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what a foolish thing, I say,
to guess about that nature,
the sensual fuss
of lush decay;
the décor in the
autumn flesh,
heavy jingle ..
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I do not know how to let go
Your death follows me like
A swarm of bees
So loud, I cannot stand it
So close, I cannot flee
Like a backdrop pa..
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love sucks
and this poem isn't finished
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this happened and it sort of stayed in my head for days
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as the ginormous hands cup me
and lift me
(I slide throught their lines)
and
i lose sense of light
i stumble from the daze
i give out
..
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The weeks following your death
I know nothing.
I count every morning.
I lay with two half-shut eyes.
I blink. I study the wall
The corners.
..
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(pushing the curtain aside)
suspended moon,
I envy your distance.
I rest my cheek on my hand,
I fold my body, curl my knees
and think about h..
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It wakes me and
I rise--
I comprehend
the glow of
the outside
It is Silent.
the accurate forms
of snow
drift and quiver
Crusted..
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it'smerelythemuscle.
but to me,
it is marble.
it is the infant's head,
it is the taut balloon,
an open slice,
the blinded eye.
it sings..
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A springtime piece. Inspired by a day where I put my daily tasks on hold and observed the regrowth of nature. Renewal at its finest. Prime time in the..
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