all ablaze.
and maybe i could lay down in the grass,
maybe i could sleep beneath
the constellations, dream about
Achilles' heels, take a breath
and breathe out sunflowers.
oh, it could happen,
one of th
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Comments3
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"like the breathless moment before gravity rips a rollercoaster down." lovelylovelylovely. likelikelike. You write so eloquently