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Literature Text
gutted star! an
earthy delusion inviting
death, widely-jawed
gutless serpent! his
pupils crost the street and hoisted themselves into my car with me. they lived in the folds of that passenger's seat, staring decidedly in my direction as i fled to the coast. i broke right at the first sign of the ocean. weary tires hit sand. i opened every window to let in every drop of breeze. gulls welcomed me and pecked up the raisin-esque middles-of-your-eyes. i did not try to stop them.
earthy delusion inviting
death, widely-jawed
- my printless fingers acrost the braille symmetry of your eyelashes yes. i read him like poetry. right up until arm's-length was too far away
gutless serpent! his
pupils crost the street and hoisted themselves into my car with me. they lived in the folds of that passenger's seat, staring decidedly in my direction as i fled to the coast. i broke right at the first sign of the ocean. weary tires hit sand. i opened every window to let in every drop of breeze. gulls welcomed me and pecked up the raisin-esque middles-of-your-eyes. i did not try to stop them.
Literature
----
i wish i could singe my words
to your body;
maybe then i could
keep track of them.
if i could wound you,
split your skin and write
into the ice-scabs
run elastic through the seams
and tug,
until i am compressed
to a sugar pill,
small enough to keep in
the crook of your elbow
past the sun's death.
i want to remain.
woven into your various systems
and whispering through dishes,
wrinkles in your palm,
enveloped in the quietness
of lamp beams,
blinding and naked.
i want to keep you up at night,
have one-sided conversations
disintegrate into your memory,
into the burble of your constant mind.
Literature
before
a little while ago
maybe a couple of months or something
i wasn't drinking ; instead i was
waking up to you
every morning you would stretch
and your spine would move and i felt it all over
your skin stretched into the sun and
i saw it everywhere
but guess what, that shit was gold and
gold doesn't last and you didn't last.
i got boring and you got mean.
and you're less of a gypsy and more of
a woman and i know if i called you up tonight
said hey baby come home
how did we get here baby i'm crying on the
floor drinking lime pepsi
and this goddamn pepsi is flat. so why don't
you come home. just for the night.
you would say you h
Literature
Camisado
In a double dream, I must spell out the storm:
how the half moon spoke in reams
of folk lore, pipe dreams that tore
the sky in two. How the walls
began to blister and you, sister,
took your place beneath my skin.
We met stargrazing, your eyes electric,
lacing your lies, your intricacies,
like a cat's cradle. And I, stumbling, stuttering
on in a maze of scars. My modern morphia,
sister scarecrow, I'd follow you to the depths
of my chest: to the mumblings and fumblings
of my heart in the dark. To deceit and defeat
and the great empty longings beyond.
For this, this is how
the camisado begins: with broken people
under a broken st
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'my printless fingers acrost the
braille symmetry of your eyelashes'
Oooft!
braille symmetry of your eyelashes'
Oooft!