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Literature Text
Conversation. A weed, naïve and determined,
emerges from a rubbish heap of crossword clues,
shedding letters, leaking connotations.
…And yet.
Every phrase jumbles together, battles for space.
One wrong choice sets them all astray.
I am no stranger to the magic of language, but
is it better to place faith in no word than
risk the power of the wrong one?
…And so.
Ghosts of diction litter my page, leave
vapour trails.
emerges from a rubbish heap of crossword clues,
shedding letters, leaking connotations.
…And yet.
Every phrase jumbles together, battles for space.
One wrong choice sets them all astray.
I am no stranger to the magic of language, but
is it better to place faith in no word than
risk the power of the wrong one?
…And so.
Ghosts of diction litter my page, leave
vapour trails.
Literature
cynicism only gets you so far
i've been bleeding
lighter fluid
for quite a while now, i've been
watching the sun rise through the webs
of skin between my fingers
i've been stitching up my skin like it's
an old pair of jeans, like tearing so easily is
normal
i think it's because this skin isn't
mine, it's an amalgamation
of other people's expectations and
screwed-up pieces of paper and
morning coffee or
panic-induced nausea
and breath made for a different set of lungs
i've been living off
caffeine and insomnia
for quite a while now, i've been
talking to the moon through the diamonds
on my window pane
i've been throwing myself into the glass like i'm
a sparrow, like
Literature
Synesthetic
Sometimes I taste test names;
Anita – sharp citrus
and lemongrass
for the ann-i,
a tortilla for the taa.
Brad – I like
its weight; a slab
of marbled chocolate
melted on my tongue
before the last letter.
Charlotte – something
savory, but sweet; pork
marinated in honey
on sweet rolls.
Doug – vanilla
tinged cheesecake;
a dusting of graham
cracker shavings;
an Oreo with no filling.
Elena – spice
and heat radiate –
eh-layne-ahh – a corona
bursting from
the second e.
Fletcher – it’s syllables
mesh like mashed
potatoes, lumpy yet
consistent.
Gladys – dried
lemons and stale
Spre
Literature
pseudonym.
i was hit
until my
identity c r a c k e d [admit it],
i leapt out
of my depths into
those pools of darkness
that crept under my eyes:
i kept terror's disguise.
it needs dismantling
to see beneath the lies
i tell with whispered breath.
i once feared death
but now it reminds me
i'm alive.
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from my 2011 chapbook 一万個の言葉 (10 000 Words)
homg my first Daily Lit Recognition, I'm honoured
Daily Lit Recognition for June 16th, 2014
homg my first Daily Lit Recognition, I'm honoured
Daily Lit Recognition for June 16th, 2014
© 2014 - 2024 akrasiel
Comments8
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Oh, the memories. Of DLR, of more excitement in the literature group, the happiness for each other - and, of course, the beauty of words.
Thanks for looking in your archives and finding this - it says so much more now, even. I don't know how to say all I mean.