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Literature Text
Psychological inept
and fallacious
as she rambles on
about her follicles
and optical in a fathered
illusion, dissolute
in the name of physics
and how ages ago
she disappeared
in the shadow
of her patriarch.
(She hates kings
and queens because
it's a divisor;
invisible and clear
while she is flux.)
Pages anew,
a few turned in the nude
as water turned tides attest
furled in the curves
of the nest as I still
watch over the
underachieving ingenue
drown in the tongue
of waterfall faucet mouths.
Breathing seems like
the sky crashing in on Kansas
as your skin is cold
on the canvas.
Inhale too much
and the scent of chalk
taints the room
like the Grim Reaper
garnishes his toast
with it.
and fallacious
as she rambles on
about her follicles
and optical in a fathered
illusion, dissolute
in the name of physics
and how ages ago
she disappeared
in the shadow
of her patriarch.
(She hates kings
and queens because
it's a divisor;
invisible and clear
while she is flux.)
Pages anew,
a few turned in the nude
as water turned tides attest
furled in the curves
of the nest as I still
watch over the
underachieving ingenue
drown in the tongue
of waterfall faucet mouths.
Breathing seems like
the sky crashing in on Kansas
as your skin is cold
on the canvas.
Inhale too much
and the scent of chalk
taints the room
like the Grim Reaper
garnishes his toast
with it.
Literature
Spectra
photons
like phantoms
cross our paths
unseen except
for their effects
every poem begins with sometimes
every dream begins with maybe
Literature
Broken Rabbit
You may recall
to remember me
as I once had been...
That's not who I am now.
Think you know best,
yet there is nothing
in your empty eyes...
The stranger on the train.
I know who it was now,
the only one who could save me,
has now damned my soul...
They're coming for you.
And I know that you know it,
blaming everyone else,
except the true culprit;
It is yourself.
Lying;
as I watch the embers
in your eyes
go out
completely...
In pieces.
S h a t t e r e d.
Literature
Bliss
It is often said that ignorance is bliss. Perhaps this is true. There are innumerable facts that I know which are hardly conducive to happiness. I know, for example, that a runaway black hole could pass through our solar system, killing our entire world merely because it happened to be moving in this particular direction. I admit, it would be nice if I didn't know this, or any of the other, similar facts. I would probably be happier if I didn't know that having a plane crash into my house is more likely than winning the lottery.
But then, there are other questions that mankind has been striving to answer ever since they first developed the c
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Pages anew,
a few turned in the nude
as water turned tides attest
furled in the curves
this