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Literature Text
You could never be strangers again
in that void of charged space
between the eyes and the air.
And the other people, who are
less than faces in the crowd.
Maybe it was a true dream of
dark times, always walking,
you are thief protected by gloss
that they could break
if only they knew how.
The lion at the zoo could
jump the fence, the wolves
could dig beneath the glass.
Safety is a mutual ignorance,
and it is something to be reminded
through wilds of the woods,
that she has fangs
and so do you.
in that void of charged space
between the eyes and the air.
And the other people, who are
less than faces in the crowd.
Maybe it was a true dream of
dark times, always walking,
you are thief protected by gloss
that they could break
if only they knew how.
The lion at the zoo could
jump the fence, the wolves
could dig beneath the glass.
Safety is a mutual ignorance,
and it is something to be reminded
through wilds of the woods,
that she has fangs
and so do you.
Literature
softened
the sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
alone.
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
raven,
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
me.
Literature
Reddist
Before you, there were women
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
Apples became
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
Literature
I want to forget names,
& faces,
& people.
I want to forget their veins,
fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;
wrists I can't look at
without longing to tear apart.
Spine full, and spiteful:
I want to cry
roses in my midnight tea
for these star collapsed lungs.
I want to cry for her
& for me.
But Shame,
she wont allow me the courtesy.
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Comments13
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I like to think that everyone, everything is kindly, kindly. But it really does have a way of surprising you when they lash out and you flare up. I totally dig this. We'd do well to remember how capable we are of hurting and causing hurt.