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Time Is Not The Miracle
I'm walking down through the ages All I can hope for is luck I am surrounded by people All that they do is they rush Unlimited, and guaranteed Their live life in their misery Unlimited, not valuable Time is not the miracle I read the books ab (More)
You And I Were Green
Take me. . . Envelop me into your light And please mold me into a creation of your own liking Please make me yours These are the thoughts I had when I first met you. . . I wanted to love you. . . I loved you since before I even knew what love w (More)
Heartbreak at 3
This one wraps his love in a ball while the sun is dawning, Twists his fingers and turns it into butterflies That he can feed my open mouth while I snore So when I wake, There’s a ball of butterflies in my stomach But there’s always empty space (More)
[at unfamiliar hours of the day]
at unfamiliar hours of the day when the second hand ceases to move and the minute hand gains speed our moment is lost even before it appears. these are the lost hours of the in-between, when our everlasting embers fade to the remnants of a dyin (More)
Ring of Death
There are only two things we pass down from generation to generation The ring of life and the ring of death The ring of life will be shorter than you think And the ring of death will be longer than you could ever fathom. Your grandmother died of (More)
For Elijah, As He Sat Under the Broom Tree
I look, in squirrels that pause, consider me mid-path for something of a heartfelt friend, a soul still as sweet as steady, not yet asleep nor worse, beneath the violet-tinged and twisted vines, the lined last light, or time, the trickling ri (More)
Broken
I was broken The husk that was given to me before life even flowed through my veins Had been damaged Somehow on its way to earth It must've hit a tree... Either that. . . or it just landed in dirt Maybe I lost my signal in the catastrophe Cuz (More)
Somewhere, God Slides Off a Nightgown
I let the sunrise steep. Each morning, a mug of coffee I palmed but didn't drink. If you stayed asleep, I'd knock off infidels for hours on our muted television, waiting for you to notice my heat signature no longer pressed against your b (More)
Italian Magnetic
Ava Scally (More)
Self-Portrait as My Father
Every morning I wake up in the wrong bed. Slits of noon needle in from strange angles. I’ll straighten my belt as I leave. On Sundays I’ll swing by the first church I see, reach the altar, pray it off. I’ll stop at some diner, this gutted freigh (More)
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