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Literature Text
- White
Orion’s Belt doesn’t cinch his hopes the way it used to
and lately, he thinks more about Jim Beam than Jim Crow
and both are travesties.
He feels guilty for something he’s not quite sure of,
but the whiskey helps to make him cold
and he kind of likes it that way.
- Black
He awakes to the staccato sounds of gunfire and the flashing of lights
and prays to a God he’s not so sure is listening that it’s no one he knows,
this time.
He feels so trapped inside himself, in poverty,
in a system that has been designed for him to fail.
He becomes embittered.
- Blue
She awakes in cold sweats, remnants of a slew of images
she will never unsee.
Her last thought as she puts on her badge and heads to work
is of the family she knows she must return to.
She puts herself in danger to help others out of it
and she deserves respect.
No matter what color you claim,
nor riches, nor privilege, nor fame,
our hues are one and the same,
we all bleed Red.
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Literature
psychosomatic serenade.
Schrodinger has been writing me
love letters, and he hasn’t. he
catcalls me from closed boxes
while I flip coins trying to figure
out what’s breathing, what isn’t.
your coffin, floating in earthen
rivers, hinges gleaming iridescent
as salmon scales, I am sitting here
guessing if the cat is dead or alive
in that imaginary vacuum, ignoring
Pavlov’s set ringtone on my phone -
the bells make me think of your
throat, how your Adam’s apple
rang when you swallowed down
another of my placebo promises.
I love, loved, you. and I didn’t.
Freud keeps dropping business
cards through the letterbox asking
my mother t
Literature
the warrior supplicates
burn
the rest
of me
but spare
my
skull.
cake it
with jewels.
soak it
in dyes,
pour water from it
onto withered greens.
glue candles to the
inside with their own wax,
make it a bowl
for things
too easily
lost.
Literature
so be it
some of us are content
sketching out proofs in chalk,
elbow-deep in the guts of mechanics
where sparks fly
in a flood of associations/
torment of carnations bursting
with the precision of an abstract language
which never
works when some things clearly do:
a crystal clear sound,
a 7am fog
i don't understand; & i try harder
with different starting points,
different trajectories
looping off in mad hare tracks,
but it seem like it always converges
to a cardinal landing
on a puffy pine branch.
in a few years, wordworts
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This is probably going to upset some people, but I'm done caring. I'm so tired of the division I see in the world today, fanned by hate and mesmerizing media. Love someone today..because love is the single greatest enemy of fear.
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Comments3
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Man, what a trip that took me on. That was pretty awesome.