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Literature Text
they ask him what about the motorbikes
they ask him what about tossing spray paint cans
to bomb grand canyon
he says fuck you i just want to roll over.
the glue of eyelids and a fistful of cheerios.
rainbow smear on your hands they say.
you would tug at sky’s ponytail why don’t you go go go.
the subterraneans, the subhuman,
solar panel fetishists
scrounging morning dazzle or free passes through the neon
tube to nowhere
the artists
welcome him back to their ranks.
the difference between us and them
is the difference between a hole and a stain they say:
once you’re with us, you just stare at the washing machine drum for years
or…
they ask him what about a house by the seaside.
they ask him what about the extensive study of fossilized laridae.
they ask him how does it feel now.
he says give me some time
with cupped hands overflowing with raw game meat
standing in the hallway hesitant
he will.
become them
buzzing by the bedside asking will you go
they ask him what about tossing spray paint cans
to bomb grand canyon
he says fuck you i just want to roll over.
the glue of eyelids and a fistful of cheerios.
rainbow smear on your hands they say.
you would tug at sky’s ponytail why don’t you go go go.
the subterraneans, the subhuman,
solar panel fetishists
scrounging morning dazzle or free passes through the neon
tube to nowhere
the artists
welcome him back to their ranks.
the difference between us and them
is the difference between a hole and a stain they say:
once you’re with us, you just stare at the washing machine drum for years
or…
they ask him what about a house by the seaside.
they ask him what about the extensive study of fossilized laridae.
they ask him how does it feel now.
he says give me some time
with cupped hands overflowing with raw game meat
standing in the hallway hesitant
he will.
become them
buzzing by the bedside asking will you go
Literature
recovery crawl
beating
is kinder
than leaving.
sometimes I wish
your last words were
movements.
a hand against my cheek,
a fist to my chest,
an arm around my neck,
nails on my wrist.
the ache more real
and easy
to find.
every night I ache and
I point all over.
mostly my heart,
mostly my mind,
to the words stuck
that won’t loosen
that wedge themselves
in my teeth and fall out when
I’m drunk,
in his lap. he doesn’t need them, boy
that loves me until his
teeth rot, who says I don’t
deserve you who constricts
my waist with his hands and who
whispers I love you before
we fuck. he’s got courage like
the front lines of war
Literature
Winter
I remember winter in
the old stove we huddled at,
an audience of shivering limbs
within cold walls.
There was a desperation to this closeness
that love could never inspire. It glowed
within us, a common flame
we dared not feed, and through
the night we curled in embers
and burned ourselves to sleep.
I could almost remember summer’s
cotton arms, the playfulness
of ocean waves in August. Those dreams
wished to drown us beneath memories
and wishes, but
in the moment before we awoke,
as the tide cried
for me to stay, I always
always swam to shore.
Every morning, I breathed snow-capped
mountains in the air. They were nothing
more th
Literature
The Sins of The Father
I’m the sum of all my fathers
But I won’t carry all their sins
The seed of life is precious
But blown away by gentle winds
Bad that’s happened in the past
Cannot be blamed today
For those who came before us
Have left their mark but gone away
We may inherit family features
And some traits just carry on
But we are all individuals who
Need to know that we belong
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a hella lot of folk punk and a dose of swans equal time well spent
OR
has time to write -> proceeds to waste it
OR
has time to write -> proceeds to waste it
© 2014 - 2024 ghostinafog
Comments4
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As you know, I am an avid fan of your work, but I am particularly touched by the first half of this poem. The angst of a teenage artist is close to home, and you did a great job portraying it