Ain't that a good title for a feature series?
Seriously tho this place is full of amazing art, I hope you'll enjoy my small selection.
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Seriously tho this place is full of amazing art, I hope you'll enjoy my small selection.
she always carried maps she never followed-and she swallows her words
like they gulp down fluorescent-
triatomic shots
there's silence all around,
laughter empty of any
emotional melody
and she thinks
she might have lost
those music sheets
the last time she visited a
half-crushed memory
so it's
inevitable
when the voice
of her conscience
strides across
a milky-way
star-zone
and asks her
if she's
lost-
DoorsWinter snow is deepening —
Old cats dream of doors to spring.
Curled against the aching cold...
I wonder when we all got old.
The Only Thing I Wanted to Stay the SameThe wind is cold
And even though I'm
Wearing a wool sweater
My arms have goosebumps.
Our coffee house hasn't changed since
We first sat together in these
Same rusting wrought-iron chairs
Nine Decembers ago.
The once kelly green paint is still chipping,
And the back-left leg on mine still wobbles,
And the scorch marks from your Winstons still scar the overhang post,
And our initials are still poorly etched on the table-top,
And the weather is still too warm for winter,
And the rain still never freezes,
And they still haven't fixed that
Damn, nails-scraping-chalkboards squeaky door!
I still order the same
Large café latté with four honey packets,
And I still wait until its hardly lukewarm
To begin drinking it,
And I still complain because
I waited too long.
The only thing that has changed is that
Your chair is empty.
RosebushIf I were to tell you,<da:thumb id="508953319"/>
"Life is not a bed of roses."
Would you still continue
To pull the weeds from beneath the rows?
If I said,
"There are some wounds that cannot heal."
Would you still reach between the brambles
And allow the thorns to pierce your skin?
Were I to mention,
"Even the brightest of flowers
Will eventually succumb to time."
Would you still cut the heads
In preparation for the new spring buds?
You simply smile and say;
"Yes.
For even the most vapid vine deserves to be cultivated.
Only then can it bloom
And truly enjoy its time in the sun."
To Its Beacon Beamingthere is a music
to the way you
say my name
that breathes weight
and value into it
a timing that winds
will and magic
into my clock
and makes me
want to breathe
and i don't know
if it's how you
say it, how i hear it
or maybe some
forgotten memory
just gets fixed
to its beacon
beaming through
the jagged slip
and break of sea
but we're more
than two bodies
pressed into
a bed, or dropped
into shoes
we're the imprint
of creation
and its movement
through time
we are evolution
a selective physics
in earth's own dreams
and memories
has mapped our lives
each into the other's
we'd have met and fallen
in any timeline
and for any one
of a million reasons
but never, ever, by chance
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Skin by Dan Leveille