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My love of the morning
my love dressed in dawn
My love early risen
and risen, so still
My love whom only
the noonday could ****

My love of an hour
my love in the dust
My love who only
does what she must
with a folded lily in folded hands
my love whom the afternoon reprimands

My love of the dusk
my love of the evening
My love barely listening
my love barely breathing
Who is my love whose love only leaves her
and lingers in shadows where no one receives her

My love of the night
who desires the moon
and the stars all gleaming
through tired trees leaning
My love of the earth, my love of the grave
my love of the sky, the blaze, the wave.
2025
 Sep 2
Nick Moore
There's a poison in society,
administered by the media,
It keeps you in the future,
It keeps you in the past.

I got to read the label,
This is what it said,
Anti present,
Take 3 times a day,
Safe and effective,
Your time is all you pay.

Anti present,
Without it, you desires will fade away,
Anti present,
Don't be irresponsible, think how others will feel?
Anti present,
It's the real deal.

Sideffects may include:
Lack of self worth, unfulfillment and hollowness.
i screamed till my throat bleed last night
you knew that it was my birthday yesterday

now i can't talk anymore

my voice is gone

and i've gone mute

for you
 Sep 2
Whit Howland
it's pale light
still glows
with a low hum

the knobs still clink
when pulled and with
a dollars worth of quarters

popped into the slot
you can choose

happiness
sadness
or the candy bar

wrapped
in silver and gray
what was it called

Zero
 Sep 2
Nigdaw
a butterflies wings
a child's laughter
a prayer for ever after
a day without sunshine
a tomorrow without hope
a **** on some bad dope
a door that's left open
a scream unspoken
a picture untaken
or a cup left
unwashed
on a draining board
next to a dishwasher
 Sep 1
Nylee
I saw a lizard, and it saw wild fear
I took two steps back, lizard took too many
I wanted him out, but he could only go within
Going across, around, felt somehow bound
I wanted to ease the unease I saw
But the steps forward to help, made him more restless
He was trapped, he knew and I did too
I kept a newspaper angled to his escape but no exit happened while I stared
So the only way to help, I shut the lights off and went in my room
Came ten minutes later, lizard nowhere to be seen
Nobody knows where he currently is,
I just don't want to be the fear someone feels.
 Sep 1
Kiki Dresden
Infidelity (noun) \ ˌin-fə-ˈdel-ət-ē \
Betrayal of a vow. Or whispered otherwise, the first time Coyote tasted the salt of my wrist, when lightning seemed to have waited to arrive. Grandmother would call it shadow-marriage, the reminder that paper rings and courthouse oaths cannot bind the spirit. It flowers soft and fragrant, sweet as mesquite after rain.

Myth (noun) \ ˈmith \
A traditional story, especially one natural or social phenomena. Or in another tongue, to be called Inanna while pulling my hair back, as if the goddess herself had crawled from shadow to breathe on his neck. I laugh because I’m no goddess- just a woman with cracked nails and unpaid bills. Still, myth enters flesh like fever, and we burn until the walls drip with story.

Body (noun) \ ˈbä-dē \
The physical vessel. Or in broken voice, the altar on which every promise is tested. My body knows what paper cannot: the way desire bruises, the way grief leaves its thumbprint. Flesh remembers long after the mind has lied itself clean.

Eros (noun) \ ˈer-ˌäs \
Passionate love. Or named differently, a hunger that follows, like a stray through desert parking lots, its tongue bright with need. Eros offers scraps, sometimes nothing, and still I remain, hollow with wanting, certain one day I will eat from his palm. He is no child, he comes like a jackal-god- wild, luminous, not easily bound.

Pulchritude (noun) \ ˈpəl-krə-ˌtüd \
Beauty. Or carried on another breath, the ache. I see him sketching a body not mine, tracing hips that could belong to any girl at the bus stop. I know beauty is a weapon sharpened against me. Still, in his eyes I find fragments- cheekbones my father gave me, hair dark as my mother’s shame- briefly holy, before the mirror cuts again.

Unravel (verb) \ ˌən-ˈra-vəl \
To come undone. Or in another telling, the way every thread between us shivers like a web in prairie wind- fragile, trembling, already near to breaking. Spider Grandmother whispers that love weaves and unweaves in the same breath. The art lies in knowing when to let the strands snap, and when to hold fast, even as your hands begin to bleed.
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