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robin-lee-taillon
American
My high beams reflect on the violently fluttering wings of a moth right before my engine consumes its life and I wonder as I drive towards your captivating light blinding what possesses me That night I dreamt bay leaves flew out of my mouth I remember playing them like cards stacking them in brittle piles I dealt them out later all crusted over and awake you and I looked in the dream book bay leaves: considered a symbol of prophecy We laugh I was once many women over and over from chrysalis to flying form but once your brightness found me I saw you illuminated me I inhale sweet abandonment and exhale vulnerability I am different but proverbial in your rays of white
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Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
Prophetic
I'm the wronger a wooden soul destined to stoke for eternity I better start smoking again maybe the harder stuff to get my soul used to breathing in ash my lungs will be black and caked full chugging deer blood and bull to erase the feeling of me you tell me I'm an un-thinker superfluous thoughts of a prosthetic heart I had a dream once I was peeling never ending oranges pulling the skin from the sweet juicy flesh drops of tang slipping from my fingers but never sinking my teeth into orange suggests so many contrary things trees indicate life prosperity but eating an orange means separation illness tie me down batter me I think it unwise you chasing me to the un-pearly gates those burning barriers you circumnavigate while I will smell of citrus for eternity
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Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Heated
peach fuzz caught on the curved back of my little curled creature. carved in clay chirped from the dust timid sculpture weathered crisp at the cusp of your organics drool dews the downy where dreams dip and dare brews of white lullabies into static your wet balmy breath drags and plucks my rhythmic drum a beat so wild my little angel one winnowed away from heaven gasping mud the soul came from
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Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
New
With iron and honey I glaze both cheeks while two bees bumble up each cascade pressing curvy pumping abdomens with points plying as they scrape each presses into a cheekbone producing blossoms of irritated wine and grape pixilated with pyrexia I collapse in a webbed hammock perplexed and wait and wait my mouth blazing I gaze up and despise the puffy diluted masses in fields of blue my cheeks dilated threatening to thunder and then a pause as sweat brings honey tumbling uncontrolled out from within
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Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
***** ~For Sylvia Plath
Thick and curdled dreams slip past me inebriated tell me lies that bind my back and fill my skies with sonorous bruised clouds like cracked eggshells splintered across an age set before me the horologe weighs me down only numbers seem to count Most seem unable to calculate one life set apart from the ticking oh let me be styled by my own reckoning set aside from the domain of economizing free from lingering gazes in a fishbowl I want my own homeostasis my own diluted grounds
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Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
Laying Claim