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Literature Text
you would have overturned your world,
shaken lose the trinkets
only to have more snakey wires
those piranha-edged cuboids
form what you call home.
You would leave a certain wall untouched
a photograph of you and your sister
on the beach conquering
a yacht,
wishing to skim both
sand and shore.
Photograph held steadfastly by pinkie-sworn
I-will-kiss-and-tell flavoured
bubble gum.
Strawberry and lime-mint were her favourite
but one day you stopped buying it
for her.
shaken lose the trinkets
only to have more snakey wires
those piranha-edged cuboids
form what you call home.
You would leave a certain wall untouched
a photograph of you and your sister
on the beach conquering
a yacht,
wishing to skim both
sand and shore.
Photograph held steadfastly by pinkie-sworn
I-will-kiss-and-tell flavoured
bubble gum.
Strawberry and lime-mint were her favourite
but one day you stopped buying it
for her.
Literature
From Whence She Came
Back down to the sea-floor she goes
back to the coracle-clusters and starfish that
clamour, cling to her heart too tight,
walking barefoot towards where she
came from. It is too hard walking on
earth, the way she wears pain like a wedding ring
frightens people.
Back down, down, crawling on her belly
on the forest-floor, alive with the buzz and crawl
of worms and bird-prey. Back where she belongs with her
crazy palpitating wolf-heart, her bloody
deer-throat leaking in the snow, her yellow
eyes in the dark.
Back down, beyond subway trains, piano lessons,
falling rain, from whence she came, to the snow-covered womb
where she fir
Literature
Vertigo
He sleeps the sleep of a man
who doesn't yet know that Love
sits sewing her shadow to the dawn,
nursing a subtle,
aching silence in his lungs
with her name, her shape.
He can't fathom how someone
can sit so deep inside him,
shelling the shadows of himself
as though there are moons at their core,
how he no longer believes
in falling lightly in love
but in committing himself
to inevitable call of concrete
or how she lingers like ink on his fingers,
like a story he's still figuring out how to write.
Literature
Subtraction
When the scything was not yet done
she sat, a run of sweat between her breasts,
a nascent blister on her palm--
before she took the whetstone to the blade.
Lower down the hill the horses grazed,
tails brisk against the flies,
coats damp in the torpid air.
Robbed, she was.
The day was loud with birds and bugs;
the mowing smelled like lust or love,
depending.
She sat and watched the silver sky
and felt the wetness dry along her ribs,
along her thighs and tired arms.
She watched the swallows courting.
One plus one.
Suggested Collections
Inspired by: Photographs, memories.
For: Camille
For: Camille
© 2011 - 2024 pencil-pawn
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