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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2017-10-11 22:24:18

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Someday I will travel
    on the back of a wandering duck.
    I will make myself a letter cut
    of linen and wax

    and slip            beneath his left wing.
    I will grow careless as the water
    that carries him      toward every possibility.
    My body is fossil-pulsing. My body

    is a bronze cone cupping
    the brain in all its flaming. My body
    is nothing

    but the warmth of memory
    melting those things I'd aimed
    so long for frozen.       October
    has turned

    the landscape of my heart
    into a linen letter       too blurred to read.
               Too riddled with un
    certainties

    to loose-feather its way past
                    mourning

    ...Created 2017-10-11 22:22:52

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Someday I will travel
    on the back of a wandering duck.
    I will make myself a letter cut
    of linen and wax

    and slip            beneath his left wing;
    grow careless as the water that carries him
    toward every possibility.
    My body is fossil-pulsing. My body

    is a bronze cone cupping
    the brain in all its flaming. My body
    is nothing

    but the warmth of memory
    melting those things I'd aimed
    so long for frozen.            October
    has turned

    the landscape of my heart
    into a linen letter       too blurred to read.
               Too full of un
    certainty

    to wing its way past
                    mourning

    ...Created 2017-10-11 22:17:28

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Someday I will travel
    on the back of a wandering duck.
    I will make myself a letter
    made of linen and wax

    and slip      beneath the left wing;
    grow careless as the water that carries him
    toward every possibility.
    My body is fossil-pulsing. My body

    is a bronze cone cupping
    the brain in all its flaming. My body
    is nothing

    but the warmth of memory
    melting those things I'd aimed
    so long for frozen.      October
    has turned

    the landscape of my heart
    into a linen letter      too blurred to read.
              Too full of certainty

    to wing its way past
                   mourning


    ...Created 2017-10-11 22:14:22

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2017-10-09 22:53:48

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    October had once been something
    beyond the months of ducks. The flat
    fields and hills along side
    of the house stretching out to reach

    a potential that, in the child-like mind,
    never actually needed to be reached.
    I understand my shortcomings.

    They are housed in the box
    that furnishes space behind my bell
    shaped cage,

                   all covered over
    but never hidden. I left the country, but
    took you with me.            So

    maybe I will go back now. To be closer
    to my father, to make a room
    for my mother. To try and dig back what things
    it was            I buried behind.       So

    many other things I managed to leave
    beneath the stands of narcissi
    and sweet gum belling in the spaces
    between seasons.

    Things that never miss me at all.
               I am not Pandora. Yet
    every morning I tend to rise a mountain's
    height lower than the sun       and open

    myself to that box, expecting
    to find something new. Dreams,       dreams
    stream out of me       as the morning
    lumbers in. No

    matter how many times you speak
    to me there     like waving wheat, or the single
    dandelion seed, landing,

    I must shake myself out of sleep
    as the tune of your back
    turning sees you       belling-out of sight.

    ...Created 2017-10-09 22:52:20

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    October had once been something
    beyond the months of ducks. The flat
    fields and hills along side
    of the house stretching out to reach

    a potential that, in the child-like mind,
    never actually needed to be reached. I
    understand my shortcomings.
    They are housed in the box

    that inhabits the space behind my bell
    shaped cage,      all covered over
    but never hidden. I left the country, but
    took you with me.            So

    maybe I will go back now. To be closer
    to my father, to make a room
    for my mother. To try and find what things
    it was                 I lost behind.       So

    many other things I managed to leave
    back beneath the stands of narcissi
    and sweet gum belling in the spaces
    between seasons.

    Things that never miss me at all.
              .id I am not Pandora. Yet
    every morning I tend to rise a mountain's
    height lower than the sun       and open

    myself to the box, expecting
    to find something new. Dreams,      dreams
    stream out of me       as the morning
    lumbers in. No

    matter how many times you speak there
    like waving wheat, or the single
    dandelion seed, landing,       I must

    shake myself out of sleep
    to the tune of your back
    turning. You       belling-out of sight.

    ...Created 2017-10-09 22:45:31

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    October had once been something
    beyond the months of ducks. The flat
    fields and hills along side
    of the house stretching out to reach

    a potential that, in the child-like mind,
    never actually needed to be reached. I
    understand my shortcomings.
    The box that inhabits the space behind

    my bell-shaped cage, all covered over
    but never hidden. I left the country, but
    took you with me.           So

    many other things I managed to leave
    back beneath the stands of narcissi
    and sweet gum belling in the spaces
    between seasons.

    Things that never missed me at all.
                   I am not Pandora. Yet
    every morning I tend to rise the mountain's
    height lower than the sun      and open

    myself to the box, expecting
    to find something new. Dreams,      dreams
    stream out of me      as the morning
    lumbers in. No

    matter how many times you speak there
    like waving wheat, or      the single
    dandelion seed, landing      in a dream,

    I shake myself out of sleep
    to the tune of your back
    turning. You      belling-out of sight.

    ...Created 2017-10-09 22:39:55

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    October had once been something beyond the beginning of the months of ducks. The flat fields and hills along the side of the house stretching out to reach a potential that, in the child-like mind, never actually needed to be reached. I understand my shortcomings. The box that inhabits the space behind my bell-shaped cage, all covered over but never hidden. I left the country, but took you with me. So many other things I managed to leave back beneath the stands of narcissi and sweet gums belling in the spaces between seasons. Things that never missed me at all.

    ...Created 2017-10-09 22:28:36

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2017-10-05 16:02:09

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    The Abyss of Love written by poetotoe
    (Untitled Song) written by TeslaKoyal
    Untitled written by Daniel Barlow
    Beauty Rest written by jackz
    Day 6 written by TheStillSilence
    Starseed written by endlessgame23
    Delicious Stews written by elephantasia
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth written by endlessgame23
    The Curtain Call written by faideddarkness
    Day 5 written by TheStillSilence
    Meaningless Meanings written by ForgottenGraves
    Verse: written by Daniel Barlow
    going,,,"Skin." written by teika5
    Night- time written by Daniel Barlow
    untitled written by Outlaw
    Things They (Don't) Say written by TheStillSilence
    Reliquary of Writ written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Lost Inside the Race written by ForgottenGraves
    Snippet written by Daniel Barlow
    Gaia written by endlessgame23
    // Seasonal Song written by ShadowParadox
    Relentless. The Visceral Fracture. written by Daniel Barlow
    The Human Harmonic written by Daniel Barlow
    Johnny's Cock written by endlessgame23
    To the Artist written by HisNameIsNoMore
    A Thousand Reflections written by endlessgame23
    A Sense Of Things written by Daniel Barlow
    Across the bed written by expiring_touch
    Adoration written by TheStillSilence
    None the Wiser written by endlessgame23

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    January 10 07
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