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Literature Text
i like my skies firstly blue
powdered antique azure;
like the dusky aged dust on chalkhill moth's-wings in attics,
the ones that-
flutter at sundown beneath the pins behind the yellow glass
i like my skies secondly green
cocksuring capriciously teal;
like the rusty old paint on beat-up millionnaires sardine-tins,
the ones that-
heat at sundown in the warm red dirt in fields of yellow grass
i like my skies thirdly red
relentlessly pumping peach;
like the scar shins on southern girls with racing horse hearts,
the ones that-
run at sundown with a fawnish boy wearing rings of yellow brass
Literature
denouement
misery only likes me naked
when the lights are off.
Literature
Underappreciated
A moth is beautiful
but none choose to praise it.
Instead, monarchs flutter, and suddenly,
twenty-four lines are written about how
its amber coloring
reminds you of autumn's heartbreaks
and winter's futile approach, seizing
the broken vessel you tried to tape
together, but to no avail;
its black outline
reminds you of the eyeliner she wore
day after day, all perfect and pristine,
until one day,
you found her among rosebushes & lilacs
crying out "Why does it always rain?"
Where is her sun?
its slender antennae
reminds you of stilts, splintery and all,
Literature
Rain-boy
Rain-boy the summer sun has dried you up, leaving puddles as
piles of salt, rivers as dry rocks, barren weeds and broken glass.
Rain-boy, the summer breeze is stiff, it sits in my room heavy,
curling in the corner with constant heaving sighs and i cannot
ignore him. you were always soft, a gentle tapping at my window,
a light humming on the roof when the night fell and you fell and i
fell asleep. i loved falling asleep in your arms, dreaming of kaleidoscope
stained-glass ponds, your grey eyes, your grey skies, you you you.
you were autumn and winter and spring, a gentle metronome, a
constant in my memories, leaning on the windowframe with a
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Comments3
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the imagery, the repetition, the structure- Liv, this is gorgeous.