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Literature Text
I'll gladly weave the ashen wrath of a snow bank into my terrible flesh; I'll sprout new Promethean
nerves to beg the scorn off dark and drizzle, to settle the slow-riddle of bitter holes sold deep
within the waterchest ; I'll give back all the violent blue these faithless eyes had ever dared
to lure from the depths of the sleepless Dream;
but i'll never accept
the callous death
that is [....]
ambivalence.
nerves to beg the scorn off dark and drizzle, to settle the slow-riddle of bitter holes sold deep
within the waterchest ; I'll give back all the violent blue these faithless eyes had ever dared
to lure from the depths of the sleepless Dream;
but i'll never accept
the callous death
that is [....]
ambivalence.
Literature
You Owe Me This
I want you to bury me
When I'm gone and plans are made,
I want that shovel in your hands
Lay my body in its grave and let the earth flow
Add your sweat as well as tears to the soil that will cover me
Take your time
No need to rush
I think I deserve just that much
How does it feel to be over me now?
Come on, baby, tell me how
Literature
Please last
1.
My angel
Mail
Came to me
With moon-milk
Calm,
It came silent
As a sleeping
Bird,
It came from God
And not a silly
Boy- illusion.
My angel
Mail
Came from the
Twin that I buried
In the Pacific,
She rose out
Of the Atlantic,
And she no longer
Wants to fight with me.
She says she is
Snow incarnate,
She says she
Forgives me.
Her mouth
Is a pisces-venus,
A pink shelly aster,
Powder puff, jellyfish
Rush-glide on glitter bloom.
Raising only
Beautiful pewter cutlery
And hand painted
Tea-cups
Up to those lips.
2.
Some words escape:
I don't need to
Find you
Anymore.
In terrible labyrinthine drea
Literature
Vienna
their dead never crowded
my mind;
I never lurched beneath
the weight of
too many bones
that were not mine:
rather, a kind
of hesitant symmetry
began to overtake
the place,
to invade the narrow crevices
where, previously,
a doubt had been.
I've been wrong,
all this time:
they are not laying siege.
they are waiting for
the inexorable pull of entropy
to break me
just enough
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i would like to give up now
© 2010 - 2024 spoems
Comments60
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A strangely troubled poem, Shane. Perhaps there are colours of emotions that we cannot see.