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darkness is falling,
collapsing through the open windows,

I follow you up the stairs and you are holding a dead body
in your mouth, I say, stop, then, nevermind, but you don't know
nevermind and the body stands up.

I have a memory of Scheherazade
cradling her wineglass, about
to laugh

to laugh,
I hold your hand, to laugh,
I open your ribs, laugh, spread your
intestines, read the signs,

I am holding the darkness between my finger and
thumb, rubbing it against my lips,
singing softly.




:iconsunshinegypsy:

Author's Comments

If I don't start posting my NaPo poems, I shall quit. So, be bombarded with crap.

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:iconanarkhos:
Who is Schehrezade? I feel this is something one should know.

--
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
:iconsunshinegypsy:
From 1001 Arabian Nights!

--
If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.

~ Brian Andreas
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:iconsunshinegypsy:
The worst thing about the internet is that I can't lend people my books.

--
If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.

~ Brian Andreas
Hidden by Owner

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April 8
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