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Literature Text
If They Find Us
If they find us
(long after we are gone)
trapped
in the corners of their machines
figures etched in metal
they will say
What an interesting place
for a stain
If they find us
our scattered skeletons just jumbled
collections of ones and ohs
(other ways of making, other ways of saying)
they will be subtler variations
on our theme: fa so la ti cee ae gee
as though unfolded once, simplified
we become ghosts
only half of what we used to be
If they find us (traces
of who we used to be)
they will not find us
in what they consider
history, mistaken memories
of what might have happened
but rather just left
among the apocrypha, unaccepted
because we could not
find a simple enough articulation
to describe our dreams
completely
If they find us
(long after we are gone)
trapped
in the corners of their machines
figures etched in metal
they will say
What an interesting place
for a stain
If they find us
our scattered skeletons just jumbled
collections of ones and ohs
(other ways of making, other ways of saying)
they will be subtler variations
on our theme: fa so la ti cee ae gee
as though unfolded once, simplified
we become ghosts
only half of what we used to be
If they find us (traces
of who we used to be)
they will not find us
in what they consider
history, mistaken memories
of what might have happened
but rather just left
among the apocrypha, unaccepted
because we could not
find a simple enough articulation
to describe our dreams
completely
Kridxite
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Literature
You Underneath
You
underneath,
brushing the willow,
swallow many branches, while
brushing the willow
underneath
you.
Silence,
they hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat.
Scratch the bark,
they hear the
silence.
You
underneath
brushing the willow,
silence!
They hear the
scratch, the bark
at the back of your throat;
scratch the bark
they hear the
silence,
brushing the willow
underneath
you.
Literature
Mayfly
-
When we were mayflies our wings were
worn from wire screens, but the tentative
beats of your belly chimed like iron.
And it occurred to me that through
the breeze of burning leaves our eyes
were open to wasps and weeds.
-
Literature
ride on the underground
hunched creature rattling:
a snake in a rat-trap
shrieking like a banshee it
throbs along a thick tunnel
licks the curving walls away
sweating against them, eats
through gravel, wormlike—
skeleton bones howl and snap:
taca-ta-taca-ta-taca-ta
spitting through a dank fissure
clenched to ranks of tracks.
inside, hanging people shudder
swaying together, knocked
like stones in a tumbler;
old arthritic bones
cracking and twisting
a cold metal body.
Suggested Collections
Consider it a 3/4 draft. It doesn't segue as nicely as I'd like it to, but it's a good start. Probably one of the final poems for Ghosts. I don't think I'm going to get to twenty, but I'm already moving on to other themes.
..
5.17.04 - If you're looking for the old poem, it was replaced with the final draft.
..
5.17.04 - If you're looking for the old poem, it was replaced with the final draft.
© 2004 - 2024 epimetheus
Comments8
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the ending is a soft landing
after the travel of words
after the travel of words