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Tag: poem

Blood and Soil

The advantages of online learning are plentiful. One of the major benefits is the convenience that it provides.  Students can access course materials at any time that is most suitable…

I Am Become a Man

Becoming a man is a major milestone in any person's life. It is a time of transition, of leaving childhood behind and learning to take on greater responsibility.  It is…

Snow Theory

I haven’t killed a thing since 2006 The darkness out there, wet as a newborn I dog-eared the book & immediately thought of masturbation How else do we return to ourselves but to…
A person spins, performing in a delirious haze as an ink blot figure records them, resulting in 30,000 social media likes.

Trilogy of Doubt

What form do you ask for pointing at me with your scorn- raised brow you clutch your coxcomb    velvet robe with your left hand ringed    married to God in cuffed surplice and say: so shall you burn What dunce cap bows…

Whimsical

A world of whimsy awaits, one which is full of laughter, discovery, and joy. Step off the beaten path and into a place of imagination, a place where anything can…

Cathedral

Before the war we bury the windows Before we bury the windows we take them down The tallest of us altar boys  lifts a purple blade from a frozen robe & holds it with…

Hip Hop Cricket

This ’hood’s vast and I’m its chief sentinel, a natural  born horn.  I’m a clarion  nation, the itch  in heaven’s  evening clothes.  Where I’m from ain’t no “my bad”— I am bad: That’s truth. So pony  up, falsettoed  crotch-grabbers, you whistling wannabes,  and listen to  what’s…

Forced March

after Dan Beachy-Quick The difference between marching and walking is the order to depart from the barracks, automatic rifles behind us.  Around their stocks and grips, their barrels and magazines are the hands of…

Human Lag

Mother told me I was born in a dark cabin surrounded by pines  so thick that all day it seemed like evening. Mother said that my bearded father could not…

Bad Airs

Always born too late. I know I am just the type of woman to be a consumptive beauty: more ghostly   than failure, scarlet lips of low-grade fever— tuberculosis strung…

Ourselves

      found from Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway   She caught green flowers for him would tell him stories under the fern tree, but he only frowned and said…