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Luke898989
American
A man once told me a wolf howl is the most powerful thing.  Within it is our humanity.   I was perplexed and asked him to explain but he just smiled in his drunken face and his yellow eyes guided me to the picture frame in the barroom where a man was lying face down dead in the snow and he left me there and I stood for hours affected by drink and smoke and eventually saw myself within that frame cold lonely and screeching to curse him I could not move and pine needles filled my mouth and nasal cavity
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Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
Wolf Howl
there are certain days on the EL Saturday or Sunday and the sky is orange and different clouds and airplane streaks glowing and all above the city Everyone is calm And I look blank and I feel weeping For the fat black woman waiting by the doors never took a seat her eyes are skittish like a doe alert for insults she shrinks her shoulders when people enter or when they leave For the older white woman across from me pills **** alchohol something heavy mascara eyes resigned seeing yuppies entering at Girard feeling the contrast thinking what could have been croaky voiced and thin For children laying on seats staring at ceilings or plastic windows white hair beads clacking eyes like rocks parent clicking at phone yelling at phone all pushed in an EL car and I love them all and together we ride
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Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Market-Frankford Line
Walt Whitman was a ****** That's what we say when we cross his bridge from South Philly to Jersey and see what he would see: the river solid waveless with trees green around feeding from the water on the left and far beyond the watertable real for a minute from the arched metal and the city visible wholly with warehouses rowhomes inches apart and glass buildings and all burnt orange by four o'clock sun but clear on blue sky but you know he was a ****** and the city all one in your eye if you want it to be and the languages together between the buildings all the blacks asians whites itlalians irish polish moving together and talking and eating the food working and riding cars and buses around the liberty bell and independence hall it is brooklyn ferry it was his prophesy but you know he was ****** a big jersey boy *** yea
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May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
Walt Whitman was a ******
I wanted to talk to her the way I used to. "isn't it nice we both wear contacts? We can see the leaves so clearly, and they're changing color now." I used to talk like that to her a lot. I think she liked it, and it made me feel good. but, but I couldn't say anything like that now. I just looked at her. My body language illegible, Chest leaned forward. I had never seen her shirt before, or her bag. I felt anxious and wounded beneath her gaze.
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Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
Untitled
it was underneath brown covers that you gave me everything and I gave you something for a long time until that something was really nothing and you told me with tears in your eyes that the brown covers would be for my body only
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Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Brown covers
I used to love this halo, a little light above my head illuminating the darkness. I was always in the light my robe would radiate blonde hair tan skin glowing like an arcade. I was really something else. I could have been on top of those big Christmas trees you'd see in NYC. But after awhile that halo starts to get hot. you feel like a lizard in an aquarium, cold-blooded and dead-eyed. I was always lit up and the dark looked so inviting: And the snow. The snow looked so cold. so cold. But it would just melt when I laid in it... snow angels really are the saddest thing I've ever seen.
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Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
snow angels
Don't go to Alaska I think the mountains will pierce your eyes and the wind will kiss your neck please I'll melt glaciers of ink for you Don't go to Alaska You're far too sentimental
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Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
Don't Go to Alaska
I never knew or thought or felt like my body was eternal like a cloud I held my hand in my hand and waved sloppily I am beating a drum hard as a heart or like soft tissue perhaps that you wrap around a vein or something I am skinborn and boneborn and hairborn Just water and air I guess lined up so I can look at the sky and wish it was below me or within me Kite-tongued or painted-lipped I thought maybe my face my head was above my body against ice or seafoam like a pulse but I held onto my teeth and nose and eyes for so long Dagger-ribbed or bullet-spined moving on a field of nothing like a field of something while while my matter is so simple and nothing
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Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 11:08 AM UTC
I Never Knew or Thought or Felt Like
The land was a body. Aching bones of mountains limned with boreal forest veined with iron. Men dwelt on the body. Erecting altars, howling and dancing round fires their patriarchal beards knotted and waving Men killed on the body. Waving crude axes like ancient trailblazers of war Would wave mammoth club-like femurs Bodies slay different bodies so they may die somewhere on this body That heaves with the rock
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Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 12:18 PM UTC
Bodies
I felt you today Paddling in nothing Between my neurons Holding pain impulses By the hand Tugging them across Was it for a badge? A ribbon? For cheap dharma?
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Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
I Felt You Today