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Saccharine [novel excerpt]

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Of Glass

He would often parade through the town, although few but I acknowledged his existence. He was a tall man with large sloping shoulders and a bearish build. His eyes, as he walked, would often dart about, their azure halos trapping his reality and wrapping it into the folds of a contemplative smile. He strutted up and down asphalt avenues, his feet tinkling brightly, like chimes in a groaning wind, and often as I watched him marching, I would listen to the resonance of his path, as his never-resting eyes pulled him towards new and different waltzes. 

He never spoke; he only hummed, but his hum did not emanate from vocal chords or other throat-kept organs. No - it seemed to radiate from his very body, pitching to and fro in tone as his eyes beheld new and glorious wonders.

One day, someone threw a stone; some brazen, ignorant bastard threw a single stone. Perhaps they hadn’t seen the halcyon which unfurrowed its wings in the man’s belly, or perhaps they hadn’t heard the sighs of Gaia as she reveled in the fact that she <i> created </i> him. Whatever the reason, someone, someone threw a stone.

The projectile penetrated his pristine aura, fouling it suddenly with insidious, impish incisions, which ravaged his fragile form, mutilating his mellifluous miasma, utterly unfurling his life with ugly efficiency until at last he lay there, a shattered, battered, beaten shell, a bruised and broken husk of slivered skin and fading fog.

And as the sweepers came to push away the invoking reminders of his ever existing, I heard, for the last time, the forlorn twinkle and hum of the man made of glass

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When I was younger
I stared at hourglasses
Wasting all I had 

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Awaken rightly this time discard the berth of masthead

And pluck off the woolen and go hollow you

Into the spoken turn

 Into the carbon irretrievable a WORLD felt in the rye

 Find its tangles in outstretching hands to move it

 The speech is in it it is in the controlless

Pulling flowers for the gravitation

 A spoken turn in the give of calyx

Away into ice-shaft and the blue boulder there

 And that struck in the face of youth freewheeling

 Whiles in the ways lost in what has been made a control

 And none in the flowers' thirst

. . .

Languish all ye for him to drink and smash with his cane

Let the waves crash and run across the sand-sadness lad

Take from the brick and green into the hills

 My son he takes to his spectacles and milage for the father

 Go down the stray bay left it out for rocks it in the swamp

 Take the sand from your eye by force to see its flower

 With an index to shade hills in the gorge

 Take yon staff

 Take yon staff or yon cane

Of one himself immensity the child

Cast your stones happily cast them as blessings 

Think of what the water means my son says the father

 Scratch no chin take

To the magnificence yourself

The cast of his staff over the movement

Of a dullard flower

Trail for him

 A marvelous dullard does the WORLD for his cacophony

To reveal this a wondrous bird in the vales moving

The purity of his place in knotted sea-drift


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I was sitting
While the two of you were talking
About some political topic I had no interest in
You were defending your selfish, Republican views
While she sounded like the typical, self-inflated Democrat.
Meanwhile I sat to the side
Playing with a cheese knife
Because it was clear
You'd both seen too much news
To make up your own mind about an issue.
Eventually, you saw me,
And suddenly the knife was a novelty.
Something you had to play with
So you asked me to see it.
I obliged knowing that once you had the knife
You'd quickly lose interest
Like a child wanting the toy another had
Because another had it.
While she eyeing me sitting silently
Assumed I knew nothing about what you were talking about
And tried her best to help explain
(So I would only see her side as right)
When she didn't understand I didn't want her help.
You put down the knife in a minute
And resumed arguing
Then, forgetting about me
She did too.
And the whole time,
The two of you
Never solved a single issue.  

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words no longer fall from frozen lips
and eyes no longer care
breaths once easy to take
now labor in their despair

thoughts of loving you vanish
like tendrils of smoke in the air
cancer causing drags inhaled
of a soul now naked and bare

one day love may return to these bones
but until then the mirror is so scared
hiding from the beast behind
searching for a heart to share

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Why I Want You (or A Lesson In Futility Never Quite Learned)

I look at you with these Columbus eyes,
exploring the Eden before me,
paradise lost is paradise found,
My edges are rough,
you sand them down,
I feel so round,
so exposed,
so round.

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Over Exposed

You race
my blood

like apocalyptic rains

douse me
in fire
off your

my addiction
cryptic words
on display

is my mind
is this ride

like a secret
I have nowhere
else to hide

you expose me…

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Summer Delivery

Driving back with your vacation beard
Carrying your dreams of paradise

protected by damp beach towels
This cargo has to last 50 weeks
insulated from everydayness
but your car is like a leaky ship
leaking the essence of summer

at every gas station and toll booth ticket taker
Yet you drive on defiant
After all, you carry a sunburn, mosquito bites and your daughter's tangled hair

Piloting the final miles

through night time neighborhoods
searching for signs of change

A final approach to the driveway landing strip
A second of silence and you emerge
Staggering into the land of thick air vibrating with the mantra of cicadas
Your weight against the door seems like you're prying open an ancient tomb
Tonight you deliver the light of summer

And while you sleep
It wafts through the house

mingling perfectly with the dirty laundry.

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i'm going back to paradise, when i fall asleep tonight.

i'll be cleopatra, james dean will be my lover,

we'll runaway together, in this dream like no other.

i'll collect the wild carrot, and put them in my hair

he'll hold the seashells to my ear, and i'll hear the

ocean, sing me to sleep. i will melt into those words,

like the golden honey sun. we can have dinner with

my best friend marylin, our voices will sound

hot and smooth, like our favourite coffee. there will

be no need to awake, as long as you continue to take

my hand, and my heart, gently. elegantly, i'll breathe,

though my chest may not rise, it means that i am

only, half-way alive.

within paradise, it hurts to dream.

this beauty in my head, is haunting me--

life can be such a disappointment, when i

rise in the morning.

i am afraid, to rise, in the morning.