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Literature Text
She is a rain-soaked
neon sign at eight o’clock
on a Thursday night.
Her light is too cold,
pipes twisted, full of fluid,
I’m open, she says.
The door is always open
Isn’t that what I’m here for?
Isn’t that my job?
Hollow, dim, dull,
there’s not much else she can do.
Come in here, she says.
At 1AM on
a Sunday, she’s still open.
Chemicals buzzing.
neon sign at eight o’clock
on a Thursday night.
Her light is too cold,
pipes twisted, full of fluid,
I’m open, she says.
The door is always open
Isn’t that what I’m here for?
Isn’t that my job?
Hollow, dim, dull,
there’s not much else she can do.
Come in here, she says.
At 1AM on
a Sunday, she’s still open.
Chemicals buzzing.
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Literature
Social Demise
On the horizon is the imminent retardation of your country or nation
Because everyone is glued to the tv, their phone, or can't turn of their Playstation
They call it fun and "social" interaction
But it's only an addiction to distraction, for endless shortlived satisfaction
When someone gets hurt or dies, people whip out their phone, not to call in the emergency
But only for their warped sence of urgency
To "share" what they see instead of helping those in need
Yes, people are so very social indeed...
Put it on Facebook, tweet it away
But in that social disarray, haven't they just given their humanity away?
The magical "social" place that is
Literature
New York City, Summer 1988
The sun is a strange acidic-shade-of-pink
and metallic waves of shimmering heat obscure the asphalt
all I can do is sleep.
Scorched air from the concrete sidewalks below, floats
through the open window.
A constant-thump-of-rap vibrates the floor
and filters into my dreams.
Garam masala and saffron rice
fresh falafel and Hare Krishna beans
escape street vendors
to invade my afternoon nap.
The rosemary, basil, sage, mint,
coaxed into existence on the kitchen ledge
may fight this battle bravely
but they will lose the war.
Literature
Small Town Blues
It's only been a few days (or weeks, I don't know)
But that short time feels like forever
spent without you
And the time has aged me one hundred years.
I drove through your tiny town today thinking
I used to know someone here and
geographically, we are somewhat close but
in every other way, we couldn't be further apart
and I realised that
tying myself up in our (perfectly) fleeting affair
won't get me anywhere
but more alone.
Please leave.
It's an (unrequited) summer romance
and (painfully) slow.
It's only been (a brief) forever since
I last saw you and (it still hurts)
my memories are still fading away at the edges
so I'm m
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Comments9
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I REALLY love this.