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"sifting" poems
The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass, Came dazzling around, into the rocks, Came glinting, sifting from the Americas To possess Aran. Or did Aran rush to throw wide arms of rock around a tide That yielded with an ebb, with a soft crash? Did sea define the land or land the sea? Each drew new meaning from the waves' collision. Sea broke on land to full identity.
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26.5k
Lovers on Aran
Last night I cried myself to sleep thinking about you, the ********** chemistry that we used to share over the midnight campfire, our sleek bodies rising in passion with each bursting flame, deep shifting fingers pressed up against thick sheets, as our ankles and thighs harmonized and smiled, glossy green eyes filled with lust and immense thoughts.  Your soul was calling out to me in the nighttime sky, vibrant skin sifting inside timeless climaxes and rewinds, shimmering lights and hypnotic gleams, an ocean of water and poetry gliding on booming beats.  The world began to sink inside our romance, the horniness of our hot flesh sizzling in sparking temptations, deep designs and glimmering patterns.  And as our nations made music over earth’s creation, brilliant escapes and captivating depths, you were the magnificent star inside my kingdom, the purest existence that could illuminate the fire inside eyes.
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Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
********** Chemistry
My mentor spoke to me of two rivals, Once, they had been friends in some distant past. But the years have eaten their love and made grudges manifest. |The two shattered into broken glass To my wise master I asked only one, One question... In all my range. One question I asked: “What changed?” In the outskirts, at the home of my daughter Where you can stare at the stars or passing cars None more brighter than the other, We share memories of my grandmother. In the photographs, she looks so much younger. Not frail, but a fighter, lover and saintly| To me, she asks plainly, One question, and one question only. Sifting through the ages of years past: “What Changed?” At the kitchen table, feeling inadequate, My lover screaming and frustrated, I recall memories when we had been intimate. Times when movement was made for desire and not duty |A calendar of nights left in confused abstinence I interrupt. She delays rage. I beg, “What Changed?” _ In the last few hours of night The dawn reaches me at last. I had locked moments- Literal seconds of time as the truth. But it was always changing In flux and morphing. Turning into something new Just for a moment, and then on again “What Changed?” Everything. Always.
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Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
What Changed?
Ah, the season of gifting. Antagonist of year-long thrifting. Tradition sadistic, Materialistic, Four quarters in pockets worth sifting. This year I hereby proclaim I shan’t be consumed by the game. Cycle of curse Purpose perverse The namesake, an oversight became. Christ’s birth did in fact begin, Holiday distracted by sin. Misguided it be To forget idly The sacrifice He made for all men. We naively regard generosity As holiday’s behavioral piosity. But if dollars and cents Are the tools of offense Over shadow favor luminosity. Water in Africa is ***** American child in poverty. Politics aside, Convenient homicide, To enable the ills of society. In the global economy we flaunt Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt. First world problems abound Pass the turkey around Central heating and air, what a jaunt! What if this season we decide To extend two palms open wide? Sacrificing ourselves Rather than stocking our shelves Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.” Don’t spend your money on me this year. Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer. Instead know you can Distribute more than A snort, a lie, and a tear. (optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line) Snort of derision, Lies of provision, Tears, even true, Hardly subdue Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.
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Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Stewardship (a series of limericks)
In a bedroom in small-town Pennsylvania, you’ll find an unmade bed, a pile of clothes on the floor— clean but not folded, open drawers and dusty shelves, a desk in the corner of the room with pictures laid across it. When I caught my first fish at six. I held it at arm’s length by the fishing line to avoid the slimy scales, a frown on my face from being forced to sit silently in the cold. When my family went to Marco Island, my sister and I, sifting sand for the best seashells in our matching swimsuits and hats. Mom and dad’s fights forgotten in our fun. High school graduation posing with my best friend since first grade, diplomas in one hand and an extra cap held between us because not everyone survived all four years. Move-in day at college, sitting on my raised bed with a grey comforter and two decorative pillows the color of cotton candy. Sweat on my brow from southern humidity and moving furniture without the help of a father. The pictures are merely snapshots that lack the full story. How I learned what it meant for love to fall apart when I was eight years old. My sister warned me before it happened, told me what a divorce was. I mistook her for joking until they called us upstairs. Dad cried when they told us, but mom held her tears until the day he left. The sounds of her cries escaping from behind a closed door. “This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.” But that’s exactly what it meant. How I was taught by my father that love is conditional, and I repeatedly needed to prove myself through good grades and unquestioning obedience. Forced to stay home to spend time with the family, sitting wordlessly on the couch while he watched TV. Made guilty for wanting to spend time with friends because that somehow meant that I was a bad daughter. It’s funny—I never asked myself if he was a good father. If you look harder at the bedroom, you’ll find journals filled with bitter words, screws from disassembled pencil sharpeners, loose razors, and Aquaphor, food wrappers stuffed in hidden places, a closet brimming with junk and pairs of shoes, evidence of a story untold. Until you.
