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Literature Text
I am obsessed
with silence.
Your next-door neighbor left her husband and son
for an artist. You forever wanted to be her,
glamorous to the point of boredom, the mascara in thick rivers
down her cheeks.
It is like that, and you know it.
Your sister spent a cruel April wondering out windows,
watching the scars on her hands heal over.
Nobody cleaned up the glass.
Still, we are learning
how to live gracefully
in this world: between
silence
and sounds traveling.
with silence.
Your next-door neighbor left her husband and son
for an artist. You forever wanted to be her,
glamorous to the point of boredom, the mascara in thick rivers
down her cheeks.
It is like that, and you know it.
Your sister spent a cruel April wondering out windows,
watching the scars on her hands heal over.
Nobody cleaned up the glass.
Still, we are learning
how to live gracefully
in this world: between
silence
and sounds traveling.
Literature
Teachers to the Dead
While we slept,
you strapped your arm around
my chest like armor and possession,
like this one belongs to me. Together, we are
teaching the things that haunt us
to lie down in their graves.
Here, like this
your demons say to mine as
they demonstrate the art of behaving.
Together, we secure their
broken bodies and set them into six feet of
downward motion.
(but we do not follow
we cannot go in their stead)
They do not know theyre dead. Its
always a blow when we break the news.
They find themselves jealous of our
human skin and our inhaling
exhal
Literature
Counting for Nothing
Fourteen hundred paces wasted
walking to your door,
and every time a pointless pounding
headache - sore, resounding, raw;
what follows next? as you'd expect
a shocking exhibition of
that bloody mix of tears
and spit and semen spilled
across this gritty floor.
and from the day that we last spoke
I've counted twenty-four.
How come I'm your ignored -
you must have grown so bored of me
and now my fingers, gnawed and nails all bitten
paw through scores
of letters better left unwritten -
never sent, now torn and scattered, littered
with my bitter thoughts unuttered,
so utterly distraught I am, I poured a litany of scorn
and lo
Literature
When Day Dies
My hair falls out like a beautiful sin,
my head, completely naked
convenes with dawn and together they get drunk
on time.
They overlook themselves. They drop all their favorite words and do not
pick them up again.
Two heartbreaks later the heat handcuffs them;
together they murdered another day.
Noons skull, the many pieces
lay fractured on the sidewalk. Suburb love is dangerous.
Before ducking into the cruiser, my head peeks
at the rest of its childlike body standing on the curb, innocent.
My head is a scandalous extension of my neck,
the rest of me doesnt wave to it. We are not friends.
I w
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Comments13
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this is quite beyond beautiful, and that is the best praise i know.