hollow ways leading--
i am not in place
for this market cross
scheming.
a martyr replaced
for an obese phantom
with an illegal
workers comp program.
pandering to the little folks,
big people beat little people
and this is why
the fat white man always wins
and his mini slaves
are covered with red cloaks.
i can't concentrate--
all my cynicisms
are alive and spitting.
can i believe,
be alive
if my sides are splitting?
i am not laughing.
the city is a living, gasping entity, right now. the city's blood dribbles across the gravel in slow-motion. and its hands scrape for another's to hold because the ones offered are far too cold now. a divisive force of black and white, red and blue. we're the biggest small city to exist. we are not new york city or los angeles. not san francisco or miami. not even an orlando. but we're dallas and we need prayers too. we need love and support for the city. we need warms hand and able legs to move us towards what's been promised before us.
the city, before now, is something that i have always held close to my heart. it's where i live and where
forgive me, but
i.
wash your hands once once
twice
once more
glory like the taste of money
when i bite down
and lips are paper parties.
up
tap water
up
in my lungs
we are
dragged,
hung up on the elephant moon
and
gold's wreathed in los angeles noon.
ii.
but the boys and girls,
they grow up
grow
too.
let's say that it's teeth
that are easy
against the grind.
grind.
let's say that it's teeth
that sink into the wounds
I can't get the formations out of my head by KaitForest, literature
Literature
I can't get the formations out of my head
I find myself five months deep
in a wild wood. I make sacrifice with
my teeth, ripping skin, draining blood
leaving corpses upside down
on boughs
as I come upon them. how have they
traveled this far without fighting?
it grows darker and I meaner.
March unfolds April unfolds May,
the light lingers longer but does not
penetrate, and I materialize a
twisted formation,
white as heartwood,
sticky and moaning.
The Mirror and the New Moon by Third-Coast, literature
Literature
The Mirror and the New Moon
Down the hall the mirrors wait.
No man is home. The candles burn dark.
The mirrors sink in the wild night,
making love to the evening.
The rooms hush. The light dims,
sheds her tight belt, her shoes,
wearing down until she's bare and sleeping.
Down the hall the mirrors wait.
No man is home. The candles are cold.
The sirens call forth a storm. The darkness
crashes, boils, rushes, collapses against its will.
It breaks and shatters upon the glassy stone.
The mirror and the darkness consummate a secret love
through the abandoned home.
The eyes, the day, the light, the breath drift forever away,
forevermore
one.
you will wake up in the morning,
when the day is fresh.
you may not recall the way you fell
but you will feel your flesh,
slick with dew and aching.
you will not see the sun
conquer the horizon.
it has beat you
down and out,
like passion's flame.
two.
you will shatter at the mention
of remembrance.
at the ankles, you will glass
and crash accordingly.
you were built for this,
the pressure of existence.
you recall
that you were told
you could do it all.
three.
night will not welcome you.
you will call out to windows
and thunder out desperate text.
there will be times
that the dark
grins.
its teeth are stark white.
four.
it will
So he tore his roots back
from hell’s old circles
and set his branches
alight from within
heaven’s gates, and his leaves
burned autumnal
for a time.
The angels and fallen
let out their sighs,
and two young lovers
carved their letters
into an old maple.
He did not feel
the words cutting,
or the love
therein.