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Literature Text
the fuzzy half-static
of a tuning radio
an amplified feedback
full of repetitious speeches
in torqued distortion
words on a loop
until its clawing
at hair,
ripping out at the
occipital bone
a flood of neuroses
& fears flooding
& shifting like sand
in your neck
choking on wind
forced thru the
back of your throat
the click of a lighter
with the flame
blowing out
& a snort of mucus
accompaniment
metal lurching free
& ringing against its partner,
a flick in the air
the singe & eventual
flash crackle
of skin
visitor’s passes peeled
off their backing
& the quiet scrape
off clothing
an hour later
every song that
puts a hole thru
your ears,
out one side
& in the other
every blues singer’s
syncopated howl
& Billie’s addictions
rubbing along her
vocal chords
in an echo chamber
mason jars clinking
against nervous clicking
fingernails sending out
an unknowable code
tinfoil’s sound from
inside your body
as it’s chewed
gravel between teeth
rolling into chips
kicking out windows
& leaving everything
in its place
horns cracking
into each other
for supremacy
a jackal crunching
bones into edible
portions
bears eating their
disposable young
& those last pleas
a hail storm ripping
thru branches
& thumping dents
into cars
unseen oceans on mute
rippling with wide mouths
splintering at the
corners
never knowing what
you’re becoming.
of a tuning radio
an amplified feedback
full of repetitious speeches
in torqued distortion
words on a loop
until its clawing
at hair,
ripping out at the
occipital bone
a flood of neuroses
& fears flooding
& shifting like sand
in your neck
choking on wind
forced thru the
back of your throat
the click of a lighter
with the flame
blowing out
& a snort of mucus
accompaniment
metal lurching free
& ringing against its partner,
a flick in the air
the singe & eventual
flash crackle
of skin
visitor’s passes peeled
off their backing
& the quiet scrape
off clothing
an hour later
every song that
puts a hole thru
your ears,
out one side
& in the other
every blues singer’s
syncopated howl
& Billie’s addictions
rubbing along her
vocal chords
in an echo chamber
mason jars clinking
against nervous clicking
fingernails sending out
an unknowable code
tinfoil’s sound from
inside your body
as it’s chewed
gravel between teeth
rolling into chips
kicking out windows
& leaving everything
in its place
horns cracking
into each other
for supremacy
a jackal crunching
bones into edible
portions
bears eating their
disposable young
& those last pleas
a hail storm ripping
thru branches
& thumping dents
into cars
unseen oceans on mute
rippling with wide mouths
splintering at the
corners
never knowing what
you’re becoming.
Literature
love your mistakes
I've fumbled around with hearts before,
and let them fall. Cracked fingernails, walked into
doorframes, bumped into people and hesitated too long
to open my mouth. Moments passed me by, often.
Occasionally, I was brave, and fell hard on my nose.
Was bleeding and embarrassed for the pain;
and the proof of it, the blood.
Said "sorry, but," or didn't say sorry at all, ate my feelings
or starved myself for them, carried my guilt around with me
until it made me sick and lose my appetite,
drowned my hand soap in the toilet,
didn't stretch after exercise and was sore for days,
kept my distance to those reaching out to me.
Pushed my pain asid
Literature
The First of His Kind
What am I to use?
The Girl was soaked
to the bone now, and still crying,
the kind of tears that made her teeth
show, and which made her cough
and take deep breaths. I stared. Everything
that was human was welling up in me - like
those tears. It is something when someone is
crying for easy things. Crying is not hard. But
this was something else. There is a person - a
Literature
Fiction Within Reality
When I was little my father took me to a family reunion at my great uncle's house. Honestly, I don't recall him being all that great, but people still refer to him as such, so I must have missed something. There were many people there I didn't know, and probably haven't seen since. They didn't leave much of an impression, so I may have bumped into them later in life and not even realized it.
The thing I do remember was the house itself. Up until that point in my short life, I had never been in a house that large and elaborately decorated. It was very old and had accumulated a wide variety of artwork and antiques in it's history. Appare
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written a bit ago.
tried to be more creative.
tried to be more creative.
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