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Literature Text
I am flock anew
hungerswift birds, black drastic
eyes pressed against the light of morning
until
I am sundown child, pacing the borderline
between rotations
rising up in glass boxes
high above the sinew of the earth
building in broad strokes of narrow genius
'til a toppling down
I am the flat fall, the empty net
the desolate day
breathing dry upheaval into lungs thick with need,
eyes cupped against dark of night
living in its terrifying glory
and fear
I am flock anew, hungerswift
drastic eyes until the borderline
rising glass earth, building flat and desolate
breathing need, eyes in terrifying fear
I am flock
black birds pressed between sinew
earth toppling, desolate
living 'til the narrow morning
hungerswift birds, black drastic
eyes pressed against the light of morning
until
I am sundown child, pacing the borderline
between rotations
rising up in glass boxes
high above the sinew of the earth
building in broad strokes of narrow genius
'til a toppling down
I am the flat fall, the empty net
the desolate day
breathing dry upheaval into lungs thick with need,
eyes cupped against dark of night
living in its terrifying glory
and fear
I am flock anew, hungerswift
drastic eyes until the borderline
rising glass earth, building flat and desolate
breathing need, eyes in terrifying fear
I am flock
black birds pressed between sinew
earth toppling, desolate
living 'til the narrow morning
Literature
Residual.
Fireflies are able to produce a chemical reaction within the lower section of their abdomens that emits a cold light. This form of light production, known as bioluminescence, is critical to courting potential mates, performing warning displays, and other forms of communication.
We stumble around a smoky field cratered with rabbit holes, wading through the collective glow of thousands of fireflies. Cicadas trade gossip with the grasses that catch and tug the laces of our tired shoes by the light of the moon, a bonfire, and farther in the distance, the little rectangles of light escaping from the windows of the houses in town.
Literature
here are my words
i used to dream whole cityscapes and skylines,
ocean cities and coves washed over with waves,
terrifying, brilliant, unable to touch me.
i used to be able to talk to trees,
to speak in palms and eyes-closed silences
and the sure roughness of bark under my fingernails.
i used to be able to sing
and believe that believing made me better,
believe that joy sounds bright and crescendos.
i used to be someone who tripped on her words,
spilled out in sloppy sentences and sentiments,
used to be someone who could 'sit at a typewriter and bleed'
and in bleeding turn the hurt beautiful.
i used to close my eyes and fall into feeling,
trace the right word
Literature
the warrior supplicates
burn
the rest
of me
but spare
my
skull.
cake it
with jewels.
soak it
in dyes,
pour water from it
onto withered greens.
glue candles to the
inside with their own wax,
make it a bowl
for things
too easily
lost.
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Comments26
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I want to like this poem more than I do, but I get derailed, and sort of stay that way, at the line "building in broad strokes of narrow genius." The line doesn't mean much to me.
the 'til a toppling down' disrupts the mood. I think it and the next line can be combined and preserve more of the tone.
The flat fall on until 'lungs thick with need' get me back, almost, but I think a really strong concrete image is needed to show the terror of the night.
The last four lines are wonderful. I don't feel like this poem needs much, but maybe one really really well placed evocative bit of concrete imagery and some teasing lines together.
the 'til a toppling down' disrupts the mood. I think it and the next line can be combined and preserve more of the tone.
The flat fall on until 'lungs thick with need' get me back, almost, but I think a really strong concrete image is needed to show the terror of the night.
The last four lines are wonderful. I don't feel like this poem needs much, but maybe one really really well placed evocative bit of concrete imagery and some teasing lines together.