Who's Afraid of Pablo Neruda?
Products of my recent love affair with prosetry.
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- 882 reads
Our Conspiracy of Flightlessness
And if you leave before it’s over, I will torture you with visions of my mouth when I put on mascara; my lips forming an oval then an arch like a half-sunken sun.
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A List of Things I Would Do to James McAvoy
The street light on the corner faded to a flickering, blood-red wound, and when I woke up at dawn it stood there, black and solemn, like a burned-out match.
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Alors, On Danse
We are sitting at a table on the terrace, blowing smoke into our coffee, and throwing our heads back to laugh.
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Dali's Clock
I fear that I loved you so much I made you up. Wrapped in a towel, I look for evidence of your being here; your empty coffee mug on the table, a pound coin on the kitchen floor...
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Who's Afraid of Pablo Neruda?
My arms began negotiations with sharp edges. But I somehow survived the winter; a fond memory leant against my door like a snow shovel.
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Learning Curve
Sunlight dribbles down the learning curve of my back as I arch over you, bridging the gap of years, experience, and tears.
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Wind Chimes in North America
Prayers return to my lips like a reluctant lover. Now I talk to God the way one talks to a coma patient...
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There Will Be No Other End of the World
And now, what is left after the end of the world? The dark smell of brown sugar in an empty kitchen, my cousins playing cricket in the park...
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Electra
Electra, my best friend with the electric tongue, who pretended to be eccentric and eclectic, when really she was just dull and at it for the hell of it – for fun.
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- 2312 reads