Posts
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With My Mother in My Chest. My Chest
Eight AM, I wake in my father’s home with my mother in my chest.
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To Relive or to Remember
There was a vacant bathroom outside the church park.
I crawl in beat, destitute, feeding off the radiant waves.
I stare into a warped mirror punched by drunken twilight boys, -
In Knowing You, For But a Moment
On the porch, with grooves of woven twine
embedded into the underbelly of my thighs,
I sit and listen intently for you. My ears perked,
with unruly fire-streaked hair tucked behind them, -
Emily Dickinson, What Did You Feel?-
When you languidly grazed hands with a Woman,
had you seen your reflection in Her irises?
Had you wished you could drown in that yearning black void? -
A Newborn Sentience?
Let Her come out of the womb, varnished,
moved so miraculously by phantoms and auras.
Oral embodiments of asking and wonderment.
Ingesting the simplest forms, phonetic emotions. -
Let Me Search
- let me search
- spread across the earth like a wave of miraculous light
- let me search
- where movement makes undeniable sense
- where psychedelic circles vibrate l
- let me search
Loves
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Today I Love a Girl
Today I am just a man,
In love with a girl.
She has eyes that glimmer,
Like emerald water.
And she smells sweet,
Like lemons and fruit.
She loves eating pomegranate seeds, -
Anything
This song sounds like spring
The joy we had
Sitting in the grass
As it stained your white overalls
That your mother embroidered
With purple flowers
Your favorite color -
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Cowgirl’s Glitter
Blaring alarm at 5 AM.
Jumps out of bed to work
The dirty work left to her
Hauling hay before school.
Changes into a little black dress.
Eyeliner to cover her exhaustion
A pretty little teacup
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The Beautiful Hill That I Can’t Climb
the beautiful hills are big but they don’t frighten me
they protect us while we lay on the pointy grass
your golden hair tickling the Earth
as you sing along with the birds when you laugh
we just ate deli meat sandwiches -
tell me i can stay
tell me I cannot drink the air;
yet the smoke on the horizon curls like a finger,
inviting me to taste February in the wind
and know time is running out