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Literature Text
It was the day that the animals left,
All of them,
By land, sea or air,
Without so much as a goodbye.
And at the command of the Lord,
they gathered at the Edge of the World,
And all leapt into the darkness -
Save for the Monkey
Who, with a bruised banana and shiny key,
Returned to the Forests and locked their gates,
The vines and roots curling up and weaving together
In a great impassible barrier,
For he, in all his trickery, could not bear to leave.
It was the day that the stars fell,
One by one, shot out of the sky
By Great Orion
As he unleashed his arrow, filled with all his pain and malice.
And as their cold, pale bodies fell to the Earth
And littered the streets of Man's great cities
The people, in all their ignorance,
Saw that the stars were not light
But virgins, cloudy-eyed and silver-haired
Strung up against black velvet skies
To watch for the death of newborns.
It was the day that the World -
Ravaged and rotting as it was -
Was returned to the Children of the Hills.
All the faeries and the pixies,
Dead men with grey fingernails
Who rode on the backs of wolves,
And all the infants they had taken from cradles,
Fed petals and strange fruit in timeless places
As their parents, sisters, brothers withered and died
And the world spun on without them.
Man was ushered from their homes,
Into the Garden of the Lord,
Leaving half-finished meals behind
And pictures of their families.
It was the day I thought I'd run away with you,
My heart swelling with ecstasy.
Thought I’d
Curl your pale fingers into mine and whisper 'I love you,'
Or other sweet things.
But I'd found your bed made,
Wardrobe empty.
Little outlines of dust where our photos -
Our memories -
Used to be.
And when I'd ran out into the street,
I'd ignored the dead virgins, with arrows jutting from their chests,
And the empty air and quiet homes,
Stumbling to keep my aching chest
From spilling my tears and heart out onto the sidewalk,
As I watched that yellow cab
Fade into a melting horizon
Taking you with it.
It's been two years,
Our home is cold now,
But still I wait.
All of them,
By land, sea or air,
Without so much as a goodbye.
And at the command of the Lord,
they gathered at the Edge of the World,
And all leapt into the darkness -
Save for the Monkey
Who, with a bruised banana and shiny key,
Returned to the Forests and locked their gates,
The vines and roots curling up and weaving together
In a great impassible barrier,
For he, in all his trickery, could not bear to leave.
It was the day that the stars fell,
One by one, shot out of the sky
By Great Orion
As he unleashed his arrow, filled with all his pain and malice.
And as their cold, pale bodies fell to the Earth
And littered the streets of Man's great cities
The people, in all their ignorance,
Saw that the stars were not light
But virgins, cloudy-eyed and silver-haired
Strung up against black velvet skies
To watch for the death of newborns.
It was the day that the World -
Ravaged and rotting as it was -
Was returned to the Children of the Hills.
All the faeries and the pixies,
Dead men with grey fingernails
Who rode on the backs of wolves,
And all the infants they had taken from cradles,
Fed petals and strange fruit in timeless places
As their parents, sisters, brothers withered and died
And the world spun on without them.
Man was ushered from their homes,
Into the Garden of the Lord,
Leaving half-finished meals behind
And pictures of their families.
It was the day I thought I'd run away with you,
My heart swelling with ecstasy.
Thought I’d
Curl your pale fingers into mine and whisper 'I love you,'
Or other sweet things.
But I'd found your bed made,
Wardrobe empty.
Little outlines of dust where our photos -
Our memories -
Used to be.
And when I'd ran out into the street,
I'd ignored the dead virgins, with arrows jutting from their chests,
And the empty air and quiet homes,
Stumbling to keep my aching chest
From spilling my tears and heart out onto the sidewalk,
As I watched that yellow cab
Fade into a melting horizon
Taking you with it.
It's been two years,
Our home is cold now,
But still I wait.
Literature
It is hard to be soft
Mom cutting Dad's hair in the kitchen. Feather voices
because they are discussing matters heavier than water,
jarring scrapes when they move the chair.
Tufts of hair fall, touching the
curved blade of ear. It is sharper, as are our brains,
than you think, even as
the night velvets. It pads alongside my cat,
who sits behind the laundry room door and makes old saxophone sounds.
I slip inside to touch
the kitten scruf of his neck.
How difficult it is, to definitively love or hate,
when everything is so soft.
From where I sit there are no windows
and except for drooping eyelids I would not believe
in the moon. Or in the swift autum
Literature
stop ruining autumn.
listen:
fall makes me think of leaving and of apple cider, though i never liked apple cider.
but i liked the idea of it.
listen:
two years ago i met a boy as fragile as dead leaves who called me his little spring girl. (i'd always liked autumn the best.) he kissed the two soft dimples on the small of my back and told me helikedme helovedme hewantedme.
and oh, by the way, "everything good must come to an end."
listen:
on our one year anniversary we picked out two pumpkins and i drew elephants on them for us to carve. he cut his out so aggressively that it lost its shape.
lopped off tusks and broken trunks became just a large, jagged ho
Literature
the year of the animal
january,
i am attempting to hide from
you. i am hibernating in a bed
four times my size. i am imitating
a bear, clawing at you and growling
in my deepest growl.
february,
i stuffed you in a heart
shaped box and buried
you in my garden.
nothing grew,
but when i planted
radishes they tasted like
chocolate raspberries.
march,
where are your lions and lambs?
i have pigeon toes and
wild oats for hair,
april,
i went to the doctor on
the 10th. i learned that
i had forty two feathers growing
from my shoulder blades.
may,
el cielo es azul,
y te quiero,
june,
my legs are the color of mosquitos,
which is deep blood red and sc
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I'm sleepy, and my heart is bleeding.
© 2008 - 2024 clockwork-aristocrat
Comments10
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This is beautiful and so tragic.
And I got very angry when I saw that person saying negative things, in case you cannot tell, because your poetry is always flawless.
And I got very angry when I saw that person saying negative things, in case you cannot tell, because your poetry is always flawless.