AntigoneSo Antigone covered her dead brother with a sprinkling of dust? Barely concealed from the scorching sun, skin slimy and oozing. She’s in it for the symbol-- a riddle and an enigma, patterns I cannot understand. The puzzle that is me is the puzzle that follows, the pattern that trails, for these patterns are-- redundant, as patterns are, and patterns should be. A glint of his eyes, his scorching sun,Antigone
forms a word that pulls a string within my patterned spirit-- Am I a violin, for glimmers and shadows of meaning to play upon? Woman as violin, violin
A DreamSunny streets paved in stone we ran upon, up and down street after street in the search for our lost grandmother. I saw Father three or four feet ahead of me, and to my right and left were my sisters, little feet pattering against the cobblestone frantically as they sought out their loved one. The sun warmed my skin, and, unfit as I was, I had to stop at the soldier-like black lampposts more than once to catch my breath, and the sun-drenched air didn’t help. “Dad, I’ve got sun sickness!” I called out, but I don’t think he ever heard me, and the words fell upon and were absorbed by the sun like all else. EverythiA Dream
EpiphanyI’m searching for an epiphany and I can’t find it--I’m looking up and down in everyEpiphany
corner and I stabbed my hand with a mechanical pencil looking in my locker, but I
couldn’t find it there.
I walked down the long dimly lit hallway and looked in the English classroom,
thinking maybe Joyce or Woolf had stolen my epiphany from me, perhaps used it in
one of their own works. I searched through all of the books on the shelf and I
couldn’t find it there. That room is always cool and it breathed frigid air upon me
as the art
RevelationWhat’s wrong, my dearest, my dearly beloved? Something’s wrong, dear, I can tell from your eyes. Darting about frantically, inhaling that pink and that red as if they were brand-new to those little brown irises. Something’s wrong, I can tell from your nose. Quivering ever so slightly, perturbed as it senses. What’s wrong, my dearest, my dearly beloved? Have you discovered that they’re humans, too?Revelation
What’s wrong, my dearest, my dearly beloved? Have your eyes gone to the moon? What’s wrong, my dearest, my dearly beloved? Am I to leave you
Publishing
--
"I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died."
-S & G
HI!!!!
This is Sara, by the way.
--
"I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died."
-S & G
--
"Eins a space and wearywide a space it was er wohned a mookse."
~James Joyce
"Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me.
The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality."
~Emily Dickinson
So... I am really bored right now.
--
"I wont disturb the slumber of feelings that have died."
-S & G
Or is it Ni hao pengyou? Shi never seems to be needed in a sentence. Damn this confusion!
--
"Eins a space and wearywide a space it was er wohned a mookse."
~James Joyce
"Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me.
The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality."
~Emily Dickinson
Ni Hao!
Wo Ai Ni!
[stupy compy without tones]
--
Jenny
--
--
angels had guitars before they had wings <3
--
"Eins a space and wearywide a space it was er wohned a mookse."
~James Joyce
"Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me.
The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality."
~Emily Dickinson
Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
Your Christmas poem is on the way! I'm just having a bit o' writer's block right now. Mmmmm, gotta love that writer's block!
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