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Literature Text
does it hurt the insides of your binary star mind
to know that this is how the book of Genesis was written,
as if this is the first time communication failed -
I guess you loved me like a different person,
or was it just the sound of those liquid crystals in your eyes
(yes, loving you was like feeling the air inside my lungs freeze.
the molecules that make us up feel like strangers:
yes, we breathed caesar's last breath,
but that doesn't make us relevant.)
you say that this is like the dust speaking of permanence,
the ink that thinks it is perpetually about to leave
(well,
even the stars fail to move slowly)
to know that this is how the book of Genesis was written,
as if this is the first time communication failed -
I guess you loved me like a different person,
or was it just the sound of those liquid crystals in your eyes
(yes, loving you was like feeling the air inside my lungs freeze.
the molecules that make us up feel like strangers:
yes, we breathed caesar's last breath,
but that doesn't make us relevant.)
you say that this is like the dust speaking of permanence,
the ink that thinks it is perpetually about to leave
(well,
even the stars fail to move slowly)
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
Directionality
I kiss the forehead of another dream,
cast away for different lives--
all my fields of green
seen through shutters
of different lenses, different eyes
that belong to me a half-step left
of the one I stand mirroring today.
These reveries--
revered to me;
refused of me,
refused by me.
Reflections of things
confused with me,
things yet to be seen.
When I die,
will I look back at trails I've cast,
branching worn, winding over grass,
a tree of life carved in the earth
by my unknowing feet?
Even better,
can I linger
over every second maybe,
reveal lives all hidden to me as I rise,
rise past the sum of every choice
and every right-hand
Literature
they
and they say
i love you
and i say
i’m a they
and suddenly
i vanish
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Comments3
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i would tell you my favorite part.
it's just. . . .
it's the poem . . . . the whole poem is my favorite part.
it's just. . . .
it's the poem . . . . the whole poem is my favorite part.