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Literature Text
No matter how much
I call through the crystal jungle
full of blood diamond
eyes in the trees, under the
syngenesis fogging water
of the levitating swamp,
up in the eastward eagle’s
nest rimmed with the
phantom limbs of trinkets,
you will not come.
I climbed to the top of
the aerial antenna, choked
out your name in Morse code
on the red-rain soaked bulb,
found the underground mistress
tunnel below adulterous Denver
& echoed flighty pleas, doused
my pills with smoke & coffee grounds—
still absentia.
Even though my voice has been
a bullhorn since adolescence,
poems do not have ears
& all my happiness is falling
off the hinges of wasted potential.
I call through the crystal jungle
full of blood diamond
eyes in the trees, under the
syngenesis fogging water
of the levitating swamp,
up in the eastward eagle’s
nest rimmed with the
phantom limbs of trinkets,
you will not come.
I climbed to the top of
the aerial antenna, choked
out your name in Morse code
on the red-rain soaked bulb,
found the underground mistress
tunnel below adulterous Denver
& echoed flighty pleas, doused
my pills with smoke & coffee grounds—
still absentia.
Even though my voice has been
a bullhorn since adolescence,
poems do not have ears
& all my happiness is falling
off the hinges of wasted potential.
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
You say you love me
You say you love to hear me ramble, yet you always cut me off.
You say you want a future with me, yet you see no future for yourself.
You say you love to make me smile, yet you always make me cry.
Literature
water
i am not afraid of death.
i did not want
the boy beneath the apple trees,
or the cherry petals
in the orchard, touched with invisible fingers
leaving brown indentations, bruised
with your inflection even on the brink of spring
not the one littered under the sunlit twigs
grappling for heaven
But the one lying exactly center field
staring straight at the sky--
waiting for a crash of thunder
for the paper flowers, metaphor for holding
over the sills of everything transient,
and left for erasing-- like a soul brimming
over the bridge of an emotion
strong enough to overcome itself.
brave boy with a thousand faces-- i see
Suggested Collections
this is a poem.
this is a poem about
not being able to write
poems.
my line breaks are
all kinds of messed up
for pretty much
the entire thing.
i don't know how to
fix them exactly.
syngenesis is my
new favorite word.
"aerial tower--"
those spires around
power lines that tell
the planes they're
there. is there an
actual word?
this is a poem about
not being able to write
poems.
my line breaks are
all kinds of messed up
for pretty much
the entire thing.
i don't know how to
fix them exactly.
syngenesis is my
new favorite word.
"aerial tower--"
those spires around
power lines that tell
the planes they're
there. is there an
actual word?
© 2013 - 2024 schriftsteller
Comments9
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The first section is lost, but after that you get into a new flow and I actually wanted those images to continue onward. I know all about not being able to write, my words still fly away from me every day no matter how hard I try to hold on to them.