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Sep 20, 2023
Sep 20, 2023 at 9:09 PM UTC
To Whom It May Concern:
In a bedroom in small-town Pennsylvania, you’ll find an unmade bed, a pile of clothes on the floor— clean but not folded, open drawers and dusty shelves, a desk in the corner of the room with pictures laid across it. When I caught my first fish at six. I held it at arm’s length by the fishing line to avoid the slimy scales, a frown on my face from being forced to sit silently in the cold. When my family went to Marco Island, my sister and I, sifting sand for the best seashells in our matching swimsuits and hats. Mom and dad’s fights forgotten in our fun. High school graduation posing with my best friend since first grade, diplomas in one hand and an extra cap held between us because not everyone survived all four years. Move-in day at college, sitting on my raised bed with a grey comforter and two decorative pillows the color of cotton candy. Sweat on my brow from southern humidity and moving furniture without the help of a father. The pictures are merely snapshots that lack the full story. How I learned what it meant for love to fall apart when I was eight years old. My sister warned me before it happened, told me what a divorce was. I mistook her for joking until they called us upstairs. Dad cried when they told us, but mom held her tears until the day he left. The sounds of her cries escaping from behind a closed door. “This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.” But that’s exactly what it meant. How I was taught by my father that love is conditional, and I repeatedly needed to prove myself through good grades and unquestioning obedience. Forced to stay home to spend time with the family, sitting wordlessly on the couch while he watched TV. Made guilty for wanting to spend time with friends because that somehow meant that I was a bad daughter. It’s funny—I never asked myself if he was a good father. If you look harder at the bedroom, you’ll find journals filled with bitter words, screws from disassembled pencil sharpeners, loose razors, and Aquaphor, food wrappers stuffed in hidden places, a closet brimming with junk and pairs of shoes, evidence of a story untold. Until you.
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51
Flamingo high, flamingo low, when flamingo stretchy-leggy, then flamingo grow. Cheeky beaking, shifty sifting, lifting up a flipper; notty neck and naughty pecks, while dancing with a kipper. Flaming heck and flaming Oh! Flaming flamingularonimo! I tango and flamenco and I imitate a swan, but this winking pink flamingo's blinking going going gone.
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Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
Flamingoing
Summer sun and car rides. We drive with Third Eye Blind and Oasis telling us where to go. Which beach do we jump on today? Doesn't matter, I'm counting the waves. We came, found that peace and left our stress. Sifting sand through laughter and digging holes with hands. What else could we ask for in life? That moment. Go find it. Let's get back there.
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Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Chasing Waves
. The waves spilled the rising tide back into the scattered footprints  in the sand deeply entrenched in life’s mystery, receding into every breaking wave A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand, elements of a larger object gathers, gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms— a beheld essence washed out to sea by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish; unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway slip away back to a windswept shoreline and elapsing summer tide Seabirds glide in slow-motion, held sway into the shapeless gusts — as if feathered puppets hovering, hanging from the rafters of the burgeoning orange sky There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance; effervescent crisp ocean air filling the indefinable emptiness marooned within each heartbeat’s echo Each new breath inhaled,  disappearing within the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed; fully aware this life is unholdable as time, yet feeling many things deeply retained     in each passing moment— slipping away like a handful of sand sifting through all these hands once held Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness, space that levitates like an unpredictable fog that seeps into the gnawing voids of an unsated hunger harlon rivers  ...  August 1st,  2018
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Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
a fistful of sand
Sun up till sun down Trapped in a perpetual frown Moon comes then she goes Drops free fall from my nose Waking hours in the daylight Aimless motions; clumsy, puppet-like Waking hours in the night Uncomfortable in my own skin and psych Sleeplessness be my companion Restlessness be my actions Despondence be my demon Crest fallen be my reason Frantically sifting through my head Vertically upright or supine in bed Compartmentalising might be key To fend off self inflicted insanity Desperation hangs overhead; ripe and bruised Excuses upon excuses ridiculously overused Furiously typing before my mind curds Hopes of finding peace in these unspoken words
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Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Desperation
Agreed, that love is attraction - though not only surface sensual, as you maintain, not only toward the external - But that sweet involuntary pull is also inward for expansion; for interior sifting and resolution. Love is primarily attraction to unexplored depths of the self. - fr
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Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
Reply
I write in the midnight corner of now and what is to come. Sifting through the ashes of the forgotten. I seek what I fail to find in a light I can scarcely see. The rain washes the sins from my skin so that the ones inside can bleed back out. My words catch the air with gentle, intense passion. I caress the broken cheek hoping to fix it and finding only myself more broken. I know not of what is to come but I can prepare myself with the ammunition of my past. The brittle autumn wind calms me with the vibrant colors of a dying world. My mind wanders into the absent recesses of my twisted imagination. The words I write copy the voices in my torn heartstrings. I lust for the cold rain fingers that embezzle my mind. My soul is painted with the bright blackness of a blackhole's laughter. There is a butterfly caged in my stomach and I'm too afraid to let it free. - - - When will I know that I've found rapture? ~S.C. Kelley
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Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
Rapture Among Darkness
From my spirit’s gray defeat, From my pulse’s flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault’s slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit’s sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
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7k
Refuge
Wake me when spring has sprung when the cold is gone, and skies no longer gray. Rouse me with the cries of birds a warm wind blown my way and a green light in the shade. Dress me in the blooming buds, Let butterflies be my lips, And raindrops as my eyes. Replace my heart with a shining star And fill my head with a soft white cloud. Drip the shine of morning in my veins And I'll have the fresh green grass for my hair. Take my bones for branches. Make my tears have a honey-suckle taste. My breath would be the pollen sifting through the air. Take me from my sleeping ground And lay me in the fresh cold stream. Wake me when spring is sprung, But until then, I'm going to sleep.
