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 Jul 2017 Styles 12
matilda shaye
I
have
writers
block
but
I
want
to
write
that

isnt

fair
 Jul 2017 Styles 12
AllAtOnce
Today I thought about texting you
I thought
And I thought
And thought

And so I sent a word,
The kind of word that breaks things
And starts them
And then I thought, "maybe not."

Maybe you got a new phone number
And maybe you're out of data
Because your stupid uncle used it all
Again
And I hate that I know that
I fumble
Again

Maybe this makes me selfish
Because I have thought about you
A lot
And thought
And thought
But reaching out was maybe a mistake
Or maybe not

But I want you to know that I thought
And I thought
And thought
And five minutes later
Without a response
I still thought, "or not."
Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.

Dawn in New York groans
on enormous fire escapes
searching between the angles
for spikenards of drafted anguish.

Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because morning and hope are impossible there:
sometimes the furious swarming coins
penetrate like drills and devour abandoned children.

Those who go out early know in their bones
there will be no paradise or loves that bloom and die:
they know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
in mindless games, in fruitless labors.

The light is buried under chains and noises
in the impudent challenge of rootless science.
And crowds stagger sleeplessly through the boroughs
as if they had just escaped a shipwreck of blood.
 Jul 2017 Styles 12
Rogue
Tempest
 Jul 2017 Styles 12
Rogue
Every storm has an eye
But this certain storm
is in her eyes
Dark clouds fogged up her vision
a rain of tears flooded the lid
a sudden streak of light—
the lightning, perhaps,
flaunted; illuminating the abyss within
and there emerged her piercing scream
weaving through the gorging dusk—
which is a thunder of her own

And she spread her arms
as the night breeze kissed her face
she jumped; she fly
only to realize that
she's not an angel
nor a bird
nor a butterfly
and so she fell
yet amidst the free fall,
she unraveled her tangled knots
from there, she lost her pain
but she fell on the ground
like a fine drop of rain.

And the storm has ended.
 Jul 2017 Styles 12
serpentinium
i. once upon a time, there were old gods and new gods. under crumbling archways the divine and the cursed share cigarettes, lighters cupped in their hands. rain pours relentlessly from the heavens, falling to the uneven cobblestone in a sheen of silver spears and smoke. this time, nothing but prayers are shed.

ii. this is their communion: an errant hand brushes against the marbled form of Hades, rowboats rock harmlessly to the temple of Asclepius, feet shuffle across the white line and into the holy land. it is in these moments that solitude begets peace.

iii. angels tuck in their tired wings, roosting on bridges and cathedrals and alleyway corners spun with ivy. amongst themselves they count the crowds that take shelter in their shadows. every day, the numbers swell until even the loneliest of the celestial feel a warmth in their gilded chests.

iv. these same seneschals pour life through golden urns, as they had done eons before the she-wolf who nursed the founders of Roma was ever born. water flows steadily from all four rivers and through the eagle-face spics that dot the roads, blessed by frail, rosary-stained hands. even the Tiber, full of harsh currents and deep embankments, softens under the touch of a child at a fountain. life flourishes. the gods smile.

v. once upon a time, i met these cursed and divine and celestial beings. all lived together in a city as old as time itself, in a city born from clay, then wrought with brick, and finished in marble. and in this place of impossibilities, i found my heart.
.
.

i found my home
i spent six weeks in rome and nothing will ever compare.
 Jul 2017 Styles 12
spartan73
I am the river
Running deep
We swam together
In an island dream
In shallow, lilting waters
With the sun on our backs

We were the river
Running deep
Shadowed by
Troubled-turbulence
10 bittersweet years

We kept the faith
The love
The passion brief
But the river ran too deep
Too troubling still

I'm now the river
Calm after before the storm
He's still the river
Running strong.
#loveLost
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