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The beauty of snowA man with a frozen mustache stood upon his frozen hill. His breathing was a little accelerated, for he had only just climbed the hill. He took deep breaths and felt the frozen air filling his lungs. It was cold, but as clean as ever and that was what mattered.
He looked west, where the sun was setting behind a thick layer of clouds. A perfect white disc above the magnificent tree he had protected and helped grow so big. He remembered one day, it had not been much more than a sapling, when a horse of the neighbouring land had broken loose and almost trampled the little tree. He had calmed the horse at risk of himself. It was as if the tree had known, because every year since it was fully grown it gave tremendous amounts of walnuts, the best in town, so was told.
His breath twirled in small clouds around his aging head, every puff leaving more small freezing drops on his mustache. He swung to the right until he faced north, looking over the land. Everything was covered in a thick
The Overmind - ch. 0-3
I woke up. I woke up in what seemed to be a hospital.
My head hurt. Opening my eyes was painful, so I only opened them narrowly. How I knew I was in a hospital without opening my eyes is something I never really understood. Maybe it was the smell, maybe the sound. Probably neither, I just knew. But how?
When my eyes were opened wide enough to see something I saw that it could even be my room - only bigger and with two beds instead of one. Everywhere I went, I felt the same cold and distant atmosphere. Even my parents acted distant, like they just need to be there, like everything was happening for a reason about which they had nothing to say.
My hand was lying next to my head, right before my eyes. I concentrated on it Why didn't it glow? It should glow as I wanted it. I asked for the ability of light, right?
"Oh good, you're awake", the voice of my mother sounded even more distant, uncaring, heartless.
I closed my eyes and sank back into the darkness of a
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,
grumbling and mumbling
about what I did
to deserve this mess
And my mother glares,
"When I planted you,
I put you deep in the dirt,
not to bury you alive,
but to teach you that
when the growing gets tough,
the tough gets growing."
Useless effortI try to change the world
But I can't even change
My own life
And so I'm sentenced
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
To a Curbside Womanstretching her legs over
the sidewalk beneath the
overpass, ankles crossed
feet wearing dirt like socks
but her dress feels like silk
and her hands hold each
other like puzzle pieces
This is enough for her
This is enough
for her. This is
enough for her
a girl at the airportwhen she eats cake
she presses a napkin
to her lips with each bite--
frosting smears are impolite
murderers of good,
faraway first impressions.
when she sees someone
beautiful, she hides her face
behind a book, book shelf, closed door
like a pious man hides his eyes
when she has something
important to say among a crowd
she utters it like the bah
of a vulnerable lamb--
a fragile thing, a hesitant mantra
to be drowned and consumed
without thought or care by the sound
of louder others.
when she falls in love
she looks around
to make sure no one saw
and when someone sees
she refuses to believe
their eyes tried to catch
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
placebo effectthey stuck some needles in his
skin and made him think that he was
plucked the feathers from her
wings and tried to make her
they changed the names of all his pills
and labeled him
tied some string around her neck
and hung her from the
(i only know what they tell me)
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