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Literature Text
Echo… drip, ink trickled photo that—
—-That photo trickled ink, drip… echo.
Rip… crinkle… I felt the premise of presence— the
The— presence of premise, the felt I… crinkle… rip
The flicker and friends in the photos' memories…
… Memories' photos the 'in' friends and flicker the
Person that befriended and fringed upon enem… Me?
Me… upon fringed and befriended that person
Twice left, left twice.
Echoes of… who he isn't anymore—
Anymore isn't he who… of echoes
Twice left, left twice.
What inkwells cannot capture… echoes.
—-That photo trickled ink, drip… echo.
Rip… crinkle… I felt the premise of presence— the
The— presence of premise, the felt I… crinkle… rip
The flicker and friends in the photos' memories…
… Memories' photos the 'in' friends and flicker the
Person that befriended and fringed upon enem… Me?
Me… upon fringed and befriended that person
Twice left, left twice.
Echoes of… who he isn't anymore—
Anymore isn't he who… of echoes
Twice left, left twice.
What inkwells cannot capture… echoes.
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
Literature
Awake
Awake
We - are the children of Cygnus
Sagittarius , the Pleiades, Orion, and the Dog Star
Sprung from the womb of the Hypernova
Recycled, Reborn, Eternal
Observe
Times arrow returned to its quiver
Unlimited
Alive - in every moment that has been
or will ever be
Free
From the shackles of the linear mind
and the material wastelands of the Fallen
Pity the mortal and the blind
We dine on starlight
and dance to the rhythm of the fractal void
The heavy metal, rock and roll beat of the Magnetar and Star Quakes
The techo-jazz, thump thump thump of the pulsars
The waltz of the binaries
in their elegant embrace
We ride the big surf of the Broa
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A continuation of one of my 6 word stories: [link]
I continued with the theme of the first line and "echoed" the previous line, as they are shown in couplets. As some of you may know, I take my punctuation seriously, and it should show here.
But overall, this poem was depressing to write. It is about the departure of my dear friend Eddie, not by death, but by depression. Me and him share a lot of things in common, such as being diagnosed with High Functioning Autism, or Aspergers.
Eddie currently serves his time in residential, and it is a constant reminder of my struggle with depression.
The title is a combination of the words "echo" and "choral."
No words to know this time....
Written by Nic Swaner, to claim otherwise is plagiarism.
I continued with the theme of the first line and "echoed" the previous line, as they are shown in couplets. As some of you may know, I take my punctuation seriously, and it should show here.
But overall, this poem was depressing to write. It is about the departure of my dear friend Eddie, not by death, but by depression. Me and him share a lot of things in common, such as being diagnosed with High Functioning Autism, or Aspergers.
Eddie currently serves his time in residential, and it is a constant reminder of my struggle with depression.
The title is a combination of the words "echo" and "choral."
No words to know this time....
Written by Nic Swaner, to claim otherwise is plagiarism.
Comments7
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This is so playful and sort of deceptive in it's narrative conceit, the way you twist expectation with wordplay and format, quite beautiful and even visceral, I had a very physical response to this, I suppose claustrophobia or agoraphobia, not sure which, but I felt pressed upon by some elemental fixation, echoes perhaps?
Lovely.
Lovely.