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Literature Text
The Texas winter mocks
with dust instead of snow
and bare mesquite to testify with thorns
against a shred of weakness.
The Texas winter gusts
fiercely from the south -
grit on lips, in eyes, on tongues that wonder
where the deer drink.
The Texas winter sinks
in rust and blood and peaches
beneath the horizon. Sweetly, sweetly,
she sips the clouds.
The Texas winter clothes herself in cicada song,
and all the stars applaud.
with dust instead of snow
and bare mesquite to testify with thorns
against a shred of weakness.
The Texas winter gusts
fiercely from the south -
grit on lips, in eyes, on tongues that wonder
where the deer drink.
The Texas winter sinks
in rust and blood and peaches
beneath the horizon. Sweetly, sweetly,
she sips the clouds.
The Texas winter clothes herself in cicada song,
and all the stars applaud.
Literature
The Pirate Solstice
The Pirate Solstice:
There is tale around the Galbin Coast,
Of a black ship that appeared on the Winter Solstice.
It arrived at a town near Bismarch,
Struck heavily by famine and crop plagues.
The ship drifted silently upon the ocean currents,
Not a creak nor groan could be heard from its frame.
It docked at the port like an ominous reaper's vessel;
A metallic boarding ramp - much like a daemon's tongue -
Slithered slowly from its deck to meet with wooden jetty.
The crew descended, wearing black cloaks and black hats,
Fedoras, I believe they were called.
These figures made little noise as they moved,
walking slowly, silently and
Literature
Scratches
we're dancing in that narrow expanse where the only sound
is the contraction of a writhing unwilling heart;
we're finding our way back to the surface through
layers like paper ceilings and puppet strings
and we're tied out by our own shortcomings- snaked
like a noose, fangs nip at our heels and
we've lost control, and we've lost direction
and we've lost ourselves in the people that mean
nothing. we curl up like a tapeworm deep inside
esophagus' and promise we'll never leave
(oh please promise me you'll share my heart
when the anemic night comes)
leaden feet and feather eyes, I can't see what
you mean but I found an answer betw
Literature
Eye Contact
Hold these thoughts
closely.
You are a
frienzed,
sex-depraved madman.
You are waiting
for the flowers
to murder you.
You are drugged up
on mental chemicals.
You are lonely.
You are every dark secret
and
every act of kindness.
You are nothing
(important).
But do not believe for a second
that you are a ghost,
drunk on freedom.
The woman with the stroller
sees you.
The man rubbing his glasses
with his mouth half open
sees you.
The child
and the white-knuckled toy
see you,
and watch as if
the whole world were new
and a man who could pass through
walls and skin
was something special
and worth attention.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
These Texas pieces almost seem to be becoming a series.
The previous two were written with West Texas in mind - specifically, the Abilene / San Angelo / Ballinger / Paint Rock area.
This one is for South Texas, somewhere between Raymondville and George West.
The previous two were written with West Texas in mind - specifically, the Abilene / San Angelo / Ballinger / Paint Rock area.
This one is for South Texas, somewhere between Raymondville and George West.
Indian SummerThe Texas autumn froths
in shades of taupe and cinnamon
and lemon-scented yucca blooms -
waxen belles amid the spikes,
thickets of Jumano spears.
The Texas autumn ravages
the sunscorched clay with burning winds
that chew the live oaks all to shreds
and turn mesquites to kindling.
Wildfire breath.
The Texas autumn ticks along
in desiccated deer
yearning for a sip of winter
to ease their cracking riverbeds.
The Texas autumn flows
in rivers of molten tar
along the curbs, beneath the cars,
inexorable.
The Texas autumn breathes hard
like a woman in labor
and clings to the sun
with gifts of fiery fiddle strings
and a prayer f
Autumn RainsThe Texas autumn, breached,
pours forth cathartic drops,
an ecstasy of tears
to cleanse her dusty eyes of the agonizing fall.
The brow of Texas boils
in cloudy greys and thunder
amid coyote calls electric
down the city-slicker's spine
dropping low.
The breath of Texas chills -
a saw-blade through the heat -
and screams the cloud stampede
across the hills.
The voice of Texas condescends
to whisper in the huisatch
and whistle in the Spanish daggers
sparring with the mockingbird
to sing before she roars.
The mercy of Texas
is no relief -
this wild trickster goddess burns
then drowns.
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The last image is really pretty!