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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2018-01-12 23:34:57

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    Having forfeited home in search of a new one, we are sleeping on my mother’s floor. The air mattress rising and falling like an ocean in temper when ever we move. My son says he would like to cuddle. He moves toward me in that energy of little age to sow my face with his hair. Being young—still near to ground—he smells of the earth, of wind tinged with woodsmoke, and for a second I find myself, parcel of figmentation—rolled out in a field somewhere—swallowed by last-standing hay.

    ...Created 2018-01-12 23:34:45

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2018-01-12 23:05:08

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

    There’s this song about an injured bird and I can’t figure if it’s the melody or that way the guy has of making sorrow his voice that makes me want to wear it like some feathered sweater. I am tired. And somehow his words feel like an absolute expression just now, until the spell is broken by something he says outside my understanding. I am tired. And thinking of the wren who made her nest in the garage last spring. How we had to keep the door open all the time to make sure she could come and go and raise her babies to the itch for flight. And she would sit in the low diamonds of the chain link when she sensed us lumbering around in her space, waiting for us to clear out so she could come in. Sometimes, I would go inside the house but leave the door cracked that tiniest bit so I could see what she was doing when she thought she was alone. She would hop from box to shelf to track until, her mouth full of some soft discard from the ground outside, she made her way up to the nest in the loft full of boxes. Cautious as she was, she never noticed me there. She was tending to life in a margin between joy and release. And I still think about her, how it must be to have life pace so fast. Especially at days like this where I have been hunched all week over a stack of books and papers trying to write a paper that will soon enough be forgotten. What are my materials and at what pace ought I to move to make meaning /of all this/ what of this holds anything but time in its passing.

    ...Created 2018-01-12 23:04:50

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2018-01-08 10:57:23

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood: The Usual

    white dog       white trees       white sky.
    the city is preparing for snow
    and on the motorway            white

    as the peaks of Switzerland (half
    flattened and left there in some
    kind of human ceremony to acquiescing

    our own ending) the dog becomes
    scenery for passing cars. the blistered
    veneer of paper birches flapping

    beside it as women suspended
    in a dance of supplication. the trees
    have surrendered to wind, and

    a drop ceiling of cloud moves
    over the earth as a cerement
    this moment. as an ache

    to cover that which we have
    left            denuded

    ...Created 2018-01-08 10:57:17

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

    white dog       white trees       white sky
    the city is preparing for snow
    and on the motorway            white

    as the peaks of Switzerland (half
    flattened and left there in some
    kind of human ceremony to acquiescing

    our own ending) the dog becomes
    scenery for passing cars. the blistered
    veneer of paper birches flapping

    beside it like women suspended
    in a dance of supplication. the trees
    have surrendered to wind, and

    a drop ceiling of cloud moves
    over the earth as a cerement
    this moment. as an ache

    to cover that which we have
    left            denuded

    ...Created 2018-01-08 10:53:55

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

    White dog     white trees     white sky
    the city is preparing for snow
    and on the motorway            white

    as the peaks of Switzerland—half
    flattened and left there in some
    kind of human ceremony to acquiescing

    our own ending—the white dog
    becomes scenery for passing cars. The blistered
    veneer of paper birches flapping

    beside it like women suspended
    in a dance of supplication, the trees
    have surrendered to wind. And

    a drop ceiling of cloud moves
    over the earth as a cerement,
    this moment, as an ache

    to cover that which we have
    left            denuded

    ...Created 2018-01-08 10:50:00

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

    White dog, white trees, white sky
         the city is preparing for snow
    and on the motorway      white

    as the peaks of Switzerland, half
    flattened and left there in some
    kind of human ceremony to acquiescing

    our own ending, the white dog becomes scenery
    for passing cars. The flaking skin of
    paper birches flapping beside it like women

    poised in a dance of supplication, the trees
    have surrendered to wind, here. And a drop
    ceiling of cloud moves over the earth

    as a cerement, this moment,
    as an ache to cover
    that which we have left      denuded

    ...Created 2018-01-08 10:43:50

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

    ...Created 2018-01-07 23:02:18

    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.

    to Be like written by KeeperOfLight
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    Carry written by saartha
    Records I written by Raphael
    untitled written by ShyOne
    Formal Jen written by Daniel Barlow
    You read free written by poetotoe
    To the Devil and Candle written by HisNameIsNoMore
    mimicry written by expiring_touch
    More then just goodbye written by faideddarkness
    Waiting written by Daniel Barlow
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (5) written by endlessgame23
    4th Season of Vivaldi written by HisNameIsNoMore
    the testing of hypotheses written by Daniel Barlow
    Tartarus written by endlessgame23
    Physician, Heal Thyself written by WriteSomething
    Shi written by ShyOne
    The Old Mill written by Wolfwatching
    Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth (2) written by endlessgame23
    I AM THANKFUL FOR written by Ramneet
    Fasade written by jackz
    Cover written by saartha
    My Four Seasons written by faideddarkness
    phantom limbs written by expiring_touch
    Etiquette written by saartha
    an unashamed poverty written by Daniel Barlow
    Cosmic Dreams written by Chelebel
    Silent Screams In Silent Dreams written by poetotoe

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
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