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Literature Text
When you can hear the quiet
whispering on constricting tarmac belts
the time has come to step out
and unleash this full potential
huffing at the window frame.
Staring over the grey anatomy
of the city's convoluted arteries
she groans in never-ending restlessness
a tension rising, she lies in wait
buckled up before the dawn.
Awake, my lady,
and bask in this diffusion
may it lighten the weight
of all the burdens you're carrying
as we orbit in this continuous distant dance.
whispering on constricting tarmac belts
the time has come to step out
and unleash this full potential
huffing at the window frame.
Staring over the grey anatomy
of the city's convoluted arteries
she groans in never-ending restlessness
a tension rising, she lies in wait
buckled up before the dawn.
Awake, my lady,
and bask in this diffusion
may it lighten the weight
of all the burdens you're carrying
as we orbit in this continuous distant dance.
Literature
wireless
I.
we weren't looking for Kevin Bacon,
weren't trying to find a way--
it was just ten steps
to no one in particular.
II.
looking for damn connections,
screw chaos theory.
I'm gonna find me some sense.
III.
less than three percent of potential
muggers or
rapists are willing to commit murder
if you are in a situation where you feel that such a person
committing such a crime on you is possible
turn around
make eye contact
put them in the situation where they'd have to kill you
to get away with it
most will just walk away
and
Literature
clay
cowardice runs deep, like a rich vein of red
through the bottom of a Colorado river.
so I gathered that clay, scooped it up in my hands
and packed it, carefully, over my face
until it covered every inch; and my lidded eyes
were merely dents in the thick tan façade.
this was cleaner
than the traditional, Oedipal method
of blinding oneself.
alone, the clay
was not enough. I stayed inside
the house, too, under cover of a sturdy blue roof
that cordoned the horizon
because out here there is too much sky
to hide from.
and I ignored the phantoms
still flitting in my ears,
because they spoke of the kind of roses
Literature
Uniforming.
Hope is in the guest bedroom unpacking. It takes years to unpack in the guest bedroom. Actually, it just never ends. The mismatched pairs of socks keep multiplying, and the bed never molds to your shape. It is a slab of ambiguity that ensures that no guest ever feels at home. There's a pink cardboard Kleenex box on the nightstand and ruffles around the bed frame. It looks like a carbon copy of a Pottery Barn sample guest room. Those are dying rooms, not living rooms.
Hope's brother died in the war, and they sent his armpits and toenails and nostrils back to the country in a box with a flag draped over it. He was just bits and pieces; he didn
Suggested Collections
Finally something inspired by the view from my window on the 23rd floor.
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