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Frog Tails continuingDinner had been nice, after both of the twins had gotten acquainted with the whole family and Lee made an unexpected friend in Cecil. I was still irritatingly jealous that Cecil had been the one to find out that Lee was a budding pianist, but it was nothing crippling. After dinner, Mrs. Bernoulli had offered to give the twins French lessons in the afternoons, so that left me free for my date Wednesday. Today.
Which was why I was standing in front of the mirror, holding a comb and making bizarre faces at myself. Whenever I got really nervous, I couldn't feel any of my limbs, or even my torso, but I was hyper-aware of every muscle in my face. That would have been okay if they weren't also completely out of my control. Most of the time I was fine as soon as I was actually in the situation I was nervous about, but "most of the time" was not quite often enough to keep me from getting nervous in the first place.
Cynical?Most forms of poetry did arise with a purpose, and I would assume that haiku's is inevitably tied to its culture. As far as form goes, though, you can really trash a poetic style's purpose and still fit the form/rules. It's like a weird form of cynicism.
To the average
Teenage boy of discerning
Taste and good breeding
Gentle breezes are
Not as interesting as
A pinup poster
See what I mean?
Go Go Get Over ItI may not stroll on catwalks
But I am a model of practical forgetting
Putting in a drawer the pictures of you
That I never drew or took
So very careful not to dwell
On what anyone could mean
The door is locked and barred
A pointless fortress with no visitors
It's too hard
There's not a chance
But I still notice when you wear a
It isn't you
And sure as hell
It's not me
In this scenario of ifs and buts
Something's gotta give
But it just doesn't take
I'm not waiting for you
To take off that stupid red shirt
Heaven knows I wish I wanted someone to
dead dog julyI.
the summer heat lays limp in the city’s lap,
breathing long oppressive breaths.
it does not even lift its lolling head
to bark out hoarse indignancy
when a strange man brings the mail.
there might be heavy rain today,
brought by some swollen, murmuring cloud.
the world will whirl and howl,
then settle down,
to die a little more.
o, quickly, love,
press your back against the wall in fear
as the universe spreads her arms and
shuts her eyes
and starts to summon the end of all things.
come with me
to the place of windows full of speechless afternoon
hot windy whispers of half-formed solutions and resolutions,
sweltering sunlit meadows we’ll wander and then forget.
o quickly, love,
let’s to the season of forgetting
and unwind all of our harshest memories
and fill the universe’s mouth
with mute cotton.
i’ll whisper these words to you some evening
with all my exigency in the hand i rest on your arm—
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