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Literature Text
Oh, the rhythm of the clock,
the tutting of the second hand
setting a tempo to time that
I can comfortably amble
down hallways to,
as if I was looking at my life
in a gallery.
Step by step by step,
appreciating each moment
for what it's worth,
inhaling the world and
breathing it out,
warming up my lungs,
as it were,
should I decide to sing at moment's notice.
What is life but music,
and what is time but its keeper?
the tutting of the second hand
setting a tempo to time that
I can comfortably amble
down hallways to,
as if I was looking at my life
in a gallery.
Step by step by step,
appreciating each moment
for what it's worth,
inhaling the world and
breathing it out,
warming up my lungs,
as it were,
should I decide to sing at moment's notice.
What is life but music,
and what is time but its keeper?
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
if you have ghosts (you have everything)
my hands were blue and so was i
and i had everything:
a christmas tree
a guitar tuned by humidity
a dark library underneath my pillow
and a voice whose words jerk, jut
and stab quietly into one another
so i may never understand;
it was two AM, dawn of a decade
and here a ghost has me motionless in 1933.
--
i never met my grandfather till today--
he dies in 1975
and in 2020 he is born
at the bottom of a drawer in the kitchen,
his coffin and crib:
he is swaddled in moth-eaten dishtowels by a nameless undertaker
(or perhaps an autophagic author himself);
his crib and coffin:
he is buried a lifetime
(deaf to my cacophonous lifetime et ceter
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.
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Any suggestions for a better title? PLEASE.
Comments7
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the last line. GENIUS.