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Literature Text
the bones in my body bend
and form something not quite
human, boy,
the curves of you could drain an ocean
wolf:
seek me in the shadows--
in the mountains, in the valleys,
in the cliffs of the world, i
taste your blood in my mouth
and it is like the rain. drown me
in your shallow ocean,
i want to feel your fingers
fastened around my throat, holding me down,
holding me down, boy,
suffocate me.
you
are the white shore and the white sea,
and your iron currents consume me,
pale riptides bringing sharp fists
to my jawbone, and i didn't have a choice;
i gave myself to you,
body and soul.
here, here is the prism that breaks me:
a bright line that cuts across
the naked world and shatters against it,
cutting all in its path to ribbons.
you breathe into me. you touch
the insides of my skin with your fingers
stained so blue i can feel it and
the ache in my wrists, the emerald of you,
your colors burn me.
reach through to my skeleton and touch my bones;
leave the imprints of your hands
in my marrow, i crave your indigo
in the light of the artificial moon, i crave
your mythtouch flashing through my dreams,
my memories, and i remembered you
before we met.
oh, you were never real,
in the blood-red ocean of my skull,
you came like a glacier, deliberate,
the scent of wine on your skin,
your tongue a wisp of smoke
between your teeth, clenched around
the white of you, and
you can't ask me to recall the color of your eyes.
your grip around my ribcage feels like red lightning.
i am blind,
a sunken ship in your ocean, surrounded by
so much blood-heavy mist that
i do not feel human. you come to me
with a bone in your mouth, sink your hands
into my skin, and i drown
with your legs around my torso
and your lips on my lips and it is the seawater
that runs from glaciers slipping down my throat,
boy,
the chains you wrap around my wrists
feel like the ache of your body and it does not fill,
nothing
else
fills
.
and form something not quite
human, boy,
the curves of you could drain an ocean
wolf:
seek me in the shadows--
in the mountains, in the valleys,
in the cliffs of the world, i
taste your blood in my mouth
and it is like the rain. drown me
in your shallow ocean,
i want to feel your fingers
fastened around my throat, holding me down,
holding me down, boy,
suffocate me.
you
are the white shore and the white sea,
and your iron currents consume me,
pale riptides bringing sharp fists
to my jawbone, and i didn't have a choice;
i gave myself to you,
body and soul.
here, here is the prism that breaks me:
a bright line that cuts across
the naked world and shatters against it,
cutting all in its path to ribbons.
you breathe into me. you touch
the insides of my skin with your fingers
stained so blue i can feel it and
the ache in my wrists, the emerald of you,
your colors burn me.
reach through to my skeleton and touch my bones;
leave the imprints of your hands
in my marrow, i crave your indigo
in the light of the artificial moon, i crave
your mythtouch flashing through my dreams,
my memories, and i remembered you
before we met.
oh, you were never real,
in the blood-red ocean of my skull,
you came like a glacier, deliberate,
the scent of wine on your skin,
your tongue a wisp of smoke
between your teeth, clenched around
the white of you, and
you can't ask me to recall the color of your eyes.
your grip around my ribcage feels like red lightning.
i am blind,
a sunken ship in your ocean, surrounded by
so much blood-heavy mist that
i do not feel human. you come to me
with a bone in your mouth, sink your hands
into my skin, and i drown
with your legs around my torso
and your lips on my lips and it is the seawater
that runs from glaciers slipping down my throat,
boy,
the chains you wrap around my wrists
feel like the ache of your body and it does not fill,
nothing
else
fills
.
Literature
Fire and Water
It was raining in Lancaster on September 3rd 1555, and Jane Ask loved the earthy smell that it coaxed out of the soil.
She wiped away the sheen of rainwater from her forehead with the back of her hand and set her small basket of nettles down by the front door. Later she would dry out the leaves and reduce them to a powder; the substance worked wonders on small wounds which refused to stop bleeding.
Jane had always been something of an herbalist. Growing up with only a father, and two older brothers from his first marriage, she had spent the majority of her childhood outdoors. Now practically a spinster at the age of twenty-two, she knew the
Literature
Spelling Counts
The line read:
"Fallow your heart",
I wondered what more there was to say.
Fallow your heart, leave it
empty and waiting for a season
so love can grow, nourished,
in a replenished, whole ground.
Fallow your heart so it does not become
Worn and barren with overuse.
The line read "fallow your heart",
but the poem, overworked,
meant only "follow".
Please remember that spelling counts.
Literature
a long awaited return.
It was raining when we landed.
A shock
to our sun-drenched systems,
stumbling with snatched-
away sleep.
Another bus, another train
whirring upon endless tracks.
We run, we flee through foreign streets
disdainful eyes stare on,
watching fugitive
outsiders -
desperate for a taste
of home.
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