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Literature Text
I.
i have this tendency to hide behind tall buildings.
skyscrapers are home, but your lap
is the most familiar place i will ever know.
II.
when Thomas Edison invented the light bulb,
he did not account for your smile.
the brilliance of the two can blind,
subsequently terminating his patents
and deeming light fixtures illegal.
III.
every time i'm on the highway past midnight, i'm reminded that
the difference between us is a 300-mile span of lampposts.
i'm sure that Thomas Edison didn't consider this, either.
if he had, he would have used that mind of his to invent teleportation.
he wouldn't want me stranded in a bed too large for a single body,
shivering with thoughts of damp fields and crunchy leaves and interlocking fingers,
mumbling about how quickly we turned upside down.
IV.
still, i think of you in the moments before i do something brave
like tell a secret or hold someone's hand during a movie.
you taught me that forgiveness comes in floods.
my eyes are a tsunami-tide away from dragging me back to the starting line.
V.
i keep telling myself that time will sort things out
into neat, little piles as it always does. but eventually,
time will tire of dealing with aches it doesn't own.
i will be left with messy hair
fingernails chewed raw
and a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows that i won't read.
you will be changing the oil in your car
recalling every word i've ever written about you
and avoiding all of my favorite songs.
VI.
the last time i went on vacation,
the walls of Jordan whispered your name.
i did not plead with them. i did not cry.
instead, i wrote i miss you on every brick,
mouthing the words inaudibly over and over again,
praying that you could read lips.
VII.
i have already forgotten the title of your favorite book.
you are traveling more and forgetting the shape of my face.
we will never be right-side-up again.
i have this tendency to hide behind tall buildings.
skyscrapers are home, but your lap
is the most familiar place i will ever know.
II.
when Thomas Edison invented the light bulb,
he did not account for your smile.
the brilliance of the two can blind,
subsequently terminating his patents
and deeming light fixtures illegal.
III.
every time i'm on the highway past midnight, i'm reminded that
the difference between us is a 300-mile span of lampposts.
i'm sure that Thomas Edison didn't consider this, either.
if he had, he would have used that mind of his to invent teleportation.
he wouldn't want me stranded in a bed too large for a single body,
shivering with thoughts of damp fields and crunchy leaves and interlocking fingers,
mumbling about how quickly we turned upside down.
IV.
still, i think of you in the moments before i do something brave
like tell a secret or hold someone's hand during a movie.
you taught me that forgiveness comes in floods.
my eyes are a tsunami-tide away from dragging me back to the starting line.
V.
i keep telling myself that time will sort things out
into neat, little piles as it always does. but eventually,
time will tire of dealing with aches it doesn't own.
i will be left with messy hair
fingernails chewed raw
and a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows that i won't read.
you will be changing the oil in your car
recalling every word i've ever written about you
and avoiding all of my favorite songs.
VI.
the last time i went on vacation,
the walls of Jordan whispered your name.
i did not plead with them. i did not cry.
instead, i wrote i miss you on every brick,
mouthing the words inaudibly over and over again,
praying that you could read lips.
VII.
i have already forgotten the title of your favorite book.
you are traveling more and forgetting the shape of my face.
we will never be right-side-up again.
Literature
roads
i always did like the way i swing around narrow curves,
how i glide with the center lines, never crossing them, just following their lead.
it's kind of beautiful when you think about it. that is,
if you can find beauty in that sort of thing.
most people don't find beauty in driving.
fuck, most people don't find beauty in anything.
except maybe themselves or some overrated celebrity in designer jeans.
one of my past boyfriends said he didn't trust me behind a wheel.
"woman drivers" was his reason.
fuck him.
i almost lost my virginity in a car. truck, rather.
didn't happen though. i was too afraid of us getting caught.
we were parke
Literature
Autumn was my first love.
October, I follow you -
from the magic lights of New York
to moonshines in Georgia,
until the colors dissolve.
The anxious poetry of autumn
made a memory of me.
Here’s to things I take for granted:
September blues,
chasing airplanes,
country road thunderstorms.
Unspoken words, unwritten ideas.
October, I follow you;
I thought I saw you on the shore
where the river runs through gold
on the last boat leaving the city of a hundred spires -
or perhaps Pittsburgh
(it was the lights I guess).
Here’s to the things we leave behind:
sunbeams in November,
letters addressed to no one,
poems, wounds, dead birds.
I’ve got that summ
Literature
Seoul
it was
all too easy,
forgetting your name,
tasting the starlight tucked
behind someone else's
wisdom teeth ;
our soju-laced smiles
crashing at 90mph
and the memory of you
caught
in the headlights and
wreckage of us,
our 2am laughter
echoing in your bones
from 5654 miles away ;
my hands knowing
the age-old roads
that led to brand new places,
and the faded map of you
folded and kept hastily
in my back pocket.
(I was far too proud
to ask for directions
to come home)
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technically, i wrote this in about 2 hours
but really, it has taken me a solid 2 months
UPDATE 1.9.14 spoken word track for this: soundcloud.com/recklessromance…;
Comments10
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Agh, beautiful stuff.
of course, Nikola Tesla invented the first light-bulb, and then Thomas Edison improved it, but I don't really think that's very important <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/w/w…" width="15" height="15" alt="" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="454" title="Wink/Razz"/> And anyway, you seem to have a hallmark to that with the "terminating patents" bit, but I dunno.
Some heart-stopping language used here. Thing is, none of it really stands out per se... take one line out and it just seems to remove its magic; it all works together into a neat piece. However, I don't know if the numbers are necessary: the poem would work just as well without them, I think. Otherwise, it jars the pace a little, especially when some numbered parts are only three or so lines long.
Still, it really is beautiful in that it's tragic. Great stuff.