punctualAt night she rested her forehead between his collarbones and refused to put her ear to his chest cavity. She said she was afraid to hear his heartbeat.punctual in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I am broken inside and I do not want to envy other clockwork organs. Dont let me hear the tick-tock of all that I am missing.
He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair that he would fix her; his skin was punctured with metal and his bones had snapped before, but if he could be whole then so could she. She shook her head and tried to dream. She fell asleep to the words,
Ill collect your pieces, sunshine, and put them back together.
When she fell asleep he pulled back the moonlit sheets and covered her in butterfly-kiss gazes. Her hipbones and ribs were all angles and geometric structures protruding from a flat plane. He tried to will them to life with nervous grazes and stuttering words, but they refused to arch to meet his touch; they did not thrum with racing heartbeats. He pulled hi
immutablei.immutable in Free Verse More Like This
and you told me that youre afraid of falling
apart and losing your teeth; i promise you
well keep this heart beating if i have to use
all the bandaids and bits of tape in the world
the taste of your breath shows that youre hesitant
to knock down your walls because someone has
breached them before and left footprints that you
cant wash away; lets burn them away with carnal fires
but your palms are cautioned and petrified of
growing old if they are lonely; rome wasnt
built in a day but i am sure someone will lend
you their fingertips to help restore its glory
you have traveled dusty sidewalks and sprawling
campuses that are never out of reach of breadcrumbs;
your voice claims you want to lose yourself on the
map but between the lines you want to find home
souls say and wishes command and your heart
insists that you take a leap of faith; you ask me
what happens in case you fall flat and i tell you
ill always fly to you with my b
sciamachyi.sciamachy in Concrete Poetry More Like This
i buried a boy late last summer and
let the cicadas sing his worries to sleep before i
covered his bones with the maple's fall leaves;
he was silent and pale beneath their amber colors
winter crept over us like a shadow and
every night i shivered with my secrets for warmth;
i kept my windows closed but his howling
on the wind begged for my touch
i thawed my heart on a clothesline in may
let a new body into my bed; i kissed its spine
until i understood the language of its thighs and sighs
and forgot the spice of his breath on my tongue
there is a starling outside my bedroom who built
a nest in my gutter and hatched chicks like treasures;
their coos echo in the morning and when i was half-asleep
i swore their feathers shone like his hair in the rising sun
summer roared with the thunderstorms until
lightning struck the stars from the skies; her words
fell hushed when i pushed the earth from his limbs
and breathed life back into his shoreline eyes
The Death of the AuthorTeacher: Well, as you are all able to see, by Barthes the author is dead. Today the opinion of the author of the text doesnt count, what counts is how his readers interpret those texts.The Death of the Author in Short Stories More Like This
Student: Are you sure? * Sighs, checking his heart beat.*
Teacher: Of course! That the research method of all the researchers nowadays. Something isnt clear to you? Do you have questions?
Student: Hmmmm questions? No, more like wonderments.
Teacher: Like what?
Student: This whole idea gives me a cognitive dissonance * checking his reflection in the mirror.
Teacher: And why is that?
Student: *staring the teacher for a while and finally shouting* because I am not dead!!!
Teacher: I can see!
Student: So why do you claim that I am?! Look at the flowers in the vase there, they are meant for my grave, will you take them to there?
Teacher: No, have you gone nuts? I never claimed you died and those flowers are from my wife!
Student: Just now you said that everyone said so, and here! You dont e