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Literature Text
you see I
I know these streets,
every footprint in the concrete
still wet, just stone
this is your permanence:
but I'm not from this city,
just a visitor in streetlight twang
ghostly echo going dim.
I know these streets,
every footprint in the concrete
still wet, just stone
this is your permanence:
but I'm not from this city,
just a visitor in streetlight twang
ghostly echo going dim.
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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
sandpapered
even after I polished myself again
and again I still
splinter. by now I am flatter than I ever
planned, but I guess that's not enough
(the last time someone stepped on me they
still bled. they told me that saying
sorry wasn't going to fix the wound so I
swallowed it back, ran sandpaper through again because
what else could I do?
and now I'm not sure if I'll ever stand up again)
Literature
perennial
grief visits me today.
he watches as i write about you,
putting his hand on my arm
to stop the words
from shaking.
the river of veins is a blue glare
beneath his waxen skin, the valleys
under his eyes dark with our shared
misery.
i don’t ask where he’s been, or why
he’s suddenly back. i don’t want to know
who else he’d been with
when he was gone.
“you look better,” he says, pulling my hand
from the notebook. he
kisses it, holds it to his cheek.
the weaker parts of my spirit surge at his cold
familiarity.
i trace the arch of his lips to avoid
his eyes, ask him if he’d forgotten
about m
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Comments4
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hmm. this is how i felt when i was away for school.