Posts
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For my best friend
Flecks of light dance within your eyes,
gray or blue or green, always changing
with the seasons, with your mood,
with the shade of the flourescents
with your eccentric thrifted clothes, -
Does anyone think of me?
my voice is carried away by the breeze,
whispers of the friendship that never blossomed
of the love of the boy i can't have.
these words fall apart
slowly
sink under the ground
because nobody cares
nobody realizes -
In the darkest of nights
In the darkest of nights
when I lie awake,
the tiniest sliver of moon shining through the pitch-black
blanket of sky,
all I want to see are flowers
blooming and trees
bursting with soft green leaves. -
Postcard to Nowhere
Darling, -
i can't look away
i can't look away, it's impossible
there are mirrors all around, covering the walls, the floor, the ceiling
and if i try to turn away, i see you again
standing there in your clandestine beauty, -
They Tell Us
These are the best years of your lives, they tell us,
so stop pretending you're truly suffering.
Chin up, they tell us,
mask your grimace with your widest smile
because everthing is fine.
Stop complaining, they tell us,
Loves
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That One Summer Night (that was forever once)
It wasn't hot for once. Ohio remains hot every summer but the night seems to be like cold water poured over a fire pit:
the heat lightens up but the smoke of it hangs in the air, the remnants of what it was before.
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Come and See
Your God is not my God. Stay with me now, I know this makes your hackles rise, your hands raised in the spiteful fear that you could be challenged. The fear of fraud.
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watching him
Kathy watched out her window as Samuel left his apartment,
spit his gum on the ground
and lit his cigarette.
the same as yesterday.
the same as every day.
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Moving
I’m moving.
I’ve found a little place in the Past,
It’s not much but I think it’s quite lovely, very dear,
And things aren’t working out Here,
So I’m settling for memories.
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nameless III
the more of me i see, the less of me i want to be. i feel empty and dreaded and dead inside;
i’m a horn atop a pig’s head;
i still remember dogwood, sitting under my porch;
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A Yellow Violet
Her name was Violet,
but she always wore yellow.
I spied her from across the room as I hesitated in the sun-framed doorway, and she was beautiful.