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Literature Text
full, with a tank of philosophy
and black coffee.
we took back roads,
like cheap poets, to places
time breaks chains to flee.
tuning radio frequencies. staring straight.
avoiding discussions, intimate conversations.
hearts beating around brown axle orbits,
across the flaking continent.
tire drones and hums. rotations of rubber.
the sun rises,
with mad sightings and camera diaries.
coloured buses, country kids kiting,
they offer sky-on-red distractions.
crossroads with old droughts.
isolated islands
of please slow-down
concrete. bullet holed signs.
porch-sitters knitting,
and rocking
and in town halls the
dusty ploughers gather to gossip,
rumours of rainclouds.
its dark on the plains,
i piss with the craters of the moon
and the wind.
sleepy fence posts hold wonders
and age and cattle.
the prairie heat
shimmers like a fluid dream.
dry, cracked earth holds stories
of the future, land palmistry.
and a truckstop arrives, here we
are aliens. and u.f.o's
and traffic lights
are the same kind of rare.
along the corrugated dirt,
the huge lid of blue,
is the history of all things.
signs to man. we notice artifacts,
we talk, turning heads
like sideshow clowns.
we took back roads
like cheap poets,
and our hearts bled the land.
and black coffee.
we took back roads,
like cheap poets, to places
time breaks chains to flee.
tuning radio frequencies. staring straight.
avoiding discussions, intimate conversations.
hearts beating around brown axle orbits,
across the flaking continent.
tire drones and hums. rotations of rubber.
the sun rises,
with mad sightings and camera diaries.
coloured buses, country kids kiting,
they offer sky-on-red distractions.
crossroads with old droughts.
isolated islands
of please slow-down
concrete. bullet holed signs.
porch-sitters knitting,
and rocking
and in town halls the
dusty ploughers gather to gossip,
rumours of rainclouds.
its dark on the plains,
i piss with the craters of the moon
and the wind.
sleepy fence posts hold wonders
and age and cattle.
the prairie heat
shimmers like a fluid dream.
dry, cracked earth holds stories
of the future, land palmistry.
and a truckstop arrives, here we
are aliens. and u.f.o's
and traffic lights
are the same kind of rare.
along the corrugated dirt,
the huge lid of blue,
is the history of all things.
signs to man. we notice artifacts,
we talk, turning heads
like sideshow clowns.
we took back roads
like cheap poets,
and our hearts bled the land.
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
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.
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
Suggested Collections
rural travels with another writer
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Comments15
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I agree with ~EasyConfessions--
each stanza is like a new photo you'd put in an album to keep for your children.
each stanza is like a new photo you'd put in an album to keep for your children.