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Literature Text
an embarrassed moon
head hung, burying
into the earth again.
it is a comfort
to see the skyline touch
space, to know
we are traveling
through nothing
and still create,
souls electric
like the realization
I know your hands
better than my own.
head hung, burying
into the earth again.
it is a comfort
to see the skyline touch
space, to know
we are traveling
through nothing
and still create,
souls electric
like the realization
I know your hands
better than my own.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
Sand and Salt
Sand and Salt
The ocean stole grains of sand from us
pulled unnoticed one granule at a time,
(wrapped as we were in whispers)
and replaced each with salt
filling the depressions left-
no longer footprints
but lakes and seas of
sloshy saltwater foam
our whorls at their depths
impressions containing us within them
eddies crashing over ridges
drawn by the gravity between us.
As the tempest subsides
cyclones spun from sighs
shut their eyes and
deposit quartzen silt
along the bed.
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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