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Julia Oct 2015
desperate air
& every piece of body,
named on countless charts
in countless schoolroom closets
but only felt to me
in shimmers of springs
& soft running steps
on moss & oak leaves,
trembles & thrives in the space
between roots.
I feel it when there is wind
in the valley of the small of
the back of the adolescent cedar,
& unpolished beetles play me
twilight nocturnes in hopes
that I will break out of
silk fetters into the
dense of August to be
no one but myself.
  Feb 2015 Julia
Charles Bukowski
the house next door makes me
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are

the house next door makes me
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not

but the price is

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.
Julia Jul 2014
A body
three times
every 7 years, they say.
Julia Jul 2014
Below, blades are not
safe from snooping golden glares.
And at night, the moon.
Komorebi - Japanese word for when sunlight filters through the trees.
Julia Jun 2014
The difference between
those old mustard stains
and Jackson *******.
Julia Jun 2014
Resign to me, give in.

let me live in the shakes of your
let me revel
in the trembles of
pupils dilating
fingers grasping

make eye contact

shiver deeply beneath me

let me
  Jun 2014 Julia
Matsuo Bashō
Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
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