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Literature Text
your cellar door cacaphony was cancelled,
but the engines kept running,
and you wondered where we'd get the gas
to make it there,
while the center of the city
goes to coals
and the district keeps on sleeping
until morning, we'll be
making time, keeping it
in the trunk and shivering
with the windows down,
yeah, the ice keeps getting thinner,
and yeah, that'd be real good
if you were a diver,
not so great when all
you ever want to do
is pull up, (pull up)
but keep it going to sixty-seven,
forty-three minutes left, and maybe
you could have done it
(better) without the flashlight,
we (she, I, you - ) didn't know,
couldn't know, couldn't keep it
secret, no -
we couldn't have known then,
if we were the betting type, or just
the typeface,
yeah, the call ahead, the headfirst
(pull up) flight,
you better brace yourself
for the things we're about to see
in the sunrise
but the engines kept running,
and you wondered where we'd get the gas
to make it there,
while the center of the city
goes to coals
and the district keeps on sleeping
until morning, we'll be
making time, keeping it
in the trunk and shivering
with the windows down,
yeah, the ice keeps getting thinner,
and yeah, that'd be real good
if you were a diver,
not so great when all
you ever want to do
is pull up, (pull up)
but keep it going to sixty-seven,
forty-three minutes left, and maybe
you could have done it
(better) without the flashlight,
we (she, I, you - ) didn't know,
couldn't know, couldn't keep it
secret, no -
we couldn't have known then,
if we were the betting type, or just
the typeface,
yeah, the call ahead, the headfirst
(pull up) flight,
you better brace yourself
for the things we're about to see
in the sunrise
Literature
Opalescent
Opalescent
puddles shimmer aside pick-ups
and diesel engines resting
in the lot of a local diner.
The highway rumble fades
to jukebox country and patron
chatter past glass doors
smudged with the syrupy fingerprints
of apple-cheeked children.
There are no leftovers; everyone
leaves full or happy or contemplative,
eyes on the sky or head tilted
down, gazing into oil slick rainbows
and seeing entire worlds.
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
Neurological Annihilation
when overload comes, it is the tar
it is a black that coats and annihilates everything clean
it rips off the skin revealing the bloodied tissue beneath
every adipose cell
every muscle fibre
every shred of sanity is vulnerable to cackling callousness and rage
the sound a current which carries all joy and tranquility away
leaving only sorrow, exhaustion and a humble prayer that this end soon
before my limbs, immersed in this cloying dank depression and fever, follow their master - the tar - and cut off their connection to the searing nerve fibres that animate their digits.
one action and it all stops
but that action means there will never be.
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it's a long way down
to the river Styx,
but not long enough, and
we're making time, yeah
we're buying every minute
we can afford
to the river Styx,
but not long enough, and
we're making time, yeah
we're buying every minute
we can afford
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Comments4
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Great ending. Very strong.