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two fragments re: poetry & adjacent wounded
october 28th, 2019(?)
you weren’t expecting to survive / the nighttime tv pandemonium / always behind the time / blue as a bird, centered in magic / outside your window, the night / it snowed
//// // may 5th, 2021 
and you declare, right now and then, with clear eyes and patient timing, the pain you can’t regret without paying for it ---- red lips like the kissing never stopped at all, not for one iota of a minute ---- eyes all blue and you reach for the endless, holy, wonderful dirt before, reversed, returned, remade, inverted, recuperated, lost, (and finally) given
i was a worm, i was a creature
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yourdailybukowski · 7 minutes ago
if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. - Charles Bukowski, from "So You Want To Be A Writer"
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largethingslargerthings · 7 minutes ago
Meditative Week of Poetry: Stephanie Cawley
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The ghosts didn’t sleep, in the garden,
where a woman taught me about tomatoes.
I used to hate them. Something unsettling about
their flesh. The goopy innards,
wet seeds, a color that looked sick. Last summer,
I learned about sungolds. Bright, sweet
orange globes, a little bigger than grapes.
Last summer, I dedicated myself to pleasure. I drove
down the highway, walled in by green.
There is happiness, and there is feeling good
inside a body. Both, now, a ghostlike quality.
First, I learned the rocks in the Wissahickon
glittered in the dirt, and then I learned
their name: schist. First, I named what moved
inside me animal, and then I opened its cage.
As though committed to proving myself
wrong, I lay in the sun and watched sweat gather
in the crooks of my elbows. I could sleep
in another bed, all night long, and call it
pleasure. What, in the end, does one do
with what one proves. The ghost
in the house was me. She gathered tomatoes
in the garden. When the tomatoes are in bloom
the plants are coated in sticky, yellow pollen.
It gets on everything. A flower becomes,
and this, perhaps, is obvious, a fruit. The tall
stalks of garlic become a fragrant field,
hiding the back of the garden from the road.
It felt good to feel pleasure, almost free,
in sunlight, the white flowers becoming
strawberries, pale green, the size of thumbs.
You can eat the flowers, but you shouldn’t.
They are on their way to becoming
something else. My neighbor, on Saturdays,
gives out boxes of produce for free. I don’t
know her, but she hollers at me, from my porch
across the street where I pretend to read,
listen as the neighbors discuss beetles
that have eaten all their flowers. I don’t have to be
what ghosts me. I invite sadness, who blossoms,
blooms, and fruits in one sweet season.
The gold light settles on the beach, where I don’t
go, the bay spitting up an iridescent fish
on the shore where I don’t come to its rescue.
The fish is not a ghost. The past is not what
haunts, but the future, rippling out
like water, briny and dark green. My friends,
unsleeping, in a distant city. It is called a pool,
when one collects resources with others, when water
gathers in a place. To practice pleasure,
I practice opening my palms, a gesture of
willingness to receive. It is hard, for me, to accept
the bundles of lettuce I feel I haven’t earned.
It is hard to unspool what it means to earn
anything: sunlight, water, sand, schist,
tomato, garlic, green. A lagoon
is water that has been enclosed by land.
A lacuna is a gap in text, or a cavity or depression
in bone, from the same root as lagoon:
lake, or pool. I don’t know why
I am telling you what you can
already know, just from imagining, here,
a body of water, and here, a text
orbiting a hole. I speak of summer
as though it were a lagoon, and me
a hole. The garden, across the city, blooms
without me. I am trying not to become
its ghost.
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writertoo18 · 8 minutes ago
Shaken Again
Shaken Again, the worst news of my life, and it sounds dramatic, but I’m all fear right now.
A simple Thursday, one like any other. Yet today was completely different, set my world on fire. This week has been chaotic, full of concern and worry. But today made everything minuscule, smaller than an ant on the ground. It’s as though I’m having an out of body experience, looking down at myself. COVID-19 has taken the world by storm, but it hadn’t touched mine. Not until today. It’s…
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/ untitled / drastic / fever / worry / swept away /
being ignored in smoke / parks and recreational dangers / bags for every ailment underneath / laying down
soaking up  a vengeful sun / grieving a lover he’s still writing to / letters sent across the glazed hazy marble-top counter of the kitchen they’ve been calling “cosmos” for a couple hundred generations
maybe more, i’m not sure. i’m not sure of anything. except when i am and i get scared.
i’m teary-eyed and vacant. nothing else is new. just the old stuff. feeling really spectral, but not in any fun adventurous way. in the lonely way. footsteps creating their own wars outside the door. can’t we all just sit down and breathe ?
the dance hall is a memory for songs and lovers to fight about  /   it’s the scope of the wound that still haunts me the most.
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exitsimulation · 11 minutes ago
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Loving you was like loving the dead
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vbkpoetry · 11 minutes ago
don’t use your illusions
the only thing i can do  for any of these words to mean a  fucking thing is to simply give you  all the truth that lies inside of me
while the narrator wishes he was this debonair mother fucker with an eight inch cock that always worked
the transparent truth is i’m an aging drunk with unrealistic dreams whose six inch cock suffers from whiskey dick on most nights
not only do i suffer from depression and anxiety,  paranoia is an ingredient found in my dna - oh, and i have crippling stomach issues
all my demons are self induced, because i’m a selfish prick ... well,  i used to be
today i’m a recluse, which has been made easier by the pandemic, i haven’t been out of the house in probably three months and honestly, i’m okay with that.
somehow the pussy gods drop pussy down from the heavens every so often with house visits that remind me how empty it feels to come in a condom but safety first, fuckers
all this to say, perfection is a fallacy that i can’t ride - i know each one of us is damaged in disguise - show me the real you, show me your scars
i’ve shown you mine.
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no title. (from october 2019)
i wrote up a story about the weight you can buy at the corner of every violent exile since nebraska. from hospital to cradle to america to labor camp.
i’m at the end of every line of string i ever had or was allowed to borrow from the general store (at the end of town / across the limitless canadian deserts / dead bees on the mountains of jupiter)
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bluemood44 · 13 minutes ago
There was a show when a muslim guy says "You should believe in something more powerful than you". And I can't get it out of my head cuz it's true. I just can't believe in something I'm not sure exists.
I believe in art. I believe I would die without it. I know how pathetic it sounds and I hate pathetic but it is the only thing that stays with me. Im sorry guys. But it is the only thing. And sometimes I hate you for it. But I'm glad that at least there is something...
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neveraskwhy-p8 · 15 minutes ago
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I'm standing on the outside of the circle of life, watching the world spin while I am at a standstill.
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moonwoken · 16 minutes ago
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i was scrolling on francis’s blog and just...missing the entire aesthetic, character, plots. and my heartstrings kinda went ‘should i move back to the other blogs?’ and i just...i don’t think it’s sustainable for me to do so. things are more managable in one place.  there’s just a whole lot of love, especially on that blog. and i miss my golden summer sweetheart boy with the kindest heart. i felt more myself when i was tied up writing with
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gaypoetgirl · 17 minutes ago
frozen skies won't show us the sun that we remember
snowfall snuffing out already dying embers
flesh bombarded by weapons of december
daggers of frost penetrate our defenses
everlasting cold numbing our senses
desperately searching for the warmth of some familiar something
we all die feeling nothing
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seizings · 20 minutes ago
if it matters, i made this 🤍
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sighrens · 20 minutes ago
take a min, make omelette
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