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 Mar 2014 jude rigor
wolf mother
if i was a twig
maybe i'd be able to sleep

trunks are fussy
roots are cumbersome
and you, you are but the smallest bud
a dying breed, a life everlasting
see-saw my wood-rot rings
and make a use for me, will you?

i am nothing but oldwivestales and folk songs
with long-forgotten lyrics
and misread meanings

misdiagnosed
misused
mistaken for
missed
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
Akemi
doe
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
Akemi
doe
Bright eyes, all
your little worries
transcend thought,
to movements
of soul and body.
6:06pm, March 19th 2013

Sometimes, you seem so sad. I truly wonder why.
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
L
getting better but not quite,
still plagued with nothing good to write,
string me up like a flying kite,
because this low, i long for height.

but now that i'm coming down,
oh hush please you're far too loud,
head is aching like i'm in a crowd,
pressure temple crown,
ow.
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
L
it's too late to eat,
that's too much to eat,
that's too little to eat,
why don't you eat?
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
hkr
i'm sick of being miserable
i just wanna exist for awhile.
they keep asking me about college and i'm laughing because they honest to god believe i want to be trapped in a classroom for another four years.
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
ba
may your body lay completely still as you're so calmly in the position that let my incorporeal being become a living apparition but i'm afraid i can't stay and i'll leave the way i came with your window curtains blowing in the breeze and your feet barely sticking out from your blanket. the night is as dark as day and i'm colder in your grasp than i ever was drowning, and if i reside into an ocean, please don't tell the moon where i've been. tides will turn into cyclones and hurricanes will erupt volcanoes and i pray that no amount of destruction should wake up the thing i wish to touch the most. to whatever god who watches me during my nomadic and agitated disclosure, i hope he sees wind in your pillow sheets and the sound of cracked branches against their own brethren, falling to their death upon wooden decks; one might say, coming back home. if i reside into an ocean, just don't tell the moon where i want to go. you dream of places so far from reach that your fingers feel them on typewriter keys and doorknobs you wish you could open. i see locations off of the perimeter of your coastal psyche and i'm lost on beaches with trees as rivers and the sky as the only familiarity ground that i've ever known to walk on. nothing happens when your blood is rushing and your feet are moving if you have no sense of direction in the currents if you're not swimming and most certainly if you're not drowning. if you reside into an ocean, i'm never going to sail your seas and find what i've been missing. the pool you're creating inside your stomach leaving way to millions of tiny mementos in your pit, and you're still trying to convince yourself that you haven't been dreaming past your third birthday. blue doesn't ever want to see red but it seems to be just fine intermixing the two to a hybrid vermilion from under your skin and if you think that is going to make any significant difference under trenches larger than your mind then **** it, if you reside into an ocean, the moon better not know where you intend to go.
wake up. you’re suffocating again.
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
hkr
i have not felt good in a long time
so i would like to rest, if that's alright
just rest until i feel better
and i want to rest alone,
because if i don't
i may be distracted or self-conscious
and i know i'm just asking
to be cold
but i thought perhaps
every few days
you could open the window
and kiss my forehead
to remind me what
warmth feels like
and that this is not
an eternal slumber.
 Mar 2014 jude rigor
Korey Miller
two a.m.
bitter winter wind.
lick the bag. acrid taste.
cold crawls in through windows cracked.
it's snowing in the attic.

angel hair on porcelain, oh point one.
frost blankets my nostrils,
my brain sharp as first step's breath.
i lighten.

ravenous, dip fingers in nourishment.
place on tongue: cleaning agent pixie stick.
it eminates. bright-light vigor emulates
childlike mindset, so wonderfully overwhelmed
yet standing still, rock-steady at the helm.
confidence swells.

the clock chimes. kneel this time
for the second line, a second taste.
dismissive sniff, as in a tiff.
oh point two; can't feel my face.

icicles melt, drip burning down my throat.
slick grotto-hands tap feverishly.
butane blisters nasal caverns.
i grin from the thrill of its bite.
alert, i bathe in every second of it.

much more for sentiment than any practicality,
would rather see beauty than this sorry reality-
would rather build castles than stay on the ground,
cause it's snowing now up in the clouds.
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