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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
April 8, 2006
Stop Naming Bits of Earth by $pachunka == contemplation wrapped in poetry.
Featured by imperfect
Suggested by secondmagpie
Literature Text
Let them keep their slabs of fortune and safety-
there is fine reason
we listen to songs
that make us sad.
there is fine reason
we listen to songs
that make us sad.
Literature
10 moments of silence
[Ten moments of silence.]
I
I fell in love with the full,
fluffy heaps of white on sidewalks,
the icicles that clung
to gutters and railings.
II
My mountains changed;
They're blue and ridged now.
The summers bleed the pavement
like steaming gray socks.
Shade does not offer solace
from moist, viscous air. In the afternoons,
if luck chances by, the humidity lofts
into thick purple clouds
and rain slaps hot pavement.
I can breathe.
III
The carrot leaves
fell from gold foliage
like drops of sunset.
I closed my eyes and saw twelve wild turkeys
gaggle cross the yard, a doe freeze,
framed by the window, ineffable
bright-lined
Literature
they made us read kafka
they made us read kafka
without preamble or warning
or so much as a breath in the direction of a foreward
no prologue
no anatomy of a cockroach
they made us read kafka
and in my final essay, I swore that he was a crazy nut
who slept outside in a cardboard box
underneath the 110 freeway
in downtown Los Angeles with the rest of his
former existentialists
who turned men into insects
and arrested innocents.
they made us read kafka
and wrestle with his unfinished stories,
essays
novels
social commentary...
graduated, resigned, bitter
we left kafka and all that behind
with the half-assed essays of high school honors english
Literature
Idiom: Thoroughly
"You said you wanted the reverse stripped out of you,
and that's all I left you with."
V. Kingston Upon Thames
How do fancy it? And do you fancy it at all?
Does it have geography and are we grey? Do we have
a time, do we have
a place?
(I am turning British corners and you are there,
middle-aged.)
I will hear our language drown in their heavy tongues. I
will search for their consonants in vain, and they will call
me foreign when I hit mine
too hard. I will search for you, middle-
aged.
We will not look like writers then. (We look like
hell; we look like
authors.) We will be worn dow
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Don't wait for anybody to tell you to give it all up and pursue what you really want-- people don't tell people that.
© 2004 - 2024 pachunka
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Considering how great this poem is, it is surprising that only 119 have this in their favorites...