What a beautiful corner of the universe I have here. No one take this corner away from me.
Year: 2011
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A Dracula is never a cure for a headache. At times, I need some beautiful soul to drive a wooden stake through my heart to get the point.
Mistaken
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Oh, mama, you laugh at me too much with your knowing smile. What have I got myself into this time? Regard as little tears and snot rubbed all over my sleeve, as if the ripping of my subject from my little hand was all just a bad dream. With loving eyes you take me all in and send me out to recess again.
Knowing Mother
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Nothing worthwhile ever gets done. When it’s finished, where’s the fun? For whom do you want to make this past? Aye, for them with whom we hope we’ll last.
Ditty
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Weary wounds down the sides of the front of my torso raw from my continually cutting you out of my lungs: I had made a bold play of it once; now I stare — take slow gapes of resignation. The fishhooks I withdrew — cut each one in half with my knife — they keep coming; there are so many now. I look up to the sky filtered through the surface of the water; who knows, maybe, of a sudden: Yank.
Gutted
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All I’ve left is me little torch. The grand visions on cave walls descend into darkness. Come. There is enough for two. Let us make a meal of it.
Companionship
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I’m in high school. I’m much older than this. Why am I here?
I have a megaphone. The high school seems to be in the street. School is over. I speak into the megaphone because I can; still, I don’t have much to say; I say “time to go home; school is over.”
None of the students pay attention — I didn’t expect them to.
My therapist tells me of a specialist she’d like me to meet. He’s a tall, thin, serious man. I bike there. I go down the street without knowing the street number, then look at the street numbers, realize I passed the place, and double back.
It’s a typical 3-story professional building with a hint on psych institutional care. It’s evening now. I look at the paper for the hours he’s available: 3 A.M. to 10 A.M. Hmm, I’ll have to come back during those hours. The walk-in bit is a surprise to me.
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I’m in a swimming competition. I have to put on some fancy equipment in a certain procedure, one of the refs explains.
Brian and I both are in the competition.
I swim. I don’t do so bad.
On the return trip a swimmer latches unto me. I am pulling him a bit, then a ref blows a whistle on me and warns me no piggy backing. I’m nonplussed. He latched onto me; how could it be my fault?
“The water knows” he says.
It’s a fun game. I later think it might be fun to do the physical game over the internet with Jim.
The Water Knows
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My love for you is like a summer day: a deep blue diamond canvasing the dome of the universe. My love for you is like a blue sky with an occasional cloud hanging by; and, then it is the march of a wall of doom, gray: thunderheads gritting teeth; every drop seeking to dig under dirt; thunderbolts seeking vengeance, declaring it must needs be union: absolute drench even upon its undoing; and, my love is like a summer day.
Grit
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By your armor, I’m taken, wondering: your eyes gleaming, unmasked, your body dancing, unencumbered and light. { your sword nicked my knee; the spilling of blood grants me brethren see — and thou still war? Oh, go wounded and stay wounded wherefore I, bad in war and in peace, may nurse you. }Glimpses
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