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Literature Text
Under the chiming bells,
the great river runs wild.
Honeysuckle shores.
the great river runs wild.
Honeysuckle shores.
Literature
this is how the summer ends.
she is a taciturn tornado
waiting at the threshold to
be invited in
and you always let her in, you
always let her in.
she is a one-girl riot against
everything you hold dear
she is the crash of vases she is
photographs being ripped in half
she is a frame that doesn't fit
your picture of how the world
should be. she is at times fey
a lakebed fairy, a fuschia bud pixie,
at other times tornado, untouchable,
you live in a wind tunnel with her,
pressing your desperate heart into
the pages of her sketchbook, she is
painting you rip-red-ripple and you
let her.
this is how the summer ends.
she tells you if love is a crime then
you must atone, if
Literature
My Religion
I don't believe in God
Not the way you want me to
I can't sit in a church
That preaches tolerance
Love for all people
To help your fellow man
While it closes its doors to people who fall in love with others of their gender
And its congregation steps over the homeless to enter the building
Inside saying "Amen!"
Only to leave and say
"Get a job!"
I believe in love
In helping those who need it
And even more in helping those who think they don't.
My offering to God does not go on a golden plate
But rather into the cash register at McDonald's
When I buy a cup of coffee
For a man who really needs it.
Do not lie, do not cheat.
Do not steal, do no
Literature
here are my words
i used to dream whole cityscapes and skylines,
ocean cities and coves washed over with waves,
terrifying, brilliant, unable to touch me.
i used to be able to talk to trees,
to speak in palms and eyes-closed silences
and the sure roughness of bark under my fingernails.
i used to be able to sing
and believe that believing made me better,
believe that joy sounds bright and crescendos.
i used to be someone who tripped on her words,
spilled out in sloppy sentences and sentiments,
used to be someone who could 'sit at a typewriter and bleed'
and in bleeding turn the hurt beautiful.
i used to close my eyes and fall into feeling,
trace the right word
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Comments7
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I lived in the Carolinas and honeysuckle shores bring back memories of childhood.
Excellent.
Excellent.