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Literature Text
Shortened dim days and long starless nights
The wellspring, the windchimes, the starlings
Are gone
Dreary tunes about razorblades, and ash, and bone
The lost man's song, the October sonata
The walkingman shoeheels clack empty sidewalks
Past blank storefronts and soapsmeared windows.
Summer is a distant fire, muted by mist, fog,
Coldbreath
Hollow days are here again.
The wellspring, the windchimes, the starlings
Are gone
Dreary tunes about razorblades, and ash, and bone
The lost man's song, the October sonata
The walkingman shoeheels clack empty sidewalks
Past blank storefronts and soapsmeared windows.
Summer is a distant fire, muted by mist, fog,
Coldbreath
Hollow days are here again.
Literature
reduction
I'll tell the truth:
I am a thief of the
worst persuasion.
if you want honesty,
I don't think that we will
last.
give it one or two
or three years
years tense with opposing forces
and unusual magic
and our reaction will be
complete. we will both
go back to our own kinds.
haven't they always defined love
in terms of chemistry?
(opposites attract,
but like dissolves like.)
and here is the confession:
here is why I am odious:
I know this and
I will not withdraw.
here is the electron bridgehere the
anode, cathode, the ill-fated
reactants.
I set this up like dominos;
I wield it lik
Literature
Edisto
We must have walked a hundred miles
between beach and marsh that spring;
chipped flint and sea glass, piles of oysters
on scarred tables, spread with yesterday's news.
A broken screen door to the sea, the postulate;
an imprecise geometry that haunts the ruin.
Literature
Plucking
Plucking
The table between us is a moon.
But the air is heavy. It lies
on us, muffled heat stilling
our breaths. You drop your fork,
but I still won't look at you. Even angels
would crawl if they were here.
"Why can't we be friends?"
I am thinking of a Flemish tapestry
I once saw in a white stone house,
walls dense and prickly with roses:
a line of stiff scarlet soldiers,
a rearing horse. The soldiers' thick fingers
grope at the blank cream cloth,
seeking purchase, gravity.
"What are you feeling?"
"I want to be a Flemish soldier,"
I tell you. Only my fingers
would constantly pluck at the expanse,
searching for the thread
that will unra
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Got the four AM blues again, deadworld, whitenoise, mind restless but uninspired. Should I take a pill, go back to sleep? Wasting time, wasting life, and I don't have that much left to waste. Where is all the energy and inspiration? Where are you? Why am I? I need beer. I need you. I need a life. Handwringing, headscratching, dead as the dull night. I try to write something but all I can write is you, and me, and how I miss you. I had ugly dreams last night.
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Comments82
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I so feel for you...thinking of my own life and... luck! Could be gone in an instant. Your poetry really touches my soul...and that is what really great poems should do. Thank you! Out of your pain comes genius.