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Literature Text
faux-jesus swing exploding
arsenic bomb; preening nationalist
beard full of bees, hopped and boxed and praying
to magic mirror of capitalist branding
these are the alien walls, these are the aliens among us
the hateful spew of a having few
pretending to be everyone
arsenic bomb; preening nationalist
beard full of bees, hopped and boxed and praying
to magic mirror of capitalist branding
these are the alien walls, these are the aliens among us
the hateful spew of a having few
pretending to be everyone
Literature
Not By Sight
Living blind
can turn a simple grocery run
into an altar call.
Enter good Samaritan:
no introduction,
just a hand on my arm
and a prayer
for my sight,
my wholeness,
to be restored.
Am I not whole?
My eyes took early retirement,
but that doesn’t make me
tragic,
less than;
I am
a collage of scars
and stories,
of train rides and tea leaves.
I’ve had a good life,
a hard life,
a full life.
Today, I can’t
find it in me
to gently correct her;
in society’s eyes, I am
made invisible one moment
and spotlighted the next,
ready either to stand back
or stand out.
The pressures imposed
by ableism,
by
Literature
Static
The house came cheap; I wasn’t surprised. It was getting on in years, not run down yet but probably requiring a little more attention than it did in its youth. And then, of course, there were the rumors.
Haunted, said some of the locals.
No such thing, argued others, but even they admitted that there had been a mysterious disappearance a couple decades ago, and the new owners hadn’t been able to keep a renter there for more than half a year since. The most recent tenants lasted barely a month before hightailing it out without a backwards glance.
“What form does this ‘haunting’ take?” I asked my cashier a
Literature
Moral Letters to Lucilius
My dear Lucilius.
Once again I encourage you to ponder
The virtues of temperance
And tranquillity.
My dear Lucilius.
Long have I written to you incessantly,
And told you tales of brave souls
That you might copy them.
We are both making great progress.
My dear Lucilius.
Our friends tell me
That in your party nights you pass by my house
And sing just a bit lower
So as not to wake me up.
I have indeed a light sleep,
Though not from cares,
But from the light electric the gods
Planted inside me,
In my spirit,
And that keeps me up at night
While I write to you.
My dear Lucilius.
Tell me news. Some say
That every night you sing
Until your lips stiff
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