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Literature Text
Foreign syllables
fall from my mouth,
clatter to the floor
like pearls on hardwood.
Browsing old names is
breaking into a former life
and looking at pictures
I can't remember posing for.
It feels like the rotting wood
under the sugar maple
where we pretended we were stranded
as if there wasn't grilled cheese
waiting in the kitchen,
or the once-blank cassette
that we replayed while
insisting our voices
couldn't really sound like that.
It's equal parts pain and relief,
knowing you can't trace my footsteps
under the eaves of my memory
as I think of you,
and that I have no way of knowing
if you've ever done the same.
fall from my mouth,
clatter to the floor
like pearls on hardwood.
Browsing old names is
breaking into a former life
and looking at pictures
I can't remember posing for.
It feels like the rotting wood
under the sugar maple
where we pretended we were stranded
as if there wasn't grilled cheese
waiting in the kitchen,
or the once-blank cassette
that we replayed while
insisting our voices
couldn't really sound like that.
It's equal parts pain and relief,
knowing you can't trace my footsteps
under the eaves of my memory
as I think of you,
and that I have no way of knowing
if you've ever done the same.
Literature
self-organized
the fatal attraction of civil mysticism and the ingenuity of the perfect aspect ratio fit me into my corner so I could cube myself and bloom under pressure never ending as expected new cubbyholes to place in my belly filled with grief and relief for the mes no one wants to see.
Literature
january
“did you know,”
she asks, sitting
beside me on the
sofa. the room is
sweltering, thick
like an ocean made
of air. a sea our
eyes can’t
see. summer
makes me feel like i
am breathing underwater,
like i'm suspended in
a world where hard hits
close in on me in gentle
waves, like i’m constantly
tumbling but i'll wash
up somewhere, eventually.
i do know. i don’t know
it yet, but this time
i'm landing with two feet
when the tide comes in.
(“did you know that today
was his birthday?”)
Literature
What Things Cost
What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go
Suggested Collections
Thinking about childhood friends.
Comments9
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this is why i read! you know that illustration, of the two people with hands reaching out to each other of their minds? that's what i feel like when i read this.