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Literature Text
The Streets Are Fed (Up)
you know how the saying is sung,
it ain’t no fun with the rabbit got the gun
and it’s pork season, when you season
the potluck pot roast until lady luck
calls and the time ringer is rung.
dinner is done as the rabbit is fried
over a (gun)fire and the pork
is burned with a gun(fire).
seize one till gunfire salt leaves
on cheeks in the fall,
this is twilight of autumn
as bodies fall in rain
right in the eye of the storm.
season pavement
with paved men,
their bodies decompose into stone
because we say even though
you can put lipstick on a pig
it’s still porky
but what about when you dress
these so-called homosapiens
in blue?
it’s a damn gamble,
when dark boys gambol
and it’s no longer a puzzle game
when a riddle piece is riddled
and shaken till its shook dry.
(s)wine running down the streets
like those boys used to
until time wrapped around their throats
like neck bows tied too tight.
tie, too, teeth stained
by dirty death and plasma.
itchy-trigger fingers blasting bullets
both ways and both fade.
shoot, shot, shit, shut.
Literature
eight times I fell in love with him
un
I fell in love
sitting on a cliff
overlooking my whole town,
all the buildings below
shining like little pastel boxes
in the late afternoon light.
beneath late-october leaves
he guided me gently
into my first kiss
like he was directing
water-starved flowers to a rainstorm.
when our lips at last brushed,
I felt him smile against my mouth
almost secretly,
as if he were surprised by his own happiness,
and I knew I'd found a heart
that would play well with my own.
deux
in the pouring rain,
he walked beside me
with his nice blue collared shirt
held high above us
as a makeshift umbrella.
I held him around the waist
and he kissed me twice
wit
Literature
if we were to never speak again.
In silence absolute
I almost forgot you,
I almost remembered to forget
you, lonely afternoon
of naked breath,
the softness of sunset
as it rakes along my skin.
The nonchalance of the sky
almost unbearably falters
an outbreak of tears
weigh down my hair
memory of your touch,
memory of your heart,
eyes blinking through the rain
glimpses of turquoise-
blue souls dancing, but
not quite entwined.
This dignity
claws into my brows,
furrows the flesh
rivulets of thought
that tear through my nervous system
fingers twitching
cellular tinnitus, reverberations
of you
in my spinal column,
raising mountains from
my body, darklight clouds
ghosting in the
Literature
a situation in which i do not survive
i was a lake whipped
into a fever pitch, a localised
hurricane in the wake of something
greater. the world was ending
and i dreamt of you while it was
still turning, a mess of bodies and
kisses. i dreamt of you still
when it ended, a slow dance
of crooked smiles and offshore
eyes. you kept me close and if
i was ever a source of happiness
or preoccupation
or horror
for you, i could let go.
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Pigs shot by rabbits. Rabbits shot by pigs. Lest we begin acting like humans being first, we'll only be animals at each others' throat, feeding the streets rabbits' foot and pork belly.
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Comments14
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Okay, you know the time you were telling me that you had worked to develop your own distinct voice so that when someone read one of your poems, they would know it was you?
You're there, man. This poem is amazing. Bitingly cynical, excellent wordplay, perfect flow and pacing, awesome imagery. Just saying. You're awesome.
You're there, man. This poem is amazing. Bitingly cynical, excellent wordplay, perfect flow and pacing, awesome imagery. Just saying. You're awesome.