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t-zanahary
t-zanahary
Plainly stated, I am. Ever changing and forever the same, my adopted last name allows me to explain my essence as a whole, a duality dependant on its self I have learned to adapt my world to suit me, and write to hold a semblance of sanity. I am, I always have been, and refuse to except myself to fit any standards of normality.
Among the desolate crowd we felt that welling of times long held back. The cloud had come. Release, pouring down. Over. Washing away what all had been left discarded. Disinterested. Pouring down the cliffs of a world we can't fully come to terms with while the rest was nothing more than grease stains sliding streetwise to cracks, corners, stagnant pools that left them short of those drains put in place to siphon them off to somewhere. Somewhere. New? Lost? Forgotten? Why. Why would they work so hard to take all of it away just to let it sit. Lie (lay, I mean, but **** it) in the streets causing those perfect souls passing by to deal with the failed drainage systems put in place. They promised, again, to fix the streets, why did they do all that work to have people feel their failings in the posting rain as their boots soaked through. What was the thought? Money? Gold? Ambivalence or hatred could be candidates if there weren't such a stranglehold on the decision makers. The streets, department or otherwise, knew how to address it, why don't they? And the drains clear. With them, concern. The puddles, disappeared. All that is left is the penumbra of promise, silhouettes of stagnant process producing not but the petrichor reminisced for. But it's always a memory left, maybe tomorrow problem. Matters not when the gatherers gather once 'gain. The sun still shines it's oppressive rays and once again these cloudy eyes start to well.
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Dec 18, 2023
Dec 18, 2023 at 12:17 AM UTC
Day 1: Prose poem about a storm
Faith in the fall Breathes into a warm blanket And cold floor Begging More Time in bed To plan, Break from what's here See tomorrow in the new Light streaming through Cracks in the dark A coffee, a car, a road A turn in the dark, An overhang slung low Like that weight We escape Break in the forest, Bald peak peeking through Light shining brighter The beacon we head to Ice, slick, slow, quiet Spin, twist, skid. Skid. The sky growing cloudy, Lines break from the trail Through the trees, Which carry All that held us down Today we just lay fresh tracks In the new snow
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Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC
New snow
There's smoke on the horizon beneath an open sea closing on grainy visions. In an obscured sky twin moons merge briefly, illuminating barren features beneath silver linings losing brilliance. Imagine darkness skirting collisions, spinning into its quickened cycle, spiraling radiating some misunderstood energies thought of as kindness, or kinship. Veils obscure absent eyes milky white delicately placed off center to attract attention awa y to the edges of presen(ts)ce. Fractures eke out mollified dreams better left for a different when, still spied through corner glances and brief glimpses of a time forgotten. Stare out through rolling hills, drifting between currents and canyons hiding prospects and perspectives shrinking, shifting topics to silence, hours spent on roads throughout country we'll never truly see. Hundreds of miles, with nothing in between. Let's lay beneath blankets of estranged forethought fathers speaking in lost refrains brothers and sisters spinning in circles for atten(ua)tion? attunement? spinning, bare feet striking new grounds leaving paths for those to follow, what we would have called ours if not for lost vocabulary. Between pillars of salt and smoke we continue along a path founded by ancestors, tasting our sacred fruits soured by the lives which watered them, stains now set to patters, repeated until they become tradition, crossing into teachings to which we kneel masked by some layer of proper posturing predictively programmed to provoke passe (prisms) precautions, an effect of visual innocence tarnished, no longer do we know who hides behind the pierced cowl, stilled face, lifeless and radiant, forgotten in sight. mute, we tell tall tales of monster's sacrifices, humanity a frail barrier. Vapid thoughts dissipate as leather lungs propagate vacuous words, bruised rose petals whisper an attempt at appeasement lost in the shivers of the wind, briefly caught only by chance and it's simple to pretend they never came. There's smoke on the horizon, signals rise to prominence once communication's faltered. Hollow, revert to body language, broken and distorted, the veil falls as we look upon ourselfs from breaths away. In our eyes a slotted face falls close, unrecognizable, yet our own clearly cloaked in cold sun and decorative scars, an odious inverse to delicacy. Animals trapped in the same cage finding comfort in the fury of escape attempts, pitted against on another we find solace in our embrace, teeth bared from true recognition it was never passion, only instinct.
