Posts
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musings of an unrefined philosopher
I am a poet. I take the words and I turn them on their heads until the juice runs out. It is red and sweet, like strawberries. I sit cross-legged on lilypads, watching meaning watercolor itself onto the pond. I rust like clockwork in the rain.
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purim
It is a joyous day
amidst a burdened world.
We cluster around stand mixers like crows
to telephone wire, make holy messes
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poem written before the coming cold
& the sun through the windows & a clapping song playing
on the speakers, 45 degrees outside & almost sunny
& nothing to do, well, a lot to do, but the sun through the windows
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(you smell of)
new converse, christmas lights strung up til march, arcade pizza glistening with grease, red hair dye, burnt-off fog, rain, i think, or the dew on grass, dark lip stain, tracks in fresh snow, heavy vanilla, old lemon peel, pink ribbons forgotten o
Loves
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why? here's why.
if the world were to burn tomorrow morning
i would laugh in its face
because who is dumb enough
to care about a world
that doesn't care a single bit about them?
truthfully, i don't know.
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free
“land of the free” but we watch our step, so we don’t get taken away, and our rights are slowly started to fade
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let the ice melt
let the ice melt
let them lose their pelts of hate and coldness
let them seelet them see the horror they cause,
turning neighbors into enemies -
threads of one
the morning arises. the grandma praying for her day the teenager walking his mini poodle thinking about the schoolwork he has
the teacher arriving to work planning her lesson
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Ankles Cuffed to Constellations
I had led my own crusade to
the stars above; to the unknown.
Through soles of my feet, I graced the
lights above. Carefully, I danced
to the song of success. Chasing
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The Garden’s Secret Choir
Beneath the slow breath of morning soil,
the onion hums and its layered heart asleep,
a pale globe guarding tears untold.
Nearby, garlic dreams in clustered cloves,
its scent a fierce devotion to the earth.