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Literature Text
A black board chalked its name onto its exterior and then contemplated the mark. This is me, it thought. The board's owner walked into the room it resided in. He noted the mark on his property and wiped it clean. "Who the hell has been in my office," he shouted through the door and into the hall, for all to hear.
The owner wrote upon the board "Mine". The board wiped its self clean and wrote "Sovereign," over the dirty white smudge left behind. The board sat in a wooden frame and on legs, this allowed it to be moved around, spun around, and easily manipulated. The owner was very angry at the board. He spun it on its axis and kicked it across the room.
The board crashed against the wall, then fell forward, crushing the man. His blood mingled with the chalk and all was still.
The owner wrote upon the board "Mine". The board wiped its self clean and wrote "Sovereign," over the dirty white smudge left behind. The board sat in a wooden frame and on legs, this allowed it to be moved around, spun around, and easily manipulated. The owner was very angry at the board. He spun it on its axis and kicked it across the room.
The board crashed against the wall, then fell forward, crushing the man. His blood mingled with the chalk and all was still.
Literature
Newspaper Suit
I am a charlatan
peddling fraudulent wares
but nobody else can see
the pushpins
where adhesive didn't stick.
And you'd think the paper trail
from the newspaper suit
would give it away
but the pictures keep smiling
while underneath gangrene begins
and happy happy faces
mask the smell
of death.
Literature
Waiting
Waiting
Pale willow girls wait by the river, brides of the water,
Guppies swim through their veins, silver darts of bright pain.
Their names are hieroglyphs of mist, frost and rain.
They walk barefoot in the snow, leaving tracks so they know the way back,
A tracery of breadcrumbs that the ravens will never eat.
Twelve princesses slip underground,
Dance in slippers of tattered frayed silk,
Corkscrews of ribbon, stiff with blood and melted tallow.
They inject themselves with music until their eyes hum like bumble bees.
Then they sleepwalk through the day in a haze of yearning
For fierce wet stone beneath their frenzy of feet, of bon
Literature
The Waste World
She said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morp
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Interesting piece.
Not too long that the subject becomes obscure or too wordy but just long enough to convey the scene. I liked it quite a bit
Not too long that the subject becomes obscure or too wordy but just long enough to convey the scene. I liked it quite a bit