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Post by littleskinny on Jul 10, 2005 12:37:30 GMT -5
well I'll be damned....... wowzers. thank you for existing, sasha
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 16:07:37 GMT -5
XV.
I warn you do not look at me with those fox eyes.
Or else I will fall in love.
I already have...
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 16:08:12 GMT -5
XVI.
Nobody will change. Our truce is called off.
Nobody will admit they’re wrong.
Our iron will is daft.
Well, I curse these genes.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 16:08:36 GMT -5
XVII.
Vagabond among the thorns.
This is not my home.
Where will I go?
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 16:09:03 GMT -5
XVIII.
I gesticulate like her. Roll my eyes like her. Remind you of her. My tone of voice is hers.
We’re sisters, asunder.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 19:14:40 GMT -5
IXX.
I sat alone, watching the long awaited rain drum on my bench, run down the roof, and into the empty tub.
Later, I treasured every yellow drop.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 19:24:56 GMT -5
XX.
I play Frogger with traffic.
There are no laws in this current of foreign, speeding cars.
Sweat makes cotton awful prickly.
Fresh breeze is rare pleasure.
Congested, humid town coughs exhaust fumes.
My lungs hack in response. My ankles moan.
The denizens adapted to the morning chill and midday heat don layers, garish wool.
I’m stunned and panting.
All worn out, I carry a throbbing needle in my chest, with every step it burrows deeper.
Prior to the sun there was a downpour.
Now puddles flood walkways, where wooden planks serve as uncertain bridges.
But holy children, do not mind, all bare feet and smiles, they test the depths of muddy waters.
Quite jealous, I walk on past them down ragged roads, slide under low stooped branches, leave minute footprints in the soggy soil.
Across the street, I meet a raven haired princess in stilettos balancing on the cement curb, all in white and proud.
There, in the shade of maples trees are boys with baby faces but adult habits, they gesture with ciggy butts and follow me with raptor eyes
until I disappear behind the corner, and they forget me as if I never came into their view.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 10, 2005 19:26:04 GMT -5
XXI.
Children mimic youth, youth acts grown up.
What do grown ups have to look for?
Age is ugly.
Today they are trendy but tomorrow they’re obsolete and forever last in line.
Make way.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:52:05 GMT -5
XXII. Pines and sunshine. God is here in the tall trees, among the bright wreaths. Black marble or green metal monuments like an army, salute those who passed on. Crosses, below them are photos, dates, names and tender words engraved in stone. Wild flowers bloom from the hearts’ of the mounts. Silence is loud and peace is here in the tall trees among our loved ones.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:52:28 GMT -5
XXIII.
Why is mercy so absurd?
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:53:01 GMT -5
XXIV.
There is no religion, there is only faith in better days for our kin, we do not ask for ourselves.
Our time has passed.
These are not mere prayers.
Our blood was not spilled, our backs were not broken, our hands did not tame this soil for nothing.
So let our children never know toil, let them never know war, and let them finally learn to forgive.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:54:04 GMT -5
XXV.
These dinosaurs must have patience of titans.
They’re so used to waiting, so used to being degraded and willingly accepting when officials equate them with worms.
So they stifle themselves, wasted and tired.
The thought that they too have rights doesn’t seem to enter the mind or maybe it does with every waking moment as it slowly creeps from behind and with every breath they take, like a parasite it embeds in the lungs, being at its worst at night, as they turn and toss, coughing up blood.
And yet they stand.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:54:52 GMT -5
XXVI. The lucky are those who do not realize they are slaves. They’re quite content with the lack of free will. They are the ones who at ill times reprimand the fate. Of course, choice all on your own is alarming, better let those more adept orchestrate the existence.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:55:26 GMT -5
XXVII.
Life is best perceived through contrasts.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 11, 2005 11:55:51 GMT -5
XXVIII.
My scab might never heal, keep peeling it off to reveal more flesh. Lick escaping blood, saliva blunts the aftertaste of rust.
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