Tag: poetry
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The Claim
A drop of red for the deep blue sea. A drop of red “to remember me”. A drop of red, a branding mark. “This one belongs to me.” A sea of blue that forsook the sky. A sea of blue waves low and high. A sea of blue, a world apart. “This one belongs to…
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Fading Love
The cards were almost as old as me. They were well used. They were well loved. They had long ago ceased to be the darling of collectors. They remained your beloved. I would slip them between my fingers. Faded ink still smiling from the paper’s memory. Edges softened from callused hands. To feel them was…
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Guilt
Forgive me for my absence, friend. The dark was kept from me. The light was blinding. Forgive me for my absence, friend. And for arriving too late. Forgive me for doubting, friend. My wine was not cut. The water too sweet. Forgive me for doubting, friend. And for loving the lie too well. Forgive me…
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A Type of Cure
I shall be your Gilded Apple. I shall be squeezed into wine. Watch my blood turn the silver black. Drink. I shall be your blessed philter. I shall be the poisoned cure. Watch my worms under your skin crawl. Drink. I shall be the silent scapegoat. I shall tally the deposited sins. Watch my fire…
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It’s Bad
“Bad” I said, for bad it is. ‘Tis plain for all to see. While others stood and hemmed and hawwed, I stood and left it be. “Bad” They said, for bad it is. There is no room for doubt. While they backed away from it, not sure what it’s about. “Bad” They said, and left…
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Pullulate
. Here There And then A multitude spreads Quickly sprouting from forgotten seeds Bursting forth with unchecked desire and insatiable fecundity Ripening into clusters of over sweetened lust that rip into each other greedily Leaving a trail of life and devastation that turns onto itself with a spiral helix twist, splitting into diverse bacchanal expressions…
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Sometimes
Sometimes the stories are written with words. With steel frame structure and proven formula banality. Sometimes the stories are written with rum. With sarcastic joviality and highly polished lies. Sometimes the stories are written with coffee. With matter of fact reporting and terse, succinct titles. Sometimes the stories are written with tears. With thick fingered…
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Forgotten
I have forgotten