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Literature Text
today’s reason to keep living:
i thought of this six word story:
here’s a pen, let’s end this.
i survive, a blossom that heaves through winter
like a lonely citystate, an intemperate Sodom
waiting for God’s discrimination. i see it
foaling its own diminishment
when it had no right to colour
me. and i’m reminded of how i
start each morning with an ambered prayer
and end the darkness with a glass bullet
that i have taught how to dance.
still i spin an echo, a copy of
desolation, the weight of a single judgment. i see
the sun spill out of the dull morning. muted and mocked,
caged in iron weights that tug my rusted temples.
i am reminded of how the crosses fell
to the valley floor in blood-speckled shards, amassing
an illness of splintered peaks. my mind, an angry
jury, the whispers start early, night falls fast. still now
my only wish, to find what eloquence
is left to me, as all my times, my paper
admonishments left screaming in streets,
trails and wisps of chemistry and motion
billow through my spectre without sound or sieve.
i know they don't give fingers to blithering arrays
who dream their own dead weight into erotic golems
that pile into a plume of smoke whenever they're forgotten.
i conjure a commonality, my ink in others eyes,
tearing at the chambers of their hearts, running
from their cheeks in slavish bells. it falls to history,
these imprints carved of dust, still i float myself
unturned. redemption, like a rickshaw in my Sodom
street, leaving me of all that winter weight i muster. they see
me - a vital atom of myself, sliding away, laced in
cold imperatives, split and sequenced for a final fall.
the night will fold itself up, collapse in your pocket
and i will taste my own salt as it withers through my blood
in angry alchemy. it all happened without looking backwards,
without a lesson or a lover’s borrowed god to enact some
last rite, some beatitude to save this shadow from the cave,
to see it living, newly pasteurized of all death and sleep after
three days walled and pursed, entombed, but for the
secret breath that issues from the stem like a headless fount,
remembering.
i thought of this six word story:
here’s a pen, let’s end this.
i survive, a blossom that heaves through winter
like a lonely citystate, an intemperate Sodom
waiting for God’s discrimination. i see it
foaling its own diminishment
when it had no right to colour
me. and i’m reminded of how i
start each morning with an ambered prayer
and end the darkness with a glass bullet
that i have taught how to dance.
still i spin an echo, a copy of
desolation, the weight of a single judgment. i see
the sun spill out of the dull morning. muted and mocked,
caged in iron weights that tug my rusted temples.
i am reminded of how the crosses fell
to the valley floor in blood-speckled shards, amassing
an illness of splintered peaks. my mind, an angry
jury, the whispers start early, night falls fast. still now
my only wish, to find what eloquence
is left to me, as all my times, my paper
admonishments left screaming in streets,
trails and wisps of chemistry and motion
billow through my spectre without sound or sieve.
i know they don't give fingers to blithering arrays
who dream their own dead weight into erotic golems
that pile into a plume of smoke whenever they're forgotten.
i conjure a commonality, my ink in others eyes,
tearing at the chambers of their hearts, running
from their cheeks in slavish bells. it falls to history,
these imprints carved of dust, still i float myself
unturned. redemption, like a rickshaw in my Sodom
street, leaving me of all that winter weight i muster. they see
me - a vital atom of myself, sliding away, laced in
cold imperatives, split and sequenced for a final fall.
the night will fold itself up, collapse in your pocket
and i will taste my own salt as it withers through my blood
in angry alchemy. it all happened without looking backwards,
without a lesson or a lover’s borrowed god to enact some
last rite, some beatitude to save this shadow from the cave,
to see it living, newly pasteurized of all death and sleep after
three days walled and pursed, entombed, but for the
secret breath that issues from the stem like a headless fount,
remembering.
Literature
Entwined
In dew-bright dawn the green sap runs
From ageless roots the cycles draw
The summer bloom from winter’s thaw
Our youth has seen uncounted suns
The moonlight wanes; the known stars fall
Yet still we live and love anew
We rise in joy like summer dew
Return Beyond at autumn’s call
And so we dance the early light
Eternal hearts in time entwined
The turning cycle spinning, blind
Embracing us in secret night
Literature
A Gift
I keep thinking about burying myself in your embrace, my face in your hair. And while I regret the fact that we both seem to be too much of damaged, quietly broken cowards to even talk about that night when we so naturally, seamlessly, gravitated towards each other, seeking warmth and comfort underneath the covers - using our sleep-pliant bodies to protect each other from the night - I am glad that it happened at all. Because to know that it is not a thing of fiction to actually feel like that in someone's arms… I am afraid you will never know how much of a gift it was that you unwittingly gave me. Still, I would give near anything for
Literature
lightkeeping
As you pick up the lantern in front of you, you find it filled with a busy, buzzing flurry of lights. Somebody stuffed fireflies into this one - not the proper thing at all. You unfasten the latch, open the door; the little bugs stream out gratefully. They bathe the wayside in a faint glow for a moment, then vanish in the pitch-black of the Long Night one by one.
You settle down cross-legged and gently put the empty lantern onto your lap to dream up a star.
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Comments10
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Wow such beautiful and clever writing. And such a reflection of my own feelings.