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Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Winter's End
I lay spread out on  My local shingle beach Letting the pebbles  Sift through my fingers I consider the myriad Shapes and forms they take. The varying rust Charcoal grey and mustard shades I set myself a mission In the multitudes That the sea brings to my feet I will find amongst the  Copious cobbles The ultimate pebble Perfect and pleasingly Quirky or smooth. I become so absorbed by  This sifting sorting  Comforting process  A simple quest I forget myself And my proximity to the waves  Until i am splashed  And soaked and  Have to vow to take up This valiant quest  Another day. Until then I have taken  Home a few shortlisted Candidates And made a promise to stand up when The winner is found And make a little trumpet Fanfare sound And hold the stone aloft!
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Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
Myriad (ode to pebbles)
I use this as a writing tool A freestyle flow to see me through I am just a simple M.A.N Filled with complicated sand Sifting through a hourglass I see the future in my past Feeling pain from my joy   I can create to destroy What is special? What is new? False is fake but what is true? Gather moments I've collected Seen only from my own perspective Words the fruit..I am the tree All is still a part of me So go ahead take a bite Feel my soul as I write These words to help me understand As I walk this path..lay a plan Take you to another place Where no one is trying to win the race Sister and Brother stand hand and hand My imagination can create that land A mighty river runs from my soul Providing me with my freestyle flow....
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Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
Freestyle 3-13-14
The left of center are in north bound throes of a dupe and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel, in the morrow my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills a power rain this sobbing has spilled No longer to be contained based on sheer will Attacked by neurotic transcending While sifting through files and photo stacks Came across multiples of your smiling face From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears control lost during transport steer Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest Could make great sense to don a life vest Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose Shattering cascades diamondize the windows A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make, turning tragedy into a foolish mistake people will curse and laugh Paved over roads now films unseen when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed Elements effected by incidents Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65 All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
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Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
Farmland to seaquake in a single teardrop
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens. They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky. Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes. Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces. Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms. Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?" So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind. And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red. The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens. Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters. The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters. The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters. These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number. Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women? And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all. Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes. The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
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5.5k
Balloon Faces
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens. They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky. Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes. Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces. Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms. Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?" So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind. And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red. The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens. Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters. The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters. The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters. These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number. Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women? And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all. Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes. The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
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19
What to do about wanderlust? Should it be quelled? Desktop backgrounds are my only escape Maps with tacks and backpacks with knick-knacks It all seems so far away Cobblestone steps are wearing down By the feet of enlightened in wondrous towns While chairs are pushed in Or left out of place Thoughts are escaping to the vacuum of space This Earl Grey is mint tea in Tangiers' seats Or gold and black Yunnan at her highest peaks It's sifting through pans of Fynbos' red leaves What to do about wanderlust? Should it be quelled? I seem to dwell
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May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
part 2 : wanderlust
*Though, should I or have I begun?* To feel the tussling Of blurring bodies. Transforming and dancing, Through these very halls. Where aching is thick, and a embrace is a release. *Should I begin? How should I begin?* Swallow the dagger, stabbing from behind. Let it sit deep in my stomach. Push it further, where it can’t cut. *Where will it end? How will I begin?* Under lock and key, Just where I left it . It escapes as it did just now, conjuring a puncture to bone. Blood flows, Rushes out into the world. *Is this a release? How can I heal?* Pouring out, It tastes salty on the cheek The color is dark, cold to the touch. Purging the night, that stained blood black. Sifting the chill, of steel from bone. Ringing out whats left of gore and fluid, down the drain. *I can begin now. This is the end.*
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Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Sobering Melancholy
i am the hookah queen and drifting in my hookah dream, i find that i have no one else to care for. i know nothing of their bitterness, their wantonness, their greed, i know nothing of that world, only me. and sifting through my hookah dream, colored with a hookah ream, and pulled apart with all the careless shadows, i smile, (i the hookah queen) and contentedly i drift, i am going, i am going, i am gone.
