Posts
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Cinnamon
She was always wrapped in cinnamon.
Her aroma was a mixture of brown and gold oak
stacked together like firewood,
as was her house on the side of the mountain
made from a similar material, -
In the Name Of the Idiot, the Betrayer, And All Lying Bigots. Amen.
I've crossed into the spirit world
I've found that it looks strange.
Everything that I was told
Its really not the same.
Where is the trumpet fanfare?
The golden bridge to cross?
The hovel I had slid down -
That Tiny Wooden Cabin
Waving my goodbye out the windows of the
Gray Coach bus for the last time
Was so hard.
It was hard to admit I was
Really going to miss that place
Something about the fact that’s it’s so final -
The neighbors got a karaoke machine
My neighbors got a karaoke machine.
It spews bright orange and blue patterns around their fences,
our fences.
And there's a disco ball
whose glitter is filtering through their windows,
our windows. -
Where, is the Ball?
Here! Over here!
I've discovered it all.
Rejoice and be gladd for I've found the ball.
The orenge and blue one
With the green on the stem.
Oh never mind,
Thats a mad mother hen.
I got it! Don;t worry! -
202won
I jumped and cried and jumped some more,
My tears now sat there on the floor.
We hugged, for once, we hugged so long –
The seven of us. Last day gone.
I sniffled and laughed and sniffled some more,
Loves
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My Depression
Some days
It’s hard to find
A reason
To get out of bed
The depression claws
At me
Begging me
To just stay there
Sink into the darkness
And disappear
But I don’t want to
Do that
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The colors
There is a swirl of color that accompanies all things.
Every twist and turn, every fall and failure. All words spoken and sung, every smile or laugh.
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Bus thoughts
I envy those who’ve never known Loneliness.
She is not just empty space—she’s a presence,
cold fingers brushing the back of your neck
when no one’s watching. -
Stolen Constellations
On that night, I stole the stars of the galaxy. Billions of them, each one unique, and put them into her eyes.
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Stained-Glass Girl
you should be an image in stained-glass windows
the same ones you trace with your eyes every sunday
while hymns echo in your ears, words
you've known so long you forget the meaning.
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If Only...
If … I can't help but replay that one moment over and over in my head…The “if only”... echoing, bouncing around like a voice echoing against the walls of the grand canyon, empty…”if only”.