these cold mornings

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These cold mornings I awake forgetting that time is fleeting, then I reach for you. This glimmer of distance the dawdling of the clock on the wall, the mumble of gears turning away. The sense of the press of your hips against mine as dark dreams rouse me. The sense of your warm shadow lingering long after your flesh has left. Sleep dashed along with...
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resend

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The wind is always waking up, the light is always ailing. Letters that I sent myself in need of misspelling. Something about the way the ache unravels the moment, something about how the song leaves your lips insists. I scrape my hand, I scuff the dust. I reach into the dark and the distance, my touch somehow always missing you the most. The magic of...
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world of wonder

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The idle fire of this winter sun has all but burned down, leaving a sky like sallow faith lingering on the skin. Plumes of dust and unsettled embers, trees fill with shadows, abiding this slithering sense of self. The name that fails to find a tongue, the face that stills, another portion of bone and flesh dancing in feel and fact. The frantic yapping of...
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across all creation

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My feet braid the traces of everyday trails stepping through the braces of the back door. I scuffle through the plumes of dust, every sense so vivid, slipping on the setting sun. The day failing its saddle like a bent crusader falling into shadows on white sands. The night abrupt a stone in a slipper, adrift in these drizzled stars. All the habits of these...
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two weeks

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I don't know what I was thinking while the shadows clambered up the branches. I don't know where the moon was before I saw it in the trees. I hear the bowing of a violin, I hear a helicopter over head. For a moment there is a wash of echoes as these voices take the field. A sky once bright now again goes...
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the weather, once it's mentioned

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All his darlings dead before him, he can't put his tattered mind to rest. All the hours watching shadows as they slip and stick. Every lamp left by the wayside. The open bathroom to light the grimy halls. The stories on the television adrift on this tide of tears. Weary from the very moment waking, tired as his dreams grind down. The crawling dust...
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the rumor never put to rest

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There's still light in the sky when the moon makes its come back, a slip thin smile spilling over the edge of the world. It waxes and wanes, all the while wandering in the space between the sky and dreaming. It falls and rises the most inside our reckless minds, the brimming light and the dead sunken stone. The bountiful goddess or the rock...
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retrospect

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And just like that the year is over. And just like that the day is done. Forget all that burned away into heaven. Forget those that lie humbled beneath the stones. The stories disarticulated with tricks of tongue and steel. The stars that fall though no-one's wishing. I sit beneath the cusp of shadows, I wade deep as the tide of night comes in...
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in smoke

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Cross one more off the calendar, wait in vain for the waning moon. The stars dust the needles of the broke back pine as the neighbor's dog just barks and barks. Check the locks on the constellations while all the planets wander just enough for them to earn their names. Watch them to see if they acknowledge how far they are from might have...
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capitulate

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The cat comes in soaked in chimney smoke, looking for a lap to lie in. The room is lit poor and laden with dust. From shadow to shadow, from ghost to ghost, the voices drift and fade. Webs strung along the ceiling, cracks whisper their way through the walls. The air is still, all hope is sinking. Words never know the way back. Words never...
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