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Literature Text
She owns her flesh.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.
Old goddess, beautiful decay-
draping along the length of her bones
like a Shakespearean sonnet.
When the graveyard lurkers
come to pray upon a carcass,
they will howl their mournful sorrow
to the earth below their claws.
Devouring her, respectfully.
She, with an aged bird spirit:
unable to be caged.
Literature
Unlabeled
Your stitching is too bold, sir,
I was not made for this.
Misjudged, I do malfunction
under labels wrongly wrought.
The threads will snap inside my skin.
My nails are sharp
and they will rend
this flesh for freedom.
You may always try again,
though have a care
with definitions.
Their concrete limbs cannot move
and flow the way I can.
You underestimate me.
Place me in a box
and I will always carve a door.
Literature
Creatures
Your eyes shut, you see it all
And watch the very core of existence
Pour its warm, yellow, liquid silk over you
As you grasp it with sweaty palms
And delight in the majesty of knowing
As you gaze in wonder at the foggy trees
You see magical lights swim through the branches
Creatures of time, creatures of night
Creatures between sleep and religious sight
They delight in the majesty of knowing
Zooming through a blanched society
You compare your splendid soul to theirs
Yours is pure, yours is free
It shrills and oozes with pounding bliss
And delights in the majesty of knowing
But these wondrous happenings occur only in health
Whe
Literature
Surreal Reality
Surreal Reality:
The tides that bind a fallen city,
Swirls of vision, animosity...
Lost beneath a silvered glass,
Watch and wait as hours pass.
You find yourself, now surreal,
Surrounded by clocks with a ticking squeal.
You walk to the kitchen, a hand you find,
A platter in which to place your mind.
The microwave dings, the toaster rings,
From the oven you pull, intestinal strings.
You stab with the knife, it ends in your head,
Place your mind into a toasted bread...
You walk to the car, you breathe in deep,
You look into your pocket; the bottle you keep.
You take a long swig, it's a magical drive,
Your soul falls asleep while
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Many cultures throughout Tanzania believe some witches can turn themselves into hyenas. The Wambugwe, who live in the savannahs of Tanzania, believe "every witch possesses one or more hyenas which are branded (invisible to normal eyes) with her mark, and to which she refers as her 'night cattle.'
NaPoWriMo 2012, #2
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NaPoWriMo 2012, #2
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Comments12
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Again with your amazing imagery! I particularly like "aged bird spirit", it's such an evocative image that's usually cliched. You've managed to make it original.