Posts
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Sweet/Sour
In a found place, a sheltered place, a jealous place, I eat my heart.
It tastes like fresh strawberries and rotten secrets. -
Close
A warm morning,
touch the corpse.
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A Photograph, a Stranger's Face
A stranger's face, a mild wonder of afternoon light.
the treadmill rolls on, hot cement, jogging sweats,
I’ll see you again in my memories of tomorrow, my dreams, -
Our Stories
I drink from cupped hands, fresh water, fresh blood, fresh weeping. There is iron in our skin, solder. You play a winter melody like it’s a hearth fire. Hungry, hungry, whole, watching our souls ripple outwards. We are our stories.
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Spring Break: a Reflection on Vacations
God, it’s finally spring. I can feel my face burning as I read out on the patio this morning. I wish that spring meant something other than an unfounded, unsubstantiated brightness that threatens oblivion and a terrible headache. -
Semiotics/ Semantics
We, big-brained humans, distill the sensual into semiotics.
But cracked open, cracked up, stopped at the stop sign,
I’m made aware of the prickly hairs growing out of my skin,
of the virulent grass pushing through the cement.
Loves
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My Girlfriend
I feel her bracelet cold on my wrist
I taste the coffee bitter in my mouth
I smell her perfume drifting in the air
I see her standing over me, strong and beautiful
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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.