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Frozen SleevesWaiting for you,
My sleeves have frozen
As the slow moon sets
Over the mountains
where you live.
A Soldier's FuneralA young boy sits beside his mom. Holding a card for the man he never knew, and his mom's hand in the other since she never let it go yet and will never again. Wearing a black suit from Goodwill that's too big for him that should've been for an older boy, perhaps for a boy who's dad didn't fight men with guns in the little box. When she presses mute on the remote, the people like dad move their mouths, fish out of water. He knew that there was no water where his dad was, just sand and big blue skies. His teacher showed the class pictures of the Sahara one day and she talked about how there were ponds in the desert sometimes, and he played there were fish swimming there.
The black car they sat in sagely moved along the gray road, behind another car just like it. It was so hot. The air conditioning whined, but it wasn't enough to stop the sweat coming down his forehead. The only sound. His arm itched, and he scratched it after placing his card on his lap. Mom said he must take good care o
Hollow Memory of a Distant ShoreYou are like a long passed season.
As delicate as the footprints of sparrows in freshly fallen snow.
Intricate, yet so easily disturbed when care is not taken.
Somehow, you have managed to persist after all these years.
Residing in the same quiet place you carved into the woods so long ago..
Only a short ride from the sea.
When you cross my mind, you carry with you the scent of that shoreline.
Harsh and thick, yet somehow placating.
Though the weather was perpetually gray, misty, and cold.
Much like your heart had become..
Just before we painfully, and slowly, parted ways.
I recall with deep longing your fascination with foxes.
With the way they would trot up and down the beach in the early morning,
Their coats most often wet and muddy from crossing into the tide.
I could see the subtle enthrallment in your eyes as they dug for clams.
They would thrust their forepaws deep into the muck, throw it backward..
And at times, to my assuagement, you would smile.
Now, it feels more dist
SolarThe light breaks into
your house, where you sit facing
east. In the sky, a
dragon rises, flaming, and
gives birth to a golden sun.
white noiseThe only thing that seems to keep the world out of my head these days
is white noise
it's a rush of excitedly flapping wings
it's nothing you could grasp but a sound and a colour that is none
I try to keep the world out
(she is playing her music too loud too much these days)
and I think of you, ears buzzing with white noises until they ache.
And I catch myself thinking
I wish you were my white noise -
the sound in between my heartbeats,
the same words whispered so close to my ear they sound like beautiful little secrets,
the rock I cling to when the waves crash violently all around me to keep from drowning, I wish you were
my home, my favourite pair of arms, my heart, my safe place, the one to soothe my mind.
I wish you were so many more things
than just far away and as impossible to touch
as white noise.
FugitiveIt's the end of the line:
twine torn thin between
rotten railway sides
and the trains
in and out of light
like my tunnel-sight:
shackled to life
(and the line)
behind thine eyes:
A broken reel run-away
whose frames flicker
like a flip-book,
pages carved into flight
from a steam locomotive
streaming on by.
Smoke and pulp conspire
in the spiral skies,
in the mire:
reversing chase patterns
pulled from plans
and pursuers in blotted
black and white
-- and blood
caked upon canvas:
against crimson tides,
cables along a track
-- and eyes
that burn open,
bleary at midnight.
so here's the thing:i feel like a tired little
skeleton wearing the
same shirt 1, 2,
3 days in a row, knuckles
drumming along the knobs
of my spine and fingers
be twe en the rib bones
that flash in the sun and create
shadows on my skin
and listen, everybody wants to be
skinny but i want to sleep and it's funny
, i don't want my bones to
skick out at
but my stomach isn't
enough and i
scorn my thighs
for not being toned
and listen, my nose is too big and so are
my pores but i'm never getting a nose job
and those strips are too much work and listen,
i'm tired when i stay up too late and i'm
tired when i sleep in and i'm tired when i give myself
a normal sleeping routine for once and
listen, it doesn't see
I Am Not Your ReceptacleI am not your receptacle,
not your Grand Canyon
to feed with the echoes
you hunger for.
I wear a three o'clock shadow,
and vodka stained walls
starved of the things
you're asking for.
See me! See the person-
I am not your echoing chasm!
You cannot pour juice
from an empty jug.
To LondonGypsy hopefuls once told me,
there are flights leaving for
at any given instant
Upon sizing up our town with
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?
I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.
The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.
I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.
I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence styles and words.
She saw things through different eyes
and I understood her.
When I found out she was a writer
halfway across the globe
I was selfish
and I loved the world a little less.
It was different
but it was still water.
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More