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Literature Text
she says;
It is okay to weep in the night
for the woes of days long past,
and I take flight
from the future
that unfolds before my blessed feet
for I am a coward
pray bury me deep
It is okay to weep in the night
for the woes of days long past,
and I take flight
from the future
that unfolds before my blessed feet
for I am a coward
pray bury me deep
Literature
clay
cowardice runs deep, like a rich vein of red
through the bottom of a Colorado river.
so I gathered that clay, scooped it up in my hands
and packed it, carefully, over my face
until it covered every inch; and my lidded eyes
were merely dents in the thick tan façade.
this was cleaner
than the traditional, Oedipal method
of blinding oneself.
alone, the clay
was not enough. I stayed inside
the house, too, under cover of a sturdy blue roof
that cordoned the horizon –
because out here there is too much sky
to hide from.
and I ignored the phantoms
still flitting in my ears,
because they spoke of the kind of roses
Literature
my friend friday
My friend Friday spends Tuesday afternoons looking for things that no one else can find. These things are small and blend with the everyday so suitably, that they elude most of us, even after our morning coffee or cigarette. But invariably Friday finds them with ease, and sets them upon my doorstep every Wednesday morning, pawing at my breakfast with his fresh wonders.
“I saw a boy die yesterday!” He howls, the door slamming behind him. He is not in the same room as I; he is yelling this across my house at 5:30am, eliciting angry grumbles from my somber roommates. Sending the saloons doors clacking and banging, he gushes in
Literature
He stood there, stunned...
The door had no push/pull sign.
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I like this. The bit of typography you employed by bolding the word "deep" makes it all come together, I think. And I do think it sounds nice read aloud. 