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#memphis
Your voice is honey slipping down my throat, my skin prickling as you lay your claim— not once, but a thousand times. It’s always the same rush, the same familiar high. I touched your hand for the first time as you drove us into the dark, lit only by passing streetlights. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of something I still can’t name.I soak in your every word. I want to wear them on my skin, taste them whenever I breathe. Everything else stings in comparison— the buzzing in my ears, a small sacrifice. You lean in to whisper a story, your breath warm against my neck. My sweat clings to your skin, and I drink you in, sweet as honey sliding down my throat. The humid Memphis night keeps me guessing.
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Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC
The Sting
We're but two drunks laughing in the rain. Memphis is a city like any other. The rain falls and slinks into the potholes. Whatever secrets that are hidden surface and shine with every drop that falls. What's the fun of staying dry? The rain mixed with the sweat of our skin. When you kiss me, I feel the beads of rain fall harder, my heart a puddle that catches every drop, caught in wet embrace. We may be drunk, me more so than you. Even if lightning slices through the clouds, and the rain begins to come down even harder. What's the fun of staying dry? Every street leads somewhere, even if the sky tears itself open and the world becomes a blur. I am a drunk fool, laughing outside in the rain with you
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Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 12:53 AM UTC
Rain with You
# *River running.. That rushing sound in these parts spell out the words, crystal-clear.. Tree-lined banks, giving way to the Dark Hills,  upslope Giving way,  to granite-rocked outcroppings giving way to  elk-hidden quakeys Surrendering their holy-huddle's pristine stances to tall  prairie-grass, waving wild raspberries  and tall pines     And I,  myself..      am surrendering also She is watching the water, believing That as it flows, she will not lose herself in it That it will not steal,  but heal That I will not  rage again within my fear I am watching her, watch the water I am watching the water--  believing That as I give  of myself further  into the flow that I will not become  diffused by humanity By the love  of man and all  of its dishonesty and all  of its  diabolical treachery Of its  lack of concern, or understanding Or ability to break through its own,  self-centeredness Or its need  to swallow me up     into the mundane. Her hands are in the air now, praising.. Worshipping the true nature  of the flow, Believing.. that I will let all of this, go And as she  wades in I ease, back-- Retreating up the Dark Hills, slope Clutching tightly.. To granite-rocked outcroppings,   weeping. Hiding in the quakeys, among the majestic elk Begging for the tallgrass, cover among the wild raspberries.    Now, fully concealed    in  tall pines. Her hands are stretched out,  now.. as if hovering  over the waters, participating While I hide  from it all While I hide,  from humanity; From the fallen,  love of man     She is wading in,     Believing .     As I am leaving; Believing     As the cloud-hidden sky,     starts raining-- playing the most incredible, of tunes.* #
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Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 8:01 PM UTC
the art of Salvation
# *River running.. That rushing sound in these parts spell out the words, crystal-clear.. Tree-lined banks, giving way to the Dark Hills,  upslope Giving way,  to granite-rocked outcroppings giving way to  elk-hidden quakeys Surrendering their holy-huddle's pristine stances to tall  prairie-grass, waving wild raspberries  and tall pines     And I,  myself..      am surrendering also She is watching the water, believing That as it flows, she will not lose herself in it That it will not steal,  but heal That I will not  rage again within my fear I am watching her, watch the water I am watching the water--  believing That as I give  of myself further  into the flow that I will not become  diffused by humanity By the love  of man and all  of its dishonesty and all  of its  diabolical treachery Of its  lack of concern, or understanding Or ability to break through its own,  self-centeredness Or its need  to swallow me up     into the mundane. Her hands are in the air now, praising.. Worshipping the true nature  of the flow, Believing.. that I will let all of this, go And as she  wades in I ease, back-- Retreating up the Dark Hills, slope Clutching tightly.. To granite-rocked outcroppings,   weeping. Hiding in the quakeys, among the majestic elk Begging for the tallgrass, cover among the wild raspberries.    Now, fully concealed    in  tall pines. Her hands are stretched out,  now.. as if hovering  over the waters, participating While I hide  from it all While I hide,  from humanity; From the fallen,  love of man     She is wading in,     Believing .     As I am leaving; Believing     As the cloud-hidden sky,     starts raining-- playing the most incredible, of tunes.* #
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Of Civilization and Disenchantment by Michael R. Burch Suddenly uncomfortable to stay at my grandfather's house ― actually his third new wife's, in her daughter's bedroom ― one interminable summer with nothing to do, all the meals served cold, even beans and peas... Lacking the words to describe ah! , those pearl-luminous estuaries ― strange omens, incoherent nights. Seeing the flares of the river barges illuminating Memphis, city of bluffs and dying splendors. Drifting toward Alexandria, Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser's fertile delta, lands at the beginning of a new time and "civilization." Leaving behind sixty miles of unbroken cemetery, Alexander's corpse floating seaward, bobbing, milkwhite, in a jar of honey. Memphis shall be waste and desolate, without an inhabitant. Or so the people dreamed, in chains. Published by The Centrifugal Eye and The Centrifugal Eye Fifth Anniversary Anthology. Keywords/Tags: Memphis, river, barges, bluffs, Alexandria, Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser, Alexander, waste, desolate
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Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
Of Civilization and Disenchantment
