Posts
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stranger to blue water
sing to me.
i've been a stranger once more
to your hills and valleys, to the
gaps of sunlight between your grasping evergreens.
i've been a stranger
to the red barn
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you already know summer
you've felt
the brambles and sweat,
the curl of berry-stained lips.
you've seen
the cornflower sky stolen
by a red-orange river,
the evening still thick
with lightning bugs and laughter.
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january 24th, 2010
her voice sounded heavy to her, filled
with the unnamed emotion
everyone had told her to expect. except
she hadn't. she'd rolled
her eyes at the shiny pamphlets and blog posts
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Dew-drop
In a dew-drop, a little world exists
A place turned blue and silver by the light
That lingers well beyond the morning mist.
In a dew-drop, a little world exists
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Good Morning
Good morning, sunlight like syrup
Touching every dew-streaked blade
Of grass and puddle of drying mud.
Good morning, air that smells of spring,
Air that sounds
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for you
if feelings are fluid then so is
the way you run your hands through your hair halfway out of your braid
your breath against my neck since you don't want others to hear
Loves
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summery/autumnal
summer's like / skips on a record player, pink and beat up by two moving vans and two generations of children who danced to the Bee Gees on / rugs that aren't there anymore / i have successfully wasted three mon
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A Senseless Sonnet
poison berries, so simple yet seductive,
Brambles beckoning like a throne beckons to
a Crown —sinking its thorns deep as if they grew
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To Georgia, On Leaving
you traded for freedom with fireflies,
gave up bug lights for city ones.you miss me like you miss fireflies;
a necessary surrender for your future. -
Josh—a bottle of wine
There is a sort of gentleness; a sort of beauty in the empty bottle of wine sitting on my dresser amongst more innocent things
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Sew Me A Quilt?
I want your freckled cheeks and blond eyelashes
and I want your flying hair
and I want your careful words that start tumbling fast,
woven together,
please
so I can wrap myself up
and remind myself of happy.
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Memories and solid things
If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket
The night sky would appear
Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America
The unspoken words caught in a language barrier