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Literature Text
you scared me there
almost took that
drop too lightly.
you've made the jump
a thousand times
in every kind
of time of light
and sometimes rain
but underneath
is always air.
the only constant
year after year
is your success
down to the ground
and ere there's air
to fear.
almost took that
drop too lightly.
you've made the jump
a thousand times
in every kind
of time of light
and sometimes rain
but underneath
is always air.
the only constant
year after year
is your success
down to the ground
and ere there's air
to fear.
Literature
Muse
i yell at the clouds between sunrise dreams
their whispy constellations forming unresolved patterns
that hide and wink with conspiracy
"the devil is in the details"
she said,
but her voice is more whisper than sound
and I wonder if she was ever really here
i climb into bed and close the sheets behind me
to lock away the day
hiding my fears behind the substance of sleep and repetition
"identity is not who you are"
she said,
"but what you do"
and her voice is more thought than whisper
and I wonder if she was ever more than me
Literature
The Inn of the Eighth Goat
The Inn of the Eighth Goat sniffed the lodger in 3B, and exhaled into the Sicilian sun the scent of old, tatty luggage and orange blossom lotion. The Inn tried again, dark floorboards listening to the lodger's bare feet as they walked from tiny bathroom down the hall, back into the room.
Some wanted Mediterranean white buildings and olives sucked from the fingers of browned men; others, a beach with buried metal coins. Or a red-and-white-checked diner on a quiet highway in dusty, lonely Arizona. Anywhere but here, this bland, four-room inn surrounded by skeletal trees clinging to yellow dirt. It was cheap, the mattresses were thin as wolves
Literature
Story Time
Where honey bees blend into sunsets
They sit in a crooked circle
Writing non-love poems
Writing stories
Writing the lives of the living they never knew
As documents or poems or journal entries
Encoded with flavors only the pen knows
And curiously
They pass those words down the line
They read
They think
And pass the papers back, then begin again
With a new dream, speckled with what they know now
Like nascent freckles in the wrinkles of a sun-worn face.
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Comments1
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Sometimes going deeply into false realities is a nightmare in itself.