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Literature Text
Hwæt, Second Queen, fortune-teller's daughter,
you who I loved most,
I find you smoke-wreated atop
the sable throne pyre.
Hwæt, Second Queen, ring-bound and dewy,
you who I crowned in apple and acorn,
plume silver-strew,
I give you a bone-hewn inheritance.
Hwæt, Second Queen, lady of nettle-thorn whim,
you who I watched long-limbed,
I leave you in this ash carriage,
soot-blackened and naked.
you who I loved most,
I find you smoke-wreated atop
the sable throne pyre.
Hwæt, Second Queen, ring-bound and dewy,
you who I crowned in apple and acorn,
plume silver-strew,
I give you a bone-hewn inheritance.
Hwæt, Second Queen, lady of nettle-thorn whim,
you who I watched long-limbed,
I leave you in this ash carriage,
soot-blackened and naked.
Literature
if the woman
.
If the woman is a stone
bury her in blue water,
If the woman is a knife
rub her til she's sharp.
His voice is a rattle at the bottom of a tin cup.
His arms are spurs, and rusted
where metal pinches leather.
He shakes like a drum in firelight
with the last fist still fresh on his back:
ama sa'ni, she grow curved low like a horseshoe,
&
Literature
your hair, that night
Didn't feel like a needle, even.
Felt like cotton, it
felt like lucky rabbit's foot tucked into my pocket
in case I got nervous or
too jittery.
-Smelled clean and I remember
how it looked- a shining majesty in the
rays of an artificial bulb, refracting off
of a mirror, reflecting your fingers on
a guitar, gentle and constant.
Literature
gestalt
I hope this is more than inebriated romance.
I watch you in the diner.
I'm always watching, through mirrors, through doorways, seeing you and seeing me and knowing we're reflections of the same hypocrisy; I'm outside the television, this tellingvision, I'm disconnected, broken, the nerve between me and the rest of existence is strained and I see beyond your charades. I'm on the outside of the window, our interactions are equivocal, ambiguous, filtered and muted. My reality is a drunk prism, and your reality is an insane labyrinth of pattern, schedule, and bullshit.
The coffee at dinner makes remnants of the vodka at breakfast taste l
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i don't know. work in progress or something else? this might go into my scraps later.
meh.
meh.
© 2011 - 2024 rian101
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