Posts
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The Earth and the Sun
I fall asleep reading about duende, reading, radiating duende. That’s what Lorca’s poetry does: it causes my grandmother’s pitched voice to tremble with a terrible softness, like the moon liquified and stored in a jar. -
Soft Clay
she wakes like soft clay,
a notion pressed onto her face
the morning is as blue
as a low-timbered evening.
low enough to sway to,
vibrations etched into cracked lips -
Before you jump
Last night, I went down to the water just before it got dark. I sat on the seawall with my knees close to my chest and smelled the salt. The water was grey, but it reflected the burnished purple of the sky. -
In the Morning
In the Morning, I listened to Classical Music. -
Dying Daisies
what are we but dying daisies?
oh, holy one, one who is whole,
leave me without petals. I'm only
a yellow center ripe with pollen
that has not yet become honey.
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Propped Up Sky
Cycling along the flat cement at sunset, we hear the frog song. It swells, candid and all-consuming. It’s like drinking plain mint tea on a bitter evening. But winter is gone now, we must find our sharpness elsewhere.
Loves
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duke's mayo
you showed up to group therapy one day
wearing a red suit jacket, pants, a hat with a black band
and a peacock feather
i was shocked
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A Fork In The Road
When you see a fork in the road what do you do? Go left? Go right? Or ruin the story by standing there and thinking about which way to go then turning around and going home?
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I Miss a Place That Doesn't Exist
For a long time
I'd have vivid dreams,
bursts of REM that gave me the illusive bliss
of being wherever
and the closest return
to the mind of a child
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The To-Do List of a Rising Senior
- email admissions counselor
- make common app account
- july 8 AP scores
- learn after effects
- saturday lead tiger class
- 10 assignment/wk gov; 6 assignment/wk econ
- pick up hospital badge and parking pa
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migration
i, like many poets, have wondered a million times what it would be like to be a bird: soaring high above the trees, unburdened by life's banal worries. something primal and free.
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cutting fruit
the sound of laughter through sun-spotted trees,
i dreamed last night we were fae frolicking
in rings of toadstools, in and out of trees.
fireworks went off in my head as