In my city Things get the liveliest after dark. A song in itself, with lowered vocals. The kind of song you put on & just drive to. The kind of song you hold your head up to. Whether night or day. In my city The buildings & bridges like to dress up. Coming to life at night. Some smoke cigarettes. Blowing O rings to the clouds. Some wear their necklaces made of light. Draped in gray and beige, pants to match. In my city You can find the everlasting lyrics on just about every corner. A song in itself, with lowered vocals Blared loud a city of rhythm & blues
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Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
In My City
When we all go to Memphis, we spread Ludington sand in Matt’s flower beds, like somebody died, and a silence falls as we let the sand sift through our fingers like ashes. It smells like Michigan, like seashells and ***** lake water, and it drowns out the construction workers making new-money houses. Instead of funeral hymns, we’re blanketed by sawdust and cigarette smoke. We sip and savor Evan Williams and for once, none of us speaks. Our veins light on fire from the whiskey, and our souls share a collective ache, like our bodies are made from some sort of symbiotic cell. After The Spreading Of The Sand, we go to a haunted bar where entry is a password, where there’s a frown of a front door, and the exposed brick walls reek of the dead girls upstairs. I think, This is Memphis, a very loud city with louder secrets – the overpowering shadow spreading its fingers in all her corners, silent until she swallows you whole. Memphis realigns your center – a snap of the blues, a crack of whiskey and, all of a sudden, things run much more smoothly. Memphis, she’s known as the City on the Bluff, a place where summer storms split at the river, don’t reconvene ‘til east of Arlington. Her protection, it’s always there. Like DNA shared among siblings, blood is always thicker here in her quarters. Memphis, she tells me I should’ve kicked Worry to the curb all along. Memphis, she keeps her people safe.
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Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 7:34 PM UTC
Ashes from Michigan
Im naked and exposed, My vulnerabilities taking hold. But I have no bounds, I knew this when I fell. For his aura lured me in, His beautiful soul caught hold of mine. For we were pulled together by invisable twine. Ravelled, but I could have broke free. For it was where I wanted to be, where I wanted to stay. Blinded by his memphis, Locked in by his gaze. Just for one sweet moment, be entangled in one anothers love. For love it was. But love it couldnt be. For you didn't belong to me, I had to set you free. The right love, at the wrong time. Maybe in another life you would have been mine. But for now I'll just wonder, I'll wonder what could have been.
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Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
A Love I Should Have Known
Just jumping in. Everything comes to a halt. The first few moments don't seem as bad. Depending on length. The line of cars. In a sea of metal Something wow happens. Metal crashes into metal. Causally passing by. Everyone is okay. Making sure to see what happened They drop speed. The police attempt to make it through to the scene. Little to no debris. No never-mind to the expensive cars brought to a halt. The Mercedes Benz, the Porsche out of place slow moving along. A Black Nissan Sentra with two kids playing in the backseat. The other side is free to go as they please. Compared to most places this is nothing. Try New York. Atlanta. Texas to name a few. You just jump in, moving from point A to B. Life is admittedly too short to walk a great distance. A two car pileup a few miles ahead. Bumper to bumper no one gives space to breathe. A Cadillac honks in frustration. The Black Nissan honks back in attempt to get over. Inching closer to maneuver it's way in front. After everyone takes a glance at the pileup. Traffic is back to normal. The two kids continue to play like nothings happened
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May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
Traffic In Memphis
I pick her flower that our furnace wouldn't inhibit May with her caveat that this winter really corners any merchant cavities allure then made sweet dear wine in Hawaiian orbit in days of yore
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Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:06 AM UTC
Graham
I am Woman that is certain But what makes me unique Join me on this journey as I peel away the layers and look further than skin deep I AM Wife and Lover I AM Mother and Grandmother I AM Daughter and Sister I AM Aunty and Niece I AM Goddaughter and Godmother I AM Runner and Walker I AM Listener and Talker I AM Reader and Writer I AM Settler and Traveller I AM Serious and Funny I AM Sociable and Discreet I AM Reliable and Dependable I AM Cold and Heat I AM Fun and Loving I AM Kind and Giving I AM Generous and Mean I AM Nervous and Calm I AM Supportive and Demanding I AM Giver and Taker I AM Lover and Fighter I AM Adventurous and Squeamish I AM Slow and Fast I AM the Future and the Past I AM Classless and Class I AM Familiar and Unique I AM **** and Desirable I AM Small and Curvy I AM Smart and Sassy I AM Happy and Sad I AM Rich and Poor I AM Foolish and Wise I AM Lucky and UnLucky I AM Courageous and Weak I AM the sum of all my parts, I AM ME from my skin to my heart. Who are you?
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Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
I AM WOMAN
324 square miles and 94 vacant we build up our city to great lengths but the majority of our population poor, impoverished black families cannot afford to eat at a tapas bar art gallery
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Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
Memphis Steaming
Memphis got real high in the 50's. Those honeycomb bathroom floors decided to become streets them city kids got the buy bug knocking at their knees. Problem is: They never dream. Teachers just learning to write using pens filled with interrupting ink telephone poles gossiping about the trees, they hated their branches—always loosing their leaves office administrators on Section 8 Housing while the vacant houses are out on the streets. People swarming the sewers forgetting: a bomb shelter is no home while drainage floods the alleys. If you could see this place with your own eyes and not the ones you bought at the drug store you would wish you were blind.
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Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
A Bomb Shelter Is No Home