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Literature Text
we stood idle and looked to the sky
for answers to questions and questions to give answers
they came down like missiles, bombs overhead
their answers were a destruction that flew in from across the sea
explosive and threatening, they made the noise feel like silence
rooted to the ground, we parted ways then to now
it's 2011 and i still look for you everywhere
for answers to questions and questions to give answers
they came down like missiles, bombs overhead
their answers were a destruction that flew in from across the sea
explosive and threatening, they made the noise feel like silence
rooted to the ground, we parted ways then to now
it's 2011 and i still look for you everywhere
Literature
Ghazal for the American
I live on an island, eighteen hours into your future and upside-down.
This gives me special powers. I.e, drinking vodka, upside-down.
Warning: heavy drinking may cause phantoms. Cinematic ones.
In bold American sports cars, burning on highways upside-down.
That's how the dead roll, like dice or green numbers. Like cats.
Their logic is internal, peculiar. It only appears to be upside-down.
Like a cat, I observe phantoms. I am-- at times-- caught staring.
In ceiling-corners the ghosts of spiders dandle upside-down.
But that's how I roll. Like cars on highways. Empty bottles. Cats.
Eighteen shots makes you a ghost-- it turns me upside-down.
Literature
a brief history of us.
the atlantic gave birth to you like a tsunami. late nights spent buying tiramisu for pretty girls with green eyes. playing with her fork like she was sewing the seams of clouds together.
we spent too long floating on hardwood floors with blankets wrapped tightly like a second skin, trying to protect things that might someday be broken. using fear as the only insurance against heartache and loneliness. pretending like we weren't already familiar to those things like we were to crumbs on kitchen counters, so we swept loneliness beneath the rugs and told it to stay. we were using words like forever without being able to count the distance betwe
Literature
We Were
I think we were almost angels once, you and I, with our fingers
scraping against the sky like beatific wings-
back when our hearts still rustled with the vernal wind
as autumn breathed red from thin crevices that spilled across the bark
sheathing
our empty bones;
when we still listened
to the crooning of the ocean as it echoed between each pine tree
and the voices of molting dandelions as they murmured
"All I ever wanted was to see the sun"
because the howling sequoia hollows were too large to hear them
and the nightingales were too free to care.
We twined our fingers as if they were wheat stalks
waiting to be braided into th
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love can be forever even after the body which harbors it is gone
© 2011 - 2024 theboyandhislion
Comments14
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I loved it. Especially the last line!