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Literature Text
October 19th
I arrived at home a pure soul
but I retreat a mosaic of soles.
Yes, I have been stepped on,
I have been led and brought on, spat on,
had the rod on, been beat and been broke.
At least you like my lyric.
At least your bootmarks no longer ache
and glow hurt-red. Marks, my words
when they pelt the ground, raindrops
falling but not on my head;
they cool my wounds. Even nature
is sympathetic. It gives you a sun today
and an excuse to burst from your dungeon.
I say take that chance. There is a want
for freedom there. Boot-march is a twisted
soundtrack there and it has gotten old;
the bright thoughts of bright leaves
and the dear faces of the strollered children
all wide-open and enamored with everything,
are writing you a new set of lyrics.
Literature
Odds and Ends
A cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.
A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.
An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.
A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a f
Literature
continual wandering
i'm going 80 on i-80 until i see the sun behind me
leaving the glow of
skylines and streetlights far behind
moving west towards the iowa sky
there's a stretch of the west coast
my feet have yet to roam
and it's been years since
i've filled my lungs
with pacific air
there's a cloud over i-5
passing through portland
a peaceful grey sky awaits me
i'm miles from my bed
but i've never been more awake
the ocean whips waves
in my direction
the pacific spray
rejuvenates me
i feel as young as i did
the first time around
i'm looking at the moon
from a different angle
this may not be home
but in this moment
it feels pretty damn close
Literature
21.15 Mnemonics
He awoke to sunlight in his eyes and the smell of her. Every day, he would stay in bed just a little bit longer than he ought to, just to bask in the glory of smell she had left behind. It was roses and mint and sandalwood and woman and a million other things he couldn’t have described, even if he tried, but it was her, and he would never forget it, as long as he lived, and probably not for a long time after he died.
But every day, the smell grew fainter, the sheets seemed to grow colder, and it was one more day since the last time he woke with her actually there.
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Believe it or not, this is a love poem. Written with someone I care very much about in mind who visits on occasion.
Edit 3/19/17: ^u^ Never thought this would happen and I am so happy for this... seriously, thank you!
Edit 3/19/17: ^u^ Never thought this would happen and I am so happy for this... seriously, thank you!
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Comments18
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Bro october 19 is my birthday