Forth

Sally!
Don’t stop the train–
No, the comet in which soars
Higher and higher,
Bristling and ambitioning
With the fire
That christens your family
In the blood of this infinite sky.
Sally,
Don’t crave the shade–
No, the carcass in which rots
Darker and darker,
Putrefying and deadening
With the stone
That anchors your family
In the flood of this desolate plain.

Sally:
Fight!
Take this heart of mine!
Tear it beating from my chest,
Bleeding, bleeding,
Seeping blood into your veins,
Brimming, brimming,
Bursting them open to set
Ablaze the very things that we
Fear with the invincible vigor of
Love!

Sally…
live.

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Sound of a Bee

Alright, before I begin this poem, I must disclose that what I’m writing is completely fictional. Please don’t judge.

Twelve strikes the clock.

I see the door, it gives me
dirty looks,
so I kick it in its stupid face.

Twelve strike the clock.

I see the TV, it flashes me–
how dare he! Needs to respect
me, so kick it in its stupid face.

Striking twelve clock.

Wifey! Oh, pretty wife,
I’m just fine, fine, never better.
No, just fine, fine, fine. Only a few.

Twelve the strike.

Why should I stop? C’mon,
loosen up! Have some fun…
Have some fun. HAVE SOME STUPID–

I strike the wife.

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