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Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
Beneath the cover of smoke
There's smoke on the horizon beneath an open sea closing on grainy visions. In an obscured sky twin moons merge briefly, illuminating barren features beneath silver linings losing brilliance. Imagine darkness skirting collisions, spinning into its quickened cycle, spiraling radiating some misunderstood energies thought of as kindness, or kinship. Veils obscure absent eyes milky white delicately placed off center to attract attention awa y to the edges of presen(ts)ce. Fractures eke out mollified dreams better left for a different when, still spied through corner glances and brief glimpses of a time forgotten. Stare out through rolling hills, drifting between currents and canyons hiding prospects and perspectives shrinking, shifting topics to silence, hours spent on roads throughout country we'll never truly see. Hundreds of miles, with nothing in between. Let's lay beneath blankets of estranged forethought fathers speaking in lost refrains brothers and sisters spinning in circles for atten(ua)tion? attunement? spinning, bare feet striking new grounds leaving paths for those to follow, what we would have called ours if not for lost vocabulary. Between pillars of salt and smoke we continue along a path founded by ancestors, tasting our sacred fruits soured by the lives which watered them, stains now set to patters, repeated until they become tradition, crossing into teachings to which we kneel masked by some layer of proper posturing predictively programmed to provoke passe (prisms) precautions, an effect of visual innocence tarnished, no longer do we know who hides behind the pierced cowl, stilled face, lifeless and radiant, forgotten in sight. mute, we tell tall tales of monster's sacrifices, humanity a frail barrier. Vapid thoughts dissipate as leather lungs propagate vacuous words, bruised rose petals whisper an attempt at appeasement lost in the shivers of the wind, briefly caught only by chance and it's simple to pretend they never came. There's smoke on the horizon, signals rise to prominence once communication's faltered. Hollow, revert to body language, broken and distorted, the veil falls as we look upon ourselfs from breaths away. In our eyes a slotted face falls close, unrecognizable, yet our own clearly cloaked in cold sun and decorative scars, an odious inverse to delicacy. Animals trapped in the same cage finding comfort in the fury of escape attempts, pitted against on another we find solace in our embrace, teeth bared from true recognition it was never passion, only instinct.
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December finally comes. unexpected and awaited we huddle in our own social circles blocking the cold with exchanged hot air and shared ******* complaints a quick fix to so many of our daily issues. Snow piles beneath our feet and we continue forward dour moods no excuse for falling production, we must be productive. We must give quamtifiable results so we may look back on our endeavours and claim them a success. Imagine if they tracked us like they do our hours, followed us as closely as these stories we are forced to tell to noone, do you think they'd enjoy the insight? Or would we resume our spot in their eyes as those children, adolescents lost and cpnfused willing to sacrafice their time for nothing more than community and experience. D ec ember en d s a long week punctuated by quickened pace and short days spent under the hum of everything weighing down on you. i lost it once, hyena laughter braying through dark skies at nothing.. or am i just forgetting something again. Let's turn around, I'll check the cabinet if you help me disappear.
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Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
Last days of winter
prestigious drugs critical public awareness effects lifestyle tied to our ability to be you. disease programs, meet loved ones, heart-wrenching I visit. : across he rounds his patients twenty-five years ago.
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Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
30 Day Challenge, Day 7: Introduction
I hate you. Every day I think of you, and can not escape my pain. I long for the days before you left, before my life was irrevocably shattered, before my life ended. I still can't enjoy my birthday, I still lay awake waiting for the calls to repeat, waiting for the cops to come and for you to leave. You were never part of my life anyways, you were nothing but a stand in, never a father.
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Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
30 Day Challenge, Day 6: Never a father
beneath dying light leaves lay whispering new songs to upraised cradles
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Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
30 Day challenge, day 5: Haiku
We spend our days with passions smoldering, inside the haze we're seen, shouldering a renewed faith in truer selves, hold high, lest we view wraiths, impure, sell bold lies.
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Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
30 Day Challenge, Day 4: Couplets
She lays propped upon the headboard while her mind is elsewhere, gaze far from present. Curling waves of crumpled sheets crash against her forever in this instant, their horizon the pale whites and soft pinks of humble beauty. The outline of her breast draws us to a turned back, allowing us the descent of the ridges and valleys of supple curves. As we turn away, we are grounded by a small earthen plot, and feel the sinking blues play on our worries we will never see this scene again. And still she lays, body surrounded by simple comforts, mind engulfed in a world out of sight.
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Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
30 Day Challenge, Day 3: Unknown Painting
Pressure surfacing re(lapse)lease breaking the skin, early memories flooding into tonight's supposedly simple situations, eyes reaching for the black. new mornings spent questioning new temptations, islands of comfort spread over the table. Under false bottoms we hit rocks, sip a little solace, just to glance in the mirror again. Balance,  falling off center yet under control, no longer concerned with, tomorrow, today, tonight, yesterday's simply fall away. Within these sparks i give my self to nothing, longing another touching nothing, painless, sliding into this numb embrace
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Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
30 Day Challenge, Day 2: Pretentious bounty wilts