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Literature Text
So it's autumn. So the leaves are turning red
like blood and we're still here.
So the days are windy and the trees
tower over us like lit candles.
Imagine we hang from them.
Imagine our bodies suspended in air,
swaying against a backdrop of fire,
leaves like fire, our movements like fire.
I know we are not fire.
We huddle beneath blankets and hope for warmth.
The touches are cold, slow and hesitant,
too much space that our heat can't fill,
desire leaving us and never looking back.
We're still here in the same small town
and the wind is howling,
the kind of howling that make people feel suicidal.
like blood and we're still here.
So the days are windy and the trees
tower over us like lit candles.
Imagine we hang from them.
Imagine our bodies suspended in air,
swaying against a backdrop of fire,
leaves like fire, our movements like fire.
I know we are not fire.
We huddle beneath blankets and hope for warmth.
The touches are cold, slow and hesitant,
too much space that our heat can't fill,
desire leaving us and never looking back.
We're still here in the same small town
and the wind is howling,
the kind of howling that make people feel suicidal.
Literature
A Dishonest Misunderstanding
"It's here, it's here!" I shouted excitedly, running back to the living room with my parcel clutched tightly in my hands to search frantically for a pair of scissors. My parents had promised me a smartphone for my birthday if I was good, after years of wanting one, and years of being the only kid without one, and I'd been as good as gold all year. Better than I'd ever been. My birthday had come and gone two weeks ago with nothing, but they'd promised it was in the mail, and sure enough here was a phone-sized parcel with my name on it!
Finding the scissors, I tore into the packaging with fervour and swiftly uncovered...a fisher-price smartpho
Literature
6 word stories
I. Like snow,
She was falling - white and cold.
II. Every other day,
Red lights - she sighs - shines down.
III. While he sleeps peacefully,
Eyeballs glow, secretly, under the bed.
IV. Bedsheets
Ripple like waves on the lonely bed.
V. Our kittens,
Nasty little things, purring away the afternoon.
VI. Middle-age.
Dainty hands, watch as wrinkles come.
VII.
Young faces, autumn grass, counting stars.
Literature
Busted!
All the body bleaks the moment: Dear now,
I was with you once, but eternities change
and it shouldn't matter except the grass
at green is grooming new confusions.
Dear bodies, bleak with knowing where you go,
you must flatter certain folds of perceiving
with feeling's foam; it is the only way
to hold us forward, toward this dented sky.
All these soggy sounds that boast of dear death,
that dime you purchased with a start.
I was with you once, but eternities will change
and still fold us forward, toward their awful skies.
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