dysthymia

you are the spring in my limp the depth of my shallow breaths the shattered melancholy of my being broken memories from before I knew you sweet smoke my dad loved to hide behind dark eyes of an early crush summertime grass warm against my bare feet first real kiss black-veiled mourner standing alone beneath…

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Tarot

At the Southern Museum of Archaeology, I findHomo heidelbergensis, the last common ancestorof man and Neanderthals. A skull with a sloping forehead, pronounced brow ridgesand no jawbone, a skull that, coupled with a heart,once contained techniques of ecstasy,esoteric knowledge of joy, gained, perhaps, near a gentle soughing stream orat dawn, sunset, night under the stars orafter a…

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Flailing Empty Capillaries

You were there from birth,passed down from father to son,waltzing through my veins. My muse.We embraced, perfectly on pitch,a song, and then I foundanotherand I left you. I see youtattooed on my wrists. Thickblack lines, a Gand an F.My former muse, permanentover my veins,under my skin,a perpetual reminder. I stare at you, remembering.Wanting stillto create with you….

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Benjamin S. Sneyd

[what you’ve done here] what you’ve done here,you’ve done in the rain.bitter, brick building,the rapture of memories:old and young men.you cried on the stairs,listened in the lobby,kissed by the narrow back door.they settle into mildewed            hardwood floors walk the grass, oak trees,soggy mulch in empty flower beds.what you did there,you did in the presenceof a thousand leaves.  We…

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It’s Fucking Winter in New York City

It’s cigarettes and coffeebetween worries and words.I could be talking to youinstead of myself,but you’re allergic to smokeand I can’t step outsideevery 10 minutes.It’s winter in New York City. I won’t make any sacrifices.I’ve come far enough in lifeto know when to give inand I won’t give in to you.I don’t have to.The thing inside of…

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Pointillism

0Geometry of motion: the pinpricks of stars behindmoving clouds reforming into instants of fungus.World’s tallest building in the revolving foreground. 1.Player piano script unrolled on the green park bench near boulevard Magenta. Strawberries for sale in the market, three coins a pound. The butcher is disