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Literature Text
The sky whispers water
and the leaves turn on their backs
in hopeful submission.
We, the nomads,
ambulatory beings,
are not so blessed with the immediate relief
of understanding cloudburst patterns.
If my toes were roots,
and my palms
begged the moon for rain,
maybe I, too, would learn
to speak fluent with the clouds.
and the leaves turn on their backs
in hopeful submission.
We, the nomads,
ambulatory beings,
are not so blessed with the immediate relief
of understanding cloudburst patterns.
If my toes were roots,
and my palms
begged the moon for rain,
maybe I, too, would learn
to speak fluent with the clouds.
Literature
self-organized
the fatal attraction of civil mysticism and the ingenuity of the perfect aspect ratio fit me into my corner so I could cube myself and bloom under pressure never ending as expected new cubbyholes to place in my belly filled with grief and relief for the mes no one wants to see.
Literature
Dissonance
The mountain, bathing her flanks
in the yellow moon,
all the thin
margins of chemistry edging
toward frost and silence
isn’t it enough
to be alive—
Must I also
love it?
Air chills, stiffens.
It becomes hard to breathe.
Later in star-dewed night and the earth
in oscillating harmonics with the sun
and moon, and all the space dust there ever was
and ever will be, and I’m standing there
amidst the whirl
uneasy
afraid
brandishing myself like a club,
like the very first torch
burning fitful in the dark
though it’s only a scrap of carbon
thinking it can think, that loving
or not loving
should matter at all
though it&
Literature
Price of Too Much Self-confidence (Six Word Story)
Thinking he would win, he lost.
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