Month: May 2020

I’m a frayed knot

Muffled. The world cannot get in. I can’t get out. A purchased illness to assuage another. Recycled thoughts, boring in their dirtiness. I devise a fool’s plan to use this tedium. A grand flourish. Since I have no sword, I’ll untie the Gordian Knot.

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Just listen

Childlike, I imagine that sound never decays. That I could put the needle on the record, and listen to whistles that can’t come anymore. That we could hear childlike things we once said to each other, but have forgotten to write down. Cry for this deafness and dumbness, at last.

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Butterfly

When you look at me, sometimes it’s very odd. I feel as if you are seeing something that I don’t yet know. Figuring the future. Got it down pat. But I don’t want to know, unless you show me. When I look at you, I wish your flurry of flights would end. Stay. We’ll share […]

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A theory of nonsense

Is there a ForeverWho can scope the great mindA yolk in an eggThen what is beyond the eggMonkeys and typewritersad infinitumThink your deep thoughtsand they surely will write ‘emStories of ourswill be amber-ingrainedand lain among flowersall freshened with rain

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No words

Looking back, I think she was afraid when I saw her truth. We had never spoken, but in the group sessions, she surprised me with split second glances and strange blushes. Then, tables turned, I made a game of trying to catch her eye. Not a single word. That’s how it goes. …and then one […]

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Twitter

Here is a Book of Faces of a nobler sort. Each one (that can be seen), beautiful in some way. If we but read between the lines, we can divine their colours. So many are umbral now, I fear. But I am fatalistic, cynical. I hope I am wrong, when I cry for the ones […]

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Puppers

We were nine. I believed everything you said. Touching a toad gave you warts. Step on a crack, you break your mother’s back. Kill a spider and it rains. We made grasshoppers spit tobacco, knew the divinity of buttercups, daisies, and dandelion chains. Such puppies in love.

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On my way

In a while, maybe, I will not know you. Don’t cry or be afraid when you do not know me. There’s a short story yet to be told, and it begins its writing, protected by pillows. Even as I stand over a tiled drain, I make the water hotter. That spinal rush. That warming touch.

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