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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It was cloudy. Walking, I turned around just slowly enough for someone to have to the chance to tap me on the shoulder. I imagined that it was the clouds pretending to be ghosts the ghosts that I haven't dreamt of for so long that they are nothing but small aches in my feet when I f...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    One day, she told me that the best way to get her point across was in silence. I thought of how this looked- rain clouds drifting faster than we could ever imagine over the swell of mountains, the mountains expecting nothing- I figured that I, maybe, had been missing this so...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    they become the minds of their creators with souls of their own, souls that continue to speak when their poet's throats run dry and who teach a lesson even when their mortal hands lie limp like fallen nests that live forgotten on stone....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Driving into time, her car accelerates and crunches up the distance between her and me so that you can measure space with open arms instead of running legs. The black hole that she thinks forms between us actually strings us together with objects that are woven into a patchwork life; ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The sea water swelled as our eyes were glued to the ground like the straight focused gaze of a marble-set eye. “It's curious,” she says, interrupting moments of silence, picking up a piece of sea glass, feeling its edges, listening to its story, but eventually letting it go t...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Graduates, (class of some odd year), we have xx-ed out so many days off the calendar together that we counted it by the years, labeled it with names and numbers that shaped memories into time instead of remembered images. Instead of counting time by the seconds, we let it zoom by, our...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    My library has 17 books: 1. I learned how to lift 21 picture books at the age of three onto my lap so their weight held me down from the sky. 2. But I could not yet read so my mind instead invested in pictures as guides like a path dug in the sand for waves to ride and squirm and...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Running away from equations you + me = us y = mx+b in a straight line and like any complex and irrational curves, the path is simple- inflections curve to reflections in cubed ice and we slip on stumbled words, a kink in the slope where we strive to reach infinity like the stars drif...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I forgot how to write: sometimes silence craves a heart welcomed with dense compassion- melty, warming words that stick to the roof of your mouth like thick stew and stay forever; forgotten and moldy. Walking away is supposed to be liberating- each step a winged leap but with each s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Sometimes words are etched into our hearts like ink on lineless paper- I lend books out as lost children trying to find a home…but I expect them home before I, too, have to leave and write my own....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    -I don’t know, I just feel in the middle of things. -Do you oftentimes feel like you’re in the middle? -Well…yeah. Do you? -Yes. (A moment of thought) I think that those who think too much get stuck in the middle....
  • Poetry > Haiku
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    Night kisses the sky like a soft wind biting the day's sunshine away....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I Amid white plains and white wind it has always scared you- the sky opens to the horizon where you wonder if it is really there or if it is just a sheet of light blue paper reflecting light and promising infinity. II There is a certain feeling to the snow when it has a beati...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I Snuggled within warm dreams, a grin flashes across the peace of sleep and disappears. Opened eyes forget the abstract reality of it all; they say wakefulness is a goon, playing mind games and vanishing acts. “You were in my dream last night” I say and he remarks “I never r...
  • Poetry > Haiku
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    Snow falling like blank pages fatefully seals the heart of yearning branches....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    And there was no sound except for the picking of sorely painted nails, rubbing and scraping in rhythm with the clock's eternal time. “Think in rainbows-” she spoke to me in her white stiff suit and I could swear I could make out spots of red freckling the sleeves of the sta...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    beauty is the hum after thunder- we say there is no perfection but death, the moment of silence in which all can exist and yet nothing at all. beauty is reflections- the painted swirls blended together by a trick of light, an impossible illusion of pastels and darks broken together...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    How the dead look: moon particles dusted over dated dresser drawers and flakes of skin in unexplored corners. Death has a sense of time and leaves when you want it to stay, stays when you want quiet. Night sounds invite the dead- memories stick like clumpy oatmeal, scarred stars h...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Dark clouds hover in my head, occasionally grumbling and filling with pressured water. You're sick, they tell me, rest up drink fluids (fluids that drip into my throat and stick to the sides of my nose)- my body hurts from fighting; green slime and aching lungs punctuate sleepless...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    In the absence of real thunder he makes his own: painted thoughts wander on a crowded canvas but his empty eyes reflect only light. He wants to speak but what comes out is song, electric rain that dances like clouds do on humid days with the sun. He speaks and says “Where has my Yo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Doors open to sunset, the last tomorrow- do you need light to see? And behind, darkness- a burned out luminescent; where is your reflection? The crack in the doorway lines with your feet and you step forward leaving an unmade bed and yesterday's feeling in steps toward an empty...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    “Better things to come” lazily written in chalk. Abandoned schoolbooks, a wooden figurine sitting upright, listening to the silence. EVICTED “Did people die here?” we wondered. Creaks and squeaky boards mark undone footsteps, dust acts as a film preserving the numbers, ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I felt a funeral in my brain- a murmur of emptiness forgotten in tomorrow's tomorrow. It tiptoed, lost, like a cat's silent chatter across a wooden floor. The bells tolled, the windows opened letting air in. Dust circled in the sunlight and shadows danced within when ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Street lamps, placed like stars, light the path momentarily. I knew the road by daylight – flowers opening to the sun and fuzzy moss, a drop off with a step out of rhythm. In the night the gravel pokes me, my bare feet become confused and my hands reach to catch a falling star. Fo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    the nothing stumbled: a fawn rising on a  blustery day (Winds-day) but then it exploded into a nothing sound, a nothing feeling the nothing is thick and clings to your skin like itchy fibers in sweltering twilight  and not even a knife can puncture its humid and sticky particles a...

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