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Literature Text
- they say you
always shiver when someone
walks across your
grave;
but you see, no
ghost knows how to
shake when it's cold, and these
bones haven't
stuttered for months;
i guess that
some respect for the dead
is helping keep them
away.
Literature
but the stars are too loud to hear them
it's a summer night again. i think
it has been a million years since i lived
through a summer night.
everything is so much louder in summer,
the windows thrown wide and the whole world
shouting, echoing up from the street,
and that screaming aching space between the window pane
and my heart, where
the late scent of lilacs
burrowed, where your hands clawed at the glass
and i let you in
with the breeze and the laughing
cinquefoil faces.
where is the dull neglectable roar,
washed away in the sweet tides of everything blooming,
new colors crying out for the stars
to fall on their petals,
and lift them up,
and let them in
to the bleak brightness
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
Literature
if i could invent words
i would like to create a word
for what one feels
when they realize:
if we were birds, the only cage
we would be in
are the ones
we create ourselves. how many times
have our wings
been clipped
by our own hands
alone. christ, i'm sorry.
dear past self:
i apologize
for trying to define you;
for definition
is the metaphorical cage
to change. the only limit
the sky has
is how far
we can see.
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