Posts
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ghosts like to walk through me
they twist my limbs and heal the rot
they set the stage and play the part
they help me smile when I am weak
they entertain the thoughts I call bleak
they laugh and sing and gaze at stars
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Speechless
I am many people and one person.
I am the poet, who sees in shades of red and orange,
Red hair and pale skin that refuses to tan under the summer sky.
That girl married her city, her people,
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My City, My City
My city, my city
It takes many forms
In people and plants
Vines and beggars
Angry men and sour women
The worst of the best people
And the best of the worst
Poets and great minds
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A Boy And His Fists
A boy is quick with anger
With charm, he uses force
On anything that breathes
Anything that has a pulse
But this boy is amazing
He's kind and uses words
His poetic touch, how he thinks too much,
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Fall Romantics
Little red leaves organize scattered on the ground in geometric patterns we fail to recognize
Except me, of course.
I love fall more that I love myself
"Don't murder the flow, the stream, the book, or the poet."
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A Boy And His Fists
A boy is quick with anger
With charm, he uses force
On anything that breathes
Anything that has a pulse
But this boy is amazing
He's kind and uses words
His poetic touch, how he thinks too much,