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Equality was
with a
delay in
time made
this inuit  
but trade  
"dreep" in
creep was
morning came
with a
price as
scrupulous but
time ahead
is autistic
in their
thunder game
o'er mercury
Lilli Sutton Apr 4
Honey on the table
or spilled out –
whatever keeps the fruit flies
coming back.
We went above the river
to see the flood water rising;
it has rained all winter
and now the blue sky feels unnatural.

We used to dream about Washington,
and you’d tell me not to worry
about the gray skies or the rain.
I survived one week in rainforests
and glacial rivers. It has never felt
like enough – maybe we’ll move
to the same town and live on opposite streets.

Lately I have snapped in pieces of the puzzle
but the closer I get to finishing,
the less I want to – there is an answer
in a place too deep to reach.

My whole body has been sick
and I pretend I don’t know the reason –
you said you’d take whatever I would give
so is it wrong of me to give you less –
I don’t know how to quantify the guilt I carry.

Maybe I’ll sell all my belongings,
head west, to a cabin in the forest
and when people look for me
all they’ll hear is the howling of the wind.
maggie W Feb 12
It almost feels like summer,
breeze at the dusk, killing mosquitoes.
It feels like
Taking a stroll on National Mall,
On a summer night in front of Lincoln Memorial.
Playing Frisbee riding bike
On the meadow in front of the Capitol.

My summer in the capital
With you, him and her and them and myself alone

It feels like the humidity in the swamp, with jazz playing in the background
It smells like crab cake and french toast, out from the diners I frequent
It looks like the summer sky, cloudless, your eyes

The meadow the ducks, summer dress and birkenstock.
Brunch, breeze and bike, followed by more bike rides along the riverfront.

Sitting on the marble stairs of the Supreme Court
Dipping toes in Reflection Pool

Summer in D.C. oh how I much do I miss you and adore
Summer is a state of mind and so does love
But you never fail to give me the feelings of those above.xxoo
love letter to dc, ode to summer
I say
Like I deserve all the attention the world has to give

What'd you do today?
I reply
Like there's a grand scheme that's hidden behind locked doors

Oh nice, what for?
Oh what?
No one wants to talk to you?
******* for saying that to me
To me...

Narcissistic hero
And his friend
The antagonist
Crossed paths in the chat window today

Friends are more like enemies
Because I keep them close
It's not right, it's not right
Always making friends of my foes

It's not right, it's not right
And they're right to be upset
At the narcissistic hero
Whose story isn't over yet

And his friend the antagonist
Postured neatly, types away
All their problems and what
Does the narcissist say?

******* for friendship
And ******* for my problems
I'm sorry I snapped
Now what's YOUR problem

And it flips over
And I'm back again

I say
Bukowski said
You can't beat death
You can beat death in life, sometimes

And I know that
I've always known that
We all always know that
But fog is thick when the storm comes
When lightning blinds the eyes of
Those that are out looking
For their runaway pet or a shelter to hide under
But lightning is still a light
In the dark
There's a blindingly bright flash
And so storms
Are new courage to me
If I don't succumb to the elements
Those blinding lights in the sky
Can show me shelter
And I'll find it
You'll find it
And the storm will pass
Clouds will go from black to grey
And when you find it
Hold it close, ******

Because like Bukowski said
You can't beat death
You can beat death in life, sometimes
I saw a dead baby bird on the ground one day as a kid. It had fallen from its nest much too soon and must have died upon impact. Or maybe it died in the nest and fell afterwards. That's mortality. That's fragility. That's a god ****** metaphor for everything. And nature beat me to the punch.
Time is a man
Whose suit doesn't fit him quite right
Who has a cat that sleeps with him nearly every night
Time is a woman
Who questions the name she was given at birth
And paces in circles through her kitchen until 2 am
Time is a child
Who was once young but is now hiding in laughter
Behind pints in a dingy bar
Time is an orchestra
Whose sheet music blew away in the wind
And is relying on memory to take its place
Time is a *******
Of willful regret and sinful inaction
Of brow furled unease and gleeful distraction

So I wait, you wait, and we all wait.
Time will make us as we're meant to be
The religious and academic minds bicker
For time is the cause of reason
And the cause of joy
And sadness
And despair
And everything else

Time is a man with nothing on his mind
And with empty pockets
That he says are full of ungranted wishes
Like a little sack of joy purchased on a street corner

And time is in us all and we are of it
So make of that as you will
And I asked him, I said,
"What was the first thought you had as a child?"
"You know, before consciousness took hold?"
He looked at me confused in the mirror
"What was the first thought you had when you woke up this morning?"
He uttered in reply
****** out to deafen the thoughts of
Situations replaying in my head
I said and I meant every one of those words
In these imaginary scenarios
That never happen, a circumstance of my action or inaction
This is a breaking news headline
One insignificant man thinks he's dying
And now he's crying and calling up his friends
To complain, always the same, always out of luck and out of his mind
I swear to god this **** runs thick
Like every chance I get I hop on board
And then get told to get back off and wait my turn
It's a pain, and I get used to it sometimes
But I'd be lying if I said it ain't still a crying shame
When I get in line on time but still miss the train...
Of thought is off track again, back in
Unhealthy places and I know it's not right
How I'm never comfortable
With the comfortable and lay awake at night
At 2 am, 3 am, 4 am, and the sun's up again
I guess it's time
To pick myself up for another round
A cage match, nothing but fists
And I'm on myself again, boy am I winning this time
Where was I going with this?
Wait where am I at now?
****, man, if that isn't a metaphor for how I've been living my life
It's done, poems up, everyone go home
**** the butterflies while they're still caterpillars
Because they might just be moths in the end
That live for nothing more than soaking in your light
And beating their heads and wings against the bulb until it goes out

**** the optimism that we're all born with
Because it'll sink underground with you one day
And the people, the mourners, they'll all gather to grieve
Reliving a dead man's struggles as if they were their own

**** your honesty because no absolutes exist in this world
No truth nor lie means anything more than you do
And you mean a lot, you know you mean so much
So **** the worries and **** the obligation you put on your poor soul

**** your heart and let it bleed dry just one more time, love
Because no tree ever grew without shedding a few leaves
No tower was ever built without a hole dug for a new foundation
So **** your past and even your present, but live on and embrace the unexpected
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