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Literature Text
warrior:
Americans are
the dogs, fish, camels, and serpents
lead the way, catwalker
cat pose canny future
you can learn the scope of fame
she's pacing Florence, In June
good-humoredly—
—giggling Croatian: 'Are you flat gold?'
register the wedding
roosting black,
bird with forthcoming edge, extraordinary beauty
to oneself, her properties— a flair, reciprocating
on a beach for Eternity
elements gamely transformed into infancy
the plight of the American girls
'there are these moments'
cook recipes, of medicine
a lung-cancer
the rationality of breathing
Americans are
the dogs, fish, camels, and serpents
lead the way, catwalker
cat pose canny future
you can learn the scope of fame
she's pacing Florence, In June
good-humoredly—
—giggling Croatian: 'Are you flat gold?'
register the wedding
roosting black,
bird with forthcoming edge, extraordinary beauty
to oneself, her properties— a flair, reciprocating
on a beach for Eternity
elements gamely transformed into infancy
the plight of the American girls
'there are these moments'
cook recipes, of medicine
a lung-cancer
the rationality of breathing
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
affection drive
If I recycled
the love littered at your feet
hearts would starve no more.
Literature
Coffee Shop Memoirs
Philosophers think
We may dream our reality.
With earphones attached liked IVs
I dream my own melodic universe.
Until someone laughs behind me
And strikes up conversation with a friend.
And in that moment they become my anchor
Are they spinning through my dream
Or am I spinning through theirs?
Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,
Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,
And sometimes it all mixes together
Like liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.
When no one speaks to me for hours
I begin to wonder
Is everyone dreaming a reality that includes
The whole café but me?
The street outsi
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composed of bits and pieces of an article about a supermodel / yoga practitioner in the October 2002 issue of Vogue magazine.
© 2010 - 2024 clockwork-aristocrat
Comments3
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Love the idea! Well done, the title is catchy (esp for anyone who enjoys yoga, I had to read it, lol)