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Cristina Relange Aug 2014
I have emotions
that are like newspapers that
read themselves.

I go for days at a time
trapped in the want ads.

I feel as if I am an ad
for the sale of a haunted house:
18 rooms
I’m yours
ghosts and all.
- Richard Brautigan
Not an original poem. Work written by Richard Brautigan.
Cristina Relange Jun 2014
You see, my dear,
the world is
a kaleidoscope
of desires
and you’re just
a little blue dot  
on the inside,
looking out.
Cristina Relange Jun 2014
smoke lazily climbing up
from your cigarette,
you mindlessly gaze across the table.
our eyes meet;
the misplaced spark jumps
from the green plastic
in your hand.

"we are simply caught between
the greedy hunger of
yes yes yes
and the bitter pinpricks of
no no no,"
you tell me.

i sound my response
with an invented cough;
the waiter
puts it out
with a frosty
glass of water.
Cristina Relange Jun 2014
I place my head in my hands.
I feel the weight of
crushing black
held back by
delicate dams,
the flicking
of thoughts
against my palms,
the ebb and flow
of heat on my wrists.

I am alive.
Cristina Relange May 2014
At the wake of this tragedy,
you can’t tell the difference.
Cancer? Infection? Sadness? Bullets?
Ask the mother; she knows.

In the wake of this tragedy,
you can taste the difference.
Our people die this way.
Your people die that way.

The Berlin Wall may be
black and white,
but tears
are as clear as day.
Cristina Relange May 2014
The god of present tense
pushed the river along,
past the naked trees
and the quiet leaves
and the washed out trail
his sister sun
poured streams of
warm bright over it all.
"winter isn’t death,"
she said.
"winter is waiting."
Cristina Relange May 2014
You are shore
and I am sea.
Our constant
can’t you
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