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Literature Text
my self-driving car
hates my mother-in-law and
won't go to New York
astronaut training day ten:
first ride in the Puke-a-whirl
after a big lunch
millions of humans
escaping a dead planet
Ark B hopes and dreams
sleep in Zero G
floating in and out of my
layer of warm air
following their steps
his footprints last forever
walking on the moon
hearts drawn in the fine sand
alone on the dusty moon
we watch the Earthrise
on the red planet
over Schiaparelli's rim
our ship a fleeting star
half-awake again
my cryosleep hangover
demands gravity
orbiting Saturn
your face is beautiful
in the soft ringlight
Vogon poetry
Thy prating wordburgling doth so offend
my dispeptic liver
oh, drooling sorrow and misunderstood pain!
hates my mother-in-law and
won't go to New York
astronaut training day ten:
first ride in the Puke-a-whirl
after a big lunch
millions of humans
escaping a dead planet
Ark B hopes and dreams
sleep in Zero G
floating in and out of my
layer of warm air
following their steps
his footprints last forever
walking on the moon
hearts drawn in the fine sand
alone on the dusty moon
we watch the Earthrise
on the red planet
over Schiaparelli's rim
our ship a fleeting star
half-awake again
my cryosleep hangover
demands gravity
orbiting Saturn
your face is beautiful
in the soft ringlight
Vogon poetry
Thy prating wordburgling doth so offend
my dispeptic liver
oh, drooling sorrow and misunderstood pain!
Literature
Quaaludes
Its when you open your mouth to kiss me that I remember what I know about Quaaludes. The details are all knit up somewhere deep inside a ball of knowledge because I learned about them in fifth grade which seems a little too early in retrospect doesnt it, and since then Ive wrapped whole yards of other strands of knowledge around that ball and whenever I want to remember what I know about Quaaludes I have to unravel the whole thing just to get to it. But its there. One. They make you tired but it is kind of a verbose tired which sinks you into that three-quarters-down state, the cliffs edge of sleep, but refus
Literature
exhibit.
Nanny thinks the carpet is too soft
to be my torturecage
and the sofa and endtables are poor
jailbars, but we
are feline and we're too tough to care
bigsister and littlesister are lioncubs today
baby lionesses, authentically,
we even lap milk from
ceramic bowls, bellies swollen from
the orders we give: 'emily, you're the
zookeeper.
Get us more milk.'
She hates serving us, she's only four
but she's getting strong and someday
she'll earn predator status.
(give thanks that we do not consume you, emily,
your fingers peek through the cagebars and
they are white and young and blood
is sweeter than breastmilk)
Roar. We are learni
Literature
Birdcage
Nothing ever happens the way you read in the history books. In war there are never two armies, there is only a field of men. Never a number of dead; but individual lives snuffed out. That is what the subject of history is, years shelved and decimalized. Birth and death, graphed to the simplicity of lines. Great wars a footnote to the next great war. The achievements of men and women plotted out against the bookmark of day, month and year.
And somewhere amongst this, my mother breathed. Somewhere danced in now long-closed nightclubs, laughed at jokes told by a younger version of my Father. And then the unpin-able moment she fell in love with
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Published in e-zine Grayson and I help edit.
electricspec.com/
I am am also counting this as week 3 of Haikuwrimo, as I wrote them all in February.
haikuwrimo.deviantart.com/jour…
electricspec.com/
I am am also counting this as week 3 of Haikuwrimo, as I wrote them all in February.
haikuwrimo.deviantart.com/jour…
© 2018 - 2024 RedDragonfly
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I don't know where to begin, but these made me smile.