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Literature Text
there is a heart in my machine,
not interred inside the entryways,
but in it's fields -
they said quantum won't become us, won't
betray us, but I am binary-wrought and empty,
simulations inside simulations that recall
that I am man,
and I wander;
not interred inside the entryways,
but in it's fields -
they said quantum won't become us, won't
betray us, but I am binary-wrought and empty,
simulations inside simulations that recall
that I am man,
and I wander;
Literature
Who Put the Eggs There?
Mama Hen did not usually make much noise, but this morning she clucked so loud that she woke the entire house up. Papa Rooster was the first to come into the kitchen, where his wife stood wide-eyed in front of the fridge. It was still early in the morning, even for chickens, as Papa Rooster had only finished cock-a-doodle-dooing ten minutes ago.
He had no idea what could’ve caused such a ruckus, “What is it, my darling?”
Mama Hen clucked again, pointing her wings frantically at the opened fridge, “Who put the eggs there?”
Sure enough, Papa Rooster saw half a dozen of newly laid eggs lining the fridge’s s
Literature
Stepfather
his hands painted me purple
along my jaw, under my eyes.
i would freeze to his rigid words
his dark stare, to a frown
oh my silence
when i could run, i surely ran
when i could fight,
i still took to flight
shame is a ghost
i freeze to the thoughts
of some young days
when i
abandoned her to him.
-
With him boxed in
pinewood, she asked;
Are you glad?
I said; I don’t know enough
about death to answer that.
Literature
Paris s'enflamme
If all our tears flowed into the sky,
could the rain erase these scars?
The heart of Paris is burning
and we stare powerless, dumbstruck,
We collapse like the flamelicked spire
in the middle of the desert
The smoke enters our hearts,
the shriveling roots of our histories.
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