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Literature Text
I want to sing to the crows
that they might stop their
raucous shouting to
cock their heads and listen.
Up in the branches,
where the wind twists her hair,
my voice carries soft and
is lost in their black-feathered throats.
Were they silent,
perhaps God would hear
the heavy note hanging
in my soul-twisting calls.
that they might stop their
raucous shouting to
cock their heads and listen.
Up in the branches,
where the wind twists her hair,
my voice carries soft and
is lost in their black-feathered throats.
Were they silent,
perhaps God would hear
the heavy note hanging
in my soul-twisting calls.
Literature
and even so, you stayed
I taste rain on your lips
and I know you’ve been
writing poetry again.
I breathe into the touch
of your fingers
cascading in a soft scale
down the cage of bones
around my heartbeat.
you kiss me
knowing
the colors that drift
in my mind
like water beneath
all the bridges that were
burned for me
and you stay.
Literature
sweaterse
when you've a love
in repose,
all quiets
are woven together.
all worries and
worships and
weathering
kept, cared,
covered.
every summer
warms, every winter
draws closer.
and the silences
sweeter than
heaven.
Literature
What Things Cost
What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go
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Sort of like a self-titled album, no?
Comments4
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Ooh, I like the self-titled-ness. Very well written. A little chilling, too, but very good.