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Heather Ann Oct 2018
maybe we could go to the river?
you don't have to remember what it felt like--
sizzling against the rain.
today i am lonely,
ticking in time with a broken clock.
entering a state of breaking daylight
lingering in the middle of february,
until it burns.
Heather Ann Oct 2018
i want you
i want you
i want you
a delicacy--
a vision,
my epiphany.
you are starlight;
i am a fraction of the sun
and we
in our own catastrophic collision
Heather Ann Oct 2018
the ache of your eyelids,
from the weight of staring at the sun
filling up with a hint of blood.
they danced in my visions
those of my own hallucinations
where some days i felt so lonely
i dreamt so hard i felt fuzzy.
i saw what i wished i could see,
no longer behind a glass screen.
i could see double
and hold hands with myself
to try and keep my fear out.
Heather Ann Oct 2018
1; fear will not **** you, but it can eat you alive and make your insides rot.

2;you must allow yourself to thaw before you can melt--the cold was meant to allow you to feel your own heartbeat. don't ignore it

3; you are alive, even if just barely. make sure to lift your eyes to the sun to know that it still shines even amongst the dark.

4; breathe in with your nose and out through your mouth. you are a passageway for ancestral air and you should take that responsibility seriously.

5; your blood is not special, nor is it ordinary.

6; it is only by chance that you are here. a line of perfectly timed decisions birthed you--remember why you're here.

7; look at the mountains. they were here before you and will be long after you're gone. one day you will become the air that surrounds it.

8; you can lose your footing, but don't despair. sometimes you fall into a new path and it's like breathing in clarity you've never once known.

9; listen to what you're body tells you, it knows you better than you think.

10; when everything turns to dust remember you have the ability to start over. it cannot harm you to wipe the slate clean
Heather Ann Oct 2018
tuscan summers,
wearing paisley and plaid,
barefoot amongst the wildflowers.

i would wear my wedding gown
in the backyard,
with our babies growing up on the front porch.

we had free range
underneath northern, starry skies--
taking trips to the mountains.

my books would be stacked
against the ivy
that crawled up the walls.

slow mornings,
crawling like molasses
out of the rickety screen door.

i would give up modernity
just to melt in the snow,
growing like weeds through
the cracks of your bone marrow.
Heather Ann Oct 2018
and we all fall down;
twisted tunnels of temptation,
in the depths of our own insanity.
it's easier to rip the seams of time
with our bare hands
when we see through
glassy eyes.
the revving engines of impatience,
hearing future echoes of ambulances--
mourning taste buds looking for
a drop,
to quench the thirst
of someone that can't seem to swallow enough.
Heather Ann Oct 2018
give me a call when you can:
when you get the chance
or when you wake up, when you have the time--
any one of those three.

9 o'clock,
channel number 57 on your T.V.,
don't call me back.

hey babe,
i just had a question.
no rush to answer it.

i need six letters...
gimme a call.

i want you to remember...

i figured out what i was going to ask you.
i know you're available,
i know you're available.

the phones working again--
i'd like to throw it through the window
but i can't afford a new window.

i wish you'd pick up your phone,
if it's thunder and lightning,
stay out of the cellar.

please call me back.

call me when you get home--
i know you're available.

could you give me a call back?

bye bye.
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