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Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
hookah queen
instead of being intertwined we’re the farthest we’ve ever been i chose to look within you always chose the life of sin i stopped trying to be perfect and had to partake i too wanna eat and have my cake what was once golden has turned to rust i understand why they say nothing lasts forever cause everything is so mother ******* fallible i had no choice but to pick up the pieces all by my lonesome and gained confidence with each step and each breath what once felt heavy is now being forgotten oh how lovely life can be when you forget thank you for breaking my heart because i would’ve never had the strength to let you go each event which you performed against me pushed me further and further away from the love i kept in my heart for you it seems to have disappeared and i can’t find it these days i still believe in love i still feel the warmth and always hope for the best life is just a test it’s sifting and then we’re blessed this will be the last poem i ever write about you i might’ve misconstrued the motion i promise to write about a new love from here on out just disregard this notion
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Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 7:52 PM UTC
the last poem
So, this is godhood. This is how it works. It's dreaming up a world and killing it, Abandoning the foibles and the quirks Of crushed-together crumblings and bits, Then sweeping out the wreckage with a curse And carving out another fever dream. It's wandering a mindscape universe And sifting through the crop to find the cream So you can save it while you burn the rest, Just for the room to have another try. The lovelies you've been cradling close to chest? In time you'll cast them off to wilt and die But for a while they're almost what you need. Go raze the field and plant another seed.
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May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:32 PM UTC
stardust (sonnet)
I am up Awake Before the sun It's arrival Heralded by Colors creeping Out against The retreating night sky Do not mistake me For a morning person I do not relish this Nor do I mourn For sleep lost It could be   found But this is necessary Not without joy Not without sacrifice Without a word It simply is A ride My Fortress of Solitude For a mind Besieged By thought At war with Itself Do not retreat Into the past A ruthless place A heckling pace That tells you You cannot Hang on Give no portage To fate For you cannot grasp What the future holds Just Keep moving Focus This ride It is the only ride That matters I wrap myself In its tight fabric It's sounds Clicking and clacking Racing thoughts Shifting Centrifugal forces Sifting As I order Myself Ride As long as I pedal I am Present
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Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
Dawn patrol
See the Rabbi.  See him tormented by choice.  See his people.  See them wracked by hate.  See the others.  See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city. On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice.  And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth.  Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight.  More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books. See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word.  As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water.  See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism.  See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own. See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops. See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush.  See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust.   See it caught, too, and see it see.  It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns.  It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood.  It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference.  See it sit in silence. See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others.  And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still.  It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale.  They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention.  So it remains. See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided.  They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals.  It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation.  See the Rabbi draw to a close.  His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead.  What is left but Death. See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy.  See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light.  See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank.  See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey. The daisy stands still.
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Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
The Golem
See the Rabbi.  See him tormented by choice.  See his people.  See them wracked by hate.  See the others.  See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city. On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice.  And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth.  Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight.  More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books. See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word.  As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water.  See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism.  See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own. See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops. See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush.  See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust.   See it caught, too, and see it see.  It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns.  It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood.  It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference.  See it sit in silence. See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others.  And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still.  It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale.  They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention.  So it remains. See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided.  They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals.  It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation.  See the Rabbi draw to a close.  His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead.  What is left but Death. See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy.  See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light.  See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank.  See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey. The daisy stands still.
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9
you are a thought casually sifting through my mind, time to time
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May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
thinking of you