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Aug 28 · 26
oh honey
dana lee Aug 28
oh honey believe it, the greater good, the great beyond. wherein things get lost. wherein things are deemed ill. mentally. ill. unwell. you can’t seem to turn that frown upside down. to a smile. you suggest it but you aren’t sure what it means. you’re able to explain it in simple terms. that you take your mouth, curl it up one side at a time.
if you can manage to turn each side up equally, well, that’d be spectacular, that’d be something, that’d be the smile everyone believes.
Aug 28 · 21
For Safety
dana lee Aug 28
If you’re going to crash the plane
Crash it over water
So I can swim to the shore
Collect my propeller sword
To chop off the hands of thieves
Who have theories of how the plane has crashed in the first place
Jun 24 · 212
who will be my mother
dana lee Jun 24
glass jars aren't safe anymore so we'll throw them all away

forgetting the words for that thing
in that place
that keeps everything cold

chips but they aren't chips
the see through white cereal
that place we went where they had the big and little things

watching her blink, and wonder what will disappear next

the softest bits of brain hardening
turning black, burning
ash separating and slowly floating up

found deep in the woods by vultures circling above

sent from god, they said
god in the form of vultures helped us find her
god is good

"when do you think I'll die?" she asked
"how long do you think I have?"

and I think, who will be my mother
Jun 13 · 67
the beach at sunset
dana lee Jun 13
the zipper waves open and close
move side to side
they break
they surf
they sing
remind you that they can rip (take)
take the children with them
as the last of the pink clouds leave
they roll out as you roll in
turns the tye dye sky from cotton candy purples
to an inky grey
a scrolling search
that stays
that says
rain, lightening, thunder
its coming, its here
you better switch your suit
play your cards
call what's trump
or lose her to the magic
of imagination
of chants and spells cast by little girls
who sit (squat) on the edge of the water
directly in the path of the setting sun
arms raised, summoning the wind that whips their hair
manifesting waves
digging holes in wet sunken sand
burying rocks, twigs, shells and broken bits of beak

— The End —