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Literature Text
throng of endless individuals
overwhelms every hair on my body
the door to the car closes and
the relief exudes from every pore
until someone asks if
anyone else is sitting there
finally coming home to
nothing but an empty house
and a full blanket
sets myself at ease
drawing the curtains closed
tighter against the blinds
encases me in a dark friend
enough to see to read
enough to let me be
overwhelms every hair on my body
the door to the car closes and
the relief exudes from every pore
until someone asks if
anyone else is sitting there
finally coming home to
nothing but an empty house
and a full blanket
sets myself at ease
drawing the curtains closed
tighter against the blinds
encases me in a dark friend
enough to see to read
enough to let me be
Literature
Lullaby Bye
Twinkle twinkle falling star
Oh, I wonder if you are
He who called with steady voice
Offering me one simple choice
Shall I stay or better leave?
Contemplatively I breathe
Now to bed I close my eyes
Think of you across the skies
I forgive you, now you know
My chosen path is that I go
One breath. Two breath. Three breath. Four
Eternal sleep, forevermore
Twinkle twinkle trusted friend
Take me there, to where it ends
Shining down your soft, white light
It calms me now and dulls my fright
Down below in bed I lie
With comforted heart I say goodbye
Literature
Glass Half Full
We have a new cat now.
She streaks through the house
and sleeps in your old beds,
watching me from the rocking chair
as I habitually seek you out.
She's sweeter than you--
she sits in my lap
and plays with my fingers,
doll-faced and docile
against your angular independence.
I still search for you
amongst the cracks in my heart
as you slip like sand
deeper into the dark recesses
of my faulty memories.
I am always afraid
that my tears will ruin the circuitry
through which I access
our sunny afternoons and quiet nights,
and you will slip beyond me.
I did not hope for an afterlife
until I ran my fingers through your cold fur,
and understood
Literature
Margie
oh Margie, Margie, Margie.
your name sounds like snow.
you remind me of oranges.
you're a Polack
and i call you so.
why don't you call, Margie?
where have you gone?
i tried to keep in touch
but in the end i know
it's me.
i've gone.
you're still home.
all the kids who were our friends,
they are just your friends.
we were all in the marching band
but fuck that, Margie, you know
yes you know how i feel about that.
Margie.
i miss you,
and i barely even know you!
i wanted to see you
in the summer
in your attic
where we'd wear sweaty clothes
and move boxes by droves
and find books,
real books,
French books,
cook books
that all stank of cloves,
a
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Comments7
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Hello darkness my old friend. I've come to speak with you again. not a bad poem. It's a mutual feeling.