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Literature Text
I see in one grain,
scared of silver
snakes swimming in the milk;
(save all my love
for Denver
and the rot of leaving earth
in slow, ascending footsteps)
I see in one cool window:
the ghouls and goblins rushing
rushing rushing
rushing to nowhere-
to a moon already plucked
of its best ambitions
to a pooling of the hate
in gravity wells
just beyond the layers of waste
choking out the light.
And here we are, on ground marred
cinnamon and clove
like burnt briar dogs, spitting orange
rattling our teeth for blood;
whispering old venom
in tired shades.
Here we are.
scared of silver
snakes swimming in the milk;
(save all my love
for Denver
and the rot of leaving earth
in slow, ascending footsteps)
I see in one cool window:
the ghouls and goblins rushing
rushing rushing
rushing to nowhere-
to a moon already plucked
of its best ambitions
to a pooling of the hate
in gravity wells
just beyond the layers of waste
choking out the light.
And here we are, on ground marred
cinnamon and clove
like burnt briar dogs, spitting orange
rattling our teeth for blood;
whispering old venom
in tired shades.
Here we are.
Literature
plutonian
you know i would fill you up and over with love
an overflowing kitchen sink stacked with plates from
a breakfast two mornings ago i recall
the clink of a fork and an intake of breath and an
"i think im going to leave you"
slipping from your lips like a prayer,
i nodded,
and went back to my tea
what could i do to keep you, this backwards love we had
i exist as a passing point i am neither your point a or b
artemis will deny that she walks these woods barefoot
searching for love in dewy blades of grass but
i am painfully honest about the holes people have left
you were my orion for a week or so,
if i was a planet i would be pluto
for i
Literature
anfractuous.
and I have so many things yet to show you.
none of this is beautiful
when compared to hair whipping out a car window
in a night so deep and far-flung from city lights
that you can see by starlight for miles.
desert grass desert dust sighing in the wind
chasing at the tires and the sky–
oh my god the sky oh my god that sky,
she calls for only her wildest children tonight.
she calls for us to gallop against each other
against each other our shoulders brushing with canyons with coyotes
like brothers
like sisters
she calls for us
calls after us
as we pelt free and far-flung beneath her blue-black belly
pregnant with planets
Literature
21.15 Mnemonics
He awoke to sunlight in his eyes and the smell of her. Every day, he would stay in bed just a little bit longer than he ought to, just to bask in the glory of smell she had left behind. It was roses and mint and sandalwood and woman and a million other things he couldn’t have described, even if he tried, but it was her, and he would never forget it, as long as he lived, and probably not for a long time after he died.
But every day, the smell grew fainter, the sheets seemed to grow colder, and it was one more day since the last time he woke with her actually there.
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