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Literature Text
Chill hands gripping an iron bar,
you deadlift while a man with Gone
Too Far tattooed on his deltoid
stares at himself in the mirror.
Live fast, die young, he tells you.
You go on & on, unsure why.
Years ago your pulse jammed.
In the locker room, a day-tripper
is consuming a packed lunch. You
strip, splash your chalk skin.
you deadlift while a man with Gone
Too Far tattooed on his deltoid
stares at himself in the mirror.
Live fast, die young, he tells you.
You go on & on, unsure why.
Years ago your pulse jammed.
In the locker room, a day-tripper
is consuming a packed lunch. You
strip, splash your chalk skin.
Literature
Our Issues
Your heart grew up in a black wooden box
and thought it fabulous,
its world of
right angles,
wood grain,
and eternal night.
It hated me when I bored the hole
that let the sun singe its eyes, cook its skin,
when rain collected the dirt on its skin
in a puddle beneath its feet and said:
"look how dirty you are, foul thing."
It hated and
hated and
still hates,
always crawling
under any
box it finds.
I kicked it
out of its hiding place.
It ran out howling, hating and being
ha
Literature
Expecting
Expecting
three houses down,
the neighbor boy's soft
spot has fused together
too soon. now his brain has no
room to grow.
I cannot allow my mind to dwell
the daughter of a guy I work with
has Down syndrome,
an immortal
toddler. her nose runs; she watches
cartoons. they have a special
guard
on the front doorknob.
I cannot allow my mind to dwell
my half-brother's adopted daughter
was born
with spina bifida. she wears special
braces on her ankles
to help her walk. she suffers
operation after
operation, but
the doctors are certain: one day the cord
will simply
stretch
too
taut.
I cannot allow my mind
our first was born
Literature
Reverie
I.
They say every woman is a piece of the moon,
but I want the sun.
Dear Apollo, explain to me why you gave up
clear mornings for the shadowy future.
And I'll make you wish you hadn't burned a time before.
Because he's still sleeping, turned towards the window,
the thick blinds cracking with sunlight in the early dawn.
The navy sheets his royal dress, the rays his glory crown.
I wake up next to a god on Sunday morning,
hands still dirty from the night before.
II.
But when I sleep, I dream of rhyming big words
Building them on top of each other, letting it touch the sky.
I rub up against them once in awhile to test their stren
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Comments4
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You've captured a clarity, a stark reality in this piece. Like.