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rejectomorph

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Here Today [Aug. 21st, 2016|07:03 pm]
rejectomorph
I woke up so early today that I almost nodded off while sitting on a chair on the back porch a few minutes ago. It is deliciously cool out there, and a soft breeze is blowing, but I am so sleepy it might as well be sultry and soporific. I don't know how I'll stay awake long enough to watch the English people murder one another on television tonight. I'm not even sure I can stay awake long enough to eat dinner. Maybe I could take a nap and then wake up before the murders begin, but lacking anything that could serve as an alarm clock I don't trust myself. On the other hand, if I don't nap it's likely that I'll fall asleep during the murders and never find out who killed who and why.

Decisions, decisions. I'll put them off with this:




Sunday Verse



For Example, A Flower


Arkaye Kierulf


We are protected from so much pain. For example: graves.
The earth's roots and brown-black blood are busy

covering the soft, violated bodies of our loves.
Death is a secret, and the rain with its many hands

washes off the streets to the gutters death's thick surprise.
The automatic shutter of the eye never fails,

the courtesies of the tongue. What goes on in the rooms of houses
is guarded from us by the hardwood doors,

the carefully closed windows. Whatever was said or done,
night will come, eagerly, to clean up.

And death will shield us, in time,
from the sun's megalithic promise:

Tomorrow, the same day.
Tomorrow, the same day.

For example: A flower
is the most beautiful lie.

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