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Literature Text
embarrass peace
wage war
open book
close door
contemplation
pen in hand
confrontation
last stand
trepidation
time conflicted
conflagration
wounds inflicted
words as weapons
sticks and stones
warrior writer
pile of bones
wage war
open book
close door
contemplation
pen in hand
confrontation
last stand
trepidation
time conflicted
conflagration
wounds inflicted
words as weapons
sticks and stones
warrior writer
pile of bones
Literature
The point of it all
The city has streets that sink into the other side of the world.
Amidst their ruins, dead calluses are slowly petrified
in the ghosts of shoe soles and former tires.
Mediums claim the echoes of former pedestrians
weeping for their dislodged joints and lost groceries
still thunder in the depths
below the stapled smiles of the mayor
that shine on every wall above the lunar imitation.
Meandering, the life crashes with weary ears
and the map just jumps off a window
as the former arrow
rips off its point,
just like
this poem written
with a prehistoric leg
ten powerless knuckles
and a fruitless voice.
Literature
cladach eachtrach
Our shadows were children
the horizon a nightlight,
my skin Vodka white
in the womb
of the Atlantic,
bioluminescence
like sparks
conducting electricity
strip wire symphony,
naked limbs paired and
easily divided
in the remainder
wading
between constants;
prenatal combination,
the tide rolling in contractions,
and like ships to harbor
it bore us to shore.
Literature
and even so, you stayed
I taste rain on your lips
and I know you’ve been
writing poetry again.
I breathe into the touch
of your fingers
cascading in a soft scale
down the cage of bones
around my heartbeat.
you kiss me
knowing
the colors that drift
in my mind
like water beneath
all the bridges that were
burned for me
and you stay.
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Comments6
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Impressive and straight to the point.