February feels at once formidable and fleeting, and this year's weather and lack of a snowy slowdown has not helped us much! It's the kind of chagrin that only the arts can heal. Enjoy this month's post!
Ghosted
12:51 pm
Every other day
We pass each other in the hall
Not a single word to say.
[a beautiful sunset…]
a beautiful sunset
rays warm my moribund body
remember my surreptitious past
pariah kid
Excerpts from “A Musing on the Falsity of Man’s Favorite Thoughts”
At the end of all things
The world will be quiet
At least, you would think
You would think in the darkness
We would lay down and cry
For all we have lost
For the things we’ve not tried
But if you ask me what I think
I think we will sing
Like olden sea shanties
To sing all together
No matter tone nor key
So grab an instrument
Pour out your heart
And when the world tears us apart
At least we’ll have a last piece of art
*
Life is not poetic
Pain is not brave
To hurt is not intellectual
Blood was never scarlet
It never shown
Or g l i s t e n e d
Those were words we wrote
Not truths kept sacred
Life is not poetic
Death is not beautiful
And in the end
Blood
is
just
red
*
A lot of the time I think people misunderstand our generation
Yes, we are dreamers
But please, look at what we’re dreaming of:
The future we imagine isn’t a fancy sci-fi
It’s not flying cars,
or robot dogs,
or convenient automation
It is faceless governments
and thorough lies
It is sickness,
it is pandemics,
it is brutality
It is the last dregs of hope trying desperately to survive
Yes, we are dreamers
But please, do not call us naïve, or ignorant
We are here
We are aware
And we are deeply,
deeply,
scared
*
Your writing is beautiful…
Your words are carved from ivory
Your stories built with alabaster brick
Every pen stroke is neat
sharp
shiny
ebony
ink
Everything you tell is told with such eloquence
My…
Your mind must really be
Such a terrible, terrible place
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