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Literature Text
Hear her sing of sun-kissed,
heavy-lidded tragedies that roll
off her tongue as sweetly as
sugared violets and as naturally
as nightfall; but bruise the lungs
of those who breathe them in.
She is no poet's muse, but
these summer-drunk revellers
will never know better.
heavy-lidded tragedies that roll
off her tongue as sweetly as
sugared violets and as naturally
as nightfall; but bruise the lungs
of those who breathe them in.
She is no poet's muse, but
these summer-drunk revellers
will never know better.
Literature
seven hours of who you might have been
i.
the breath you took
the moment you fell
out of
love
lies in the dirt somewhere
between the garden
and the dip of empty earth
where rain pools.
all the lost things of your life
keep gathering in cottony patches overhead
that only the flowers
you have touched
can sense.
ii.
years vine out.
between thumb and forefinger,
the clumsiness of
more than just one
seed.
iii.
on Judgment Day
your tomato plants
will come out of the earth
carrying your bravery
like beads of water,
they will gesture
with their leaves
telling how
magnificent and half-drunk
you left the house
to stand in the historic thunderstorm
that killed
the ne
Literature
Dandelion Queen
I dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet
(you tell me to be
quiet,
dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)
tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name
my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words
you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)
I want to go home
Literature
Ephemeral
1.
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
2.
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
beautiful.
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an
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Wonderfully written. Absolutely gorgeous. 