No one cares for me,
because I once cared for you.
futile attempts to invigorate the soil
with hands un-gloved, dirty deeds
to provide my life with some color.
I lost my five sisters, put-out
stars. embers burning at the end
of my cigarette, as the earth-
un-tilted. and I remember this:
a world once warm and smooth
ivy, scarlet, and melted butter.
asking without words, a war
was waged because of my lust
for change and because the sky's
face had fallen in the mud
no more up and adam, simply
down and down and down
and further out: such a price
for my birth-right, my freedom.
everyone is in black with hypothermic
breath, beaten about, winds-
inevitable and unyeilding,
as I turn forever blue
your beastly lips sewn shut
no more will these tender-
words, these tears, and-
my ears throb. when death comes:
will I be marked by anything but,
my selfish martyrdom, or
will the next decade prove
something else, for my
my constitution is either
being filled up by the sea,
or possibly a bud is blooming.
Monday, November 14, 2011
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
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strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
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In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
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July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
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lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
mindful words.
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