

Atlas speaksWhen I first came upon him, jaw set with the effort of his task I almost wished I could fly, to relieve him of the burden of me. When he caught my not so polite stare, he simply remarked:Atlas speaks
“There is nothing quite so ponderous as a sphere. And it takes some amount of shifting before it settles between my shoulder blades. But after so many ages and eons, I have become accustomed to such a worldly albatross and the sprawling sands of the Sahara no longer scrape the tender flesh from my back. I suppose, compared to my brothers My punishment is not so h


Memory of My GrandmotherThe day my grandmother died I was in the field, learning to milk a cow. I remember climbing the stairs to her room, and being only eight I dallied by dust motes. Wondering if that’s where we went when we died, to linger between grimy glass and Heaven.Memory of My Grandmother
The doctor told me that she might not be herself. That she might say things she didn’t mean, but Eliot and his otherworldly friend had made me wise to grown-ups’ treacheries. Though, I was wishing she’d say anything at all, anything but her breathing – rasping like cold wind through Octobe


Tea with Allen and Jackkerouac would sneer to see us here in our shit-stuffed sheep skin suits to hear that humans are no longer composed of light and sound but blips of binary streaming over city streets scouring gutters for approval and scurrying like rats at the faintest hint of truth clawing, climbing, body over greasy body each fighting to go home home to cable -- man's fiber optical illusion -- to sit and wallow in delusion and domestic beer oh how ginsberg would Howl with laughter to hear that the destroyed minds of his generation werTea with Allen and Jack


A blind man misses the sunTracing small town streets she inches along in the shadows filling thoughts between left turns and Long Island Iced Teas the barkeep serves me my regular and I can't keep these hands from paper confessionsA blind man misses the sun
there are as many miles between us as days until I see you again only patience or a Visa ATM could shorten either but late night phone calls beneath starlight don't require oil changes
and the days, well,
the days I use to cover pages in chicken scratch to pave the way back to my front door
I miss you like a blind man misses the sun &nb


dirty pretty poems1. Cold tea-cups jumped off the table when I opened my eyes this morning. They must not like the sound of my eyelashes crashing into eachother and must know how sometimesdirty pretty poems
oxygen feels too far from our sinking lungs.
2. When my hipbones became loose hinges, half sliced off and a sore-thumb view, it did not occur to me that I was ill, just a little bit below the floorboards with the taps of people walking above, nobody ever knows when I am there.
3. I believe that wine bottles mean something different for everyone
and for me it is not just
--
Life is like photography. You use the negatives to develop.
--
______
Its Time to apprehend that We've been born
Shed off the brace and go through the torn
Our dormancy over and we've realized:
Its time to greet the world and light with open eyes.
welcome to DA!!! :Hug:
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