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Literature Text
Crippled by shadows, wait in the dusk for night
Playground ghosts move the swings gently
Trees bow their heads and sigh goodbyes
This is how it is, here, now
Pale moonlight rises to show nothing new
Its been this way for so long, far too long
Pinebranch fingertips drop needles, stars twinkle
The moon turns its attention to the tides
Old bricks, overgrown with weeds, murmur
amongst themselves about children now old
Nightbirds keep reverently quiet and dream
This is how it is, here, now
Playground ghosts move the swings gently
Trees bow their heads and sigh goodbyes
This is how it is, here, now
Pale moonlight rises to show nothing new
Its been this way for so long, far too long
Pinebranch fingertips drop needles, stars twinkle
The moon turns its attention to the tides
Old bricks, overgrown with weeds, murmur
amongst themselves about children now old
Nightbirds keep reverently quiet and dream
This is how it is, here, now
Literature
Nostalgia
Rocketing in wavelengths emaciated and impeccable.
Irregular pressure palpitating
artificial rhythm
heavenly cadence
Looking through kaleidoscope distortion
crystalline delusion
Prisms shouting shards of fragmented color
powered rainbow
chandelier pigment
Speaking to a snow flurry
those minty lips like
lemon icebergs
icicles and
ecstasy.
we are frozen. captured memory
"…there is no marrow. no calcium
Literature
Carpe Diem
If, in its due time, each temporal thing
Should take itself to fly, on spectral wing,
Away from places that memories reach,
Fading into that melancholy breach
That is the absence of living recall—
If nothing rises but that it should fall
Into oblivion when none are left
To remember that once, this tree bereft
Of fruit and leaves, in its living hour,
Boasted many a sweet-smelling flower—
If naught is gained by the passage of time
Save the gloomy turn of this very rhyme—
Is love, then, as meaningless and as bare
As unseen phantoms in the empty air?
Literature
parentheses
i was going to ask you to hold back my hair
if i started to heave
but it's cut in mourning
for the fawns dying under the chalky
moist hands of children,
in mourning for newspaper print
threatening suicide off the tips of your eyelashes,
saying things like
i could fall faster
i could convert more
i could shine my face brighter than your sands
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Makes you feel as if you're really there! Excellent!