I didn’t realize the candle to refrain from hiding was my own, not some super–candle I would one day acquire or already had that was better than my real one. I didn’t realize the money to refrain from burying was my pocket change: all that I had in the world. I didn’t realize the virgins weren’t particularly chaste, but just so young they might not trust their own wicks.
Year: 2012
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Bushels and Virgins
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I kiss the light, bathed in love. I am exhausted and defeated, unable to deny my tragedies were my own concoction; it was me who held my nose as I imbibed its bitterness. Faith stands, still unblemished, present to life, vulnerable to wholesomeness, permissive of its good nature. She smiles as I let go of fear to hold the hand that was always there.
Kind Eyes
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I know not how many tiers your fountain. It proudly stands in the piazza. All I have is my pitter–patter, pitter–patter–pit, softly, gently, hard to notice — continually, till drip and splash and undulation, reverberation, over the edge and overflowing over every lip.
Cohesion
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Oh, drat. That worst kind of love, that listeth, smiles anon, does not scheme, expect, or devise, is content merely to be. Oh, this gets me nowhere, is too patient, has nothing to show for itself — careless: I cannot leverage you.
Stymied
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I’d go out into the world and find that marrow I feel in my bones must needs be found; a pause before the gate to check should there be anything upon these grounds or, maybe, give me time as I traipse amid the ants between the blades of grass here. I’m not going anywhere.
Thoreau
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I sing to you, brass belle, deep, in your frequency, a joyful tone till two smiling wench’s eyes blink knowingly, happily back at me. Enthralled, you open your mouth and bless the reverberations with ethereal delight. Us two laughing, broomless witches clasp hands in the wind and fly.
Taken
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Naked matriarch crowned with lights, your scepter playfully glinting while two angel wings tickle from your back, aglow, I bow in your presence and humbly take your plump hand to lightly add that touch of sparkling polish to your fingertips. Excuse my awe as I am entranced by your fairie bright eyes as I paint silver upon your lips; then, once more bow to finish with attention to your toes.
Enthroned
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How is this I felt the ruddy outlines of love jut from me, physically present? Not of my own will — a companion — such a gift, so precious I would never wish it harm. Yet, when I shout, “I refute thee thusly”, I rend my toe upon this happy calamity.
Toe hold
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Your gaze before me, as pleasant as sparkles on the sea, I dig for the gem you carelessly dropped, the muddy ocean seeping under each paw.
Seaside
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The anchor tugs the bottom of my heart — a heart bobbing on the waves — trucks it on a steady journey to the bottom of the sea, to its own country with new life. Upon touching ground, a phosphorescent chain-reaction alights the ocean floor.
Anchor
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