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A Poem Anent EvilTo balance such dissymmetry
Was fated here soliloquy
(as pigeon is by name a dove,
and philters that by altar wine )
His mingling with this verse, thereof
Makes dissonant polyphony.
Love-pinkened cheek and petal’d prose
(chemical by Bodenstein)
By bloom-robbed breast Hegemone’s
O, mercy for the compass rose !
For East of Here lies Valentine.
Shattered Stories: Lovesick On that fateful night, Fitzwilliam donned his hat of tinfoil, which threw a becoming shadow over his mild features; fixed it at a rakish angle, and stepped outside. Wheatley, the butler, opened a Chinese umbrella to shelter his master, though it was not raining. The waning sun, which stained the landscape port wine, was still quite in danger of ruining Fitzwilliam’s peaches-and-cream complexion. Fitzwilliam was led to his stallion by the butler, all parties presently looking blue as bottles cast beneath the tinted light of the parasol. Wheatley mounted the saddle with style and offered his unemployed hand to Fitzwilliam. The smartly-dressed youth squirmed his way up the horse’s great side, struggling not to get the horse’s horsiness all over his dinner jacket. Nothing spoiled a party quite like the perfume of topical flea medicine layered with laudanum, of which the latter Fitzwilliam dabbed behind his ears for special occasions.
As the noble
Ann Won't EatEmbracing your cello, you take up less space
Than the hollow-boned spruce, bow firm and melodic,
Your hair falling out
All over the strings.
Happy concertos hang on the rafters
Just as you yearned for yourself
A less-permanent proxy for you;
Watching and smiling,
The wooden beams modelling
What we pine for, and though you decline
A ticket to the theater,
Maybe it's possible you can
Find laughter here on the ground-
Because it's funny, like we say all the time
We can't even feed ourselves
How were you supposed to feed the baby?
And maybe it was rape,
But how pure were you to begin with?
You still love him, and
You can't undo that like
He undid you.
It's becoming clearer to me these days
That I won't see you again
Just as I said
Though you didn't really believe that,
It hurts when you're wrong.
So carve your arm up, I love you,
I dare you.
And callous your
Because maybe it's not so flawed
Because wrong can be measured in degrees
Like the cold of your
Winter SweetEyes aglaze; digits icing over
With death in the periphery
An avalanche of downy notes
Flutter by on paper motes
We make snow angels in the dusk
And cake ourselves with frosting coats
AnorexiaOpaque as ocean
Heavy as feather-
Tied to the tether.
Veins that chain
Rip at the wrist!
Bones that bind
Fingers in fist.
For what I can't be-
A soul that can love
What eyes cannot see!
Beast in the KingdomMy watch, a testament to Time, ticks tenaciously. The delicate click of teeth meeting tooth; the beat of a miniature heart. A resonance I recognize from elsewhere-
The mouse lay shivering in the warmth of my palm
The miniscule vessels, chambers, and veins; struggling to pump the precious fluid that slows with every life-shattering breath.
Yes, it is-undoubtedly-the insignificant vibrations of the mouse's beating heart that sound so alike to the timepiece that touches my very veins- both ticking down the time they have left; becoming unwound.
Finding"I wanted nothing more than to grab the envelope and tear it open violently. Nothing has been more excruciating, in my sixty-odd years of existence, than watching Irene unhurriedly study the translucent cerulean envelope, black ink penetrating the waxy paper in places, adorned with stamps of faces marred by the Postal Service. Upon opening the letter, we understand we'd been nothing more than naïve children. We were pawns, utterly disposable."
Helena"I used to wonder, with childlike curiosity, if her hair burned her ears and neck if it were to go unwashed too long. Only on Sunday night, when she bathed, I was convinced the fire was quenched. When she thought no-one was looking, she'd pull out her tortoiseshell hairpins and let her auburn hair flicker in the dimming summer light; we watched, fascinated, through the age-warped windowpanes as they silhouetted a widow aflame."
AblazeThe August heat suffers us equally
Hot, alive, awake
Oh, how infernal flame awakens the senses!
A cancer, a welcome plague, eating flesh and charring bone
Too proud to fight, I embrace the heat
Consent to its wavering ashen arms that wrap us in Summer's soma
Do not struggle or protest
When she fills my stinging eyes with tears of brackish ocean sweat
My Summer is a phoenix singing through the ashes of Winter
A scorching paramour, a blazing god
Wrathful and searing-sweet, feathers against my breast
Stay with me, and scar with me
Disfigure yourself; bond your flesh to mine
Melt and be melted, let go and fall
Together we'll pit Fire against Fire
And, because we are still among the Living
Watch the world we set ablaze
Death followed my father home.Death bought a new pair of shoes from my father. It left and hit a woman right in front of my father’s store. It dragged her thirty feet across the parking lot before speeding off, leaving her to bleed in front of Target. It brought my father out of his shoe store to direct traffic around the body, blood trickling against his shoes. It tapped the shoulder of an employee with CPR training. It got blood all over his clothes and sent him home early for the day when there was nothing he could do.
Death followed my father home. It called my father’s cell phone with an invitation he couldn’t turn down. It put a new playlist in my father’s Pandora shuffle that brought him to tears. It picked out the finest formal wear my father owned and laid it on the bed. It cancelled the plans my father had with his grandson.
Death gave my nephew an empty balloon. My father took it away before he could choke. It wheezed a skeletal laugh and patted the boy on the head.
a youth without flowerswake up, dress in your sunday best - that white church dress with the ribbon collar wound tight like a noose around your neck. don't wince when mamma pulls your hair back into twin tails, even though your scalp feels like it'll split open.
get in the back seat. wonder why your uncle is driving the family car down wheezy roads, but only wonder silently. from the back seat you see his fat old stomach wobble as the ford jostles down a gravel road toward church. apologize to mamma when your head smacks into the window - it's your fault, anyway.
smile like your daddy is the preacher, but don't seem too happy. mamma told you that today is a sad day. this thought rattles around in your tiny head; it doesn't make sense. how can the sky be as blue as a bird's belly on a sad day? there aren't many clouds in the sky.
don't fuss when mamma pulls you away from the kids playing ball underneath the big oak tree. she's only doing that to help you - you wouldn't want those pretty black shoes to get scu
Generations - Through the Years1956
“So tell me, do you think I can get away with this on the beach at Nice?”
Helen Forbes looked over at her daughter and said “I don’t know – you don’t think it shows a little too much?”
Katherine smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Nah – I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. The sleeveless white blouse was open at the neck, the lapel folded back, and her red shorts had little pockets at the front. Her outfit was completed with a pair of white heeled sandals.
“I still think it’s a little showy,” Helen said as she went back to packing her daughter’s case. Her mother was wearing a blue blouse, the neck open and the lapels pressed back, and a knee length red cotton skirt that buttoned up the front, with white open toed shoes.
“Come on Mum – what did you wear when you were my age?”
“Short dresses, long socks and pigtails,”
A Character's PerspectiveI was stunned. In the middle of my battle, a wall suddenly appeared. Everything was the same; my enemy and I paired up against each other with our swords clashing and clanging, his men and mine surrounding us, until this. The wall was white with black shapes that made little sense. Placing my hand open the wall, it felt smooth, like paper used by my king; yet so unlike the parchment I wrote my reports on. Looking up, I craned my neck back to try to find an end, yet the strange wall reached high and there seemed to be no end.
Hearing gasps behind me, I turned around and saw my enemy's men and my own, together, gaping in awe and fear at the sudden barrier. I, too, was gaping. What was this... this... this thing?! Panicking, I looked to my left and then to right. Stumbling backwards, I nearly fell to the ground in shock and horror. Both ways were blocked, the trees off to the side impaled by this wall of white and black.
Then, amidst the cries and the mutters amongst tho
Not a Date, simply an InteractionA lanky, slightly scruffy yet well-dressed man sat in the ornate cast iron chair provided him by the street-side cafe. His icy blue eyes were squinted with the kind of hatred only confidence, or arrogance, can bring a man, and his form is covered with a crimson and black pinstripe suit. This man had shooed away his waiter several times that evening as he gazed at the other tables, absent-mindedly sipping the merlot in his fluted wine glass. He was about to move over to a table where a lone, middle-aged woman sat when his vision was blocked with a feminine form dressed in blue. "I hope you don't mind the company," the stranger said politely, her voice like silk ribbons dancing in the ocean. "But I saw you were alone, and thought you could use the presence of another human." The man sneered, looking over the woman in front of him. She was clothed in an backless, single shoulder indigo-transitioning-to-cobalt dress, and her clear blue eyes were surrounded with smoky make-up of a similar h
SethEn la oscuridad del origen del mundo definí mi destino
La llave de la verdad yace enterrada en lo profundo de mi alma
Mi sangre inerte clama por el conocimiento perdido.
.:Selfish:.I’m just a little bit cowardly
A little bit selfish
Holding onto a blind wish
I’m the one who cries while others laugh
Counts the cars that pass
Hands out my trust too fast
I’m the one who chases down falling stars
Dreams too big
Loves too hard
I’m the one who notices everything
Yet nothing at all
The one who would jump off a cliff
Just to see who stops my fall
I’m the one who wishes-
Wishes a lot
That whenever I say “I’m okay”
You would just hug me
And say, “I know you’re not …”
But I’m also the one who laughs
Even when I have no reason to
The one who smiles
Because there’s nothing else to do
The one who spends all her days
Wanting it to be night
And all her nights
Just waiting for morning light
I would wait for hours just to talk to you
Even if you wouldn’t do the same for me
I would complement you daily
Until you finally agree
And that is why my
By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
Georgia, 1946"Damp night air and hot summer fear. Looking through the crosshairs while my face caught fire. Flex, shudder, pull, fall. Dust, moonlight, blood. The walk home though the long grass is unbearably uneventful. No serpent to bite or scorpion to sting. Just guilt, silence, dread. Hiss, hiss, the grass screams and clings to your ankles."
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