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Literature Text
I wonder if you wonder
how it goes,
how it was, how it should be
on Tuesday mornings
lost
in the reef
when the stars fade to blue.
Drifting into five AM,
half of myself
is listless--
for you, for him.
Ugly
and void
and landlocked.
Dear poetry:
for what it's worth
I am not your ocean girl.
I am just trying to sleep.
how it goes,
how it was, how it should be
on Tuesday mornings
lost
in the reef
when the stars fade to blue.
Drifting into five AM,
half of myself
is listless--
for you, for him.
Ugly
and void
and landlocked.
Dear poetry:
for what it's worth
I am not your ocean girl.
I am just trying to sleep.
Literature
intelligible
Your acumen sharpens
in the stirring of a bur oak
like a lifeform in the limbs
a contretemps in the stillness
a whisper of a thought
a wrist jostled in a northern front
and here comes your aimless code
pecking holes into the new wind
a raver behind a window
in a summering driftwood cathedral
summoned from a force majeure
stealing from your audience
with the paling dead of creek bottoms
and figments curling in their wings.
Literature
An End, Once and For All
I
This is me listening for a ghost
with wildfire-wide eyes on a Tuesday at two a.m.
spiking eagerness with anxious osmosis;
I petition for an identity from a circuit court.
II
This is me listening for the ghost of Ariana Nicole David,
who existed solely in the womb and pride of my mother.
Mom says, with renewed vigorous rigor mortis,
she wanted Ariana enough for her to exist
without ultrasound proof.
Nicholas Aaron Swaner was born on April 17th, 1993
without a father's signature or surname;
Nicholas was born with a father's doubt.
There is a letter to write to Nicholas' father
and his father still hasn't written it yet.
There is someon
Literature
Moonrain reverie.
I.
March days return with their covert light --
in the wave-strike over unquiet stones,
there, where the waves shatter,
you are the daughter of the sea;
but I like you calm, as if you were absent,
so that you will hear me.
II.
I hunt for a sign of you:
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair --
perhaps not to be is to be without your being.
Tie your heart at night to mine, love,
rest with your dream inside my dream;
and because love battles,
maybe you'll remember that
the tree is here, still, in pure stone.
III.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines:
"I remember you as you were,
in my sky at twilight" --
here, I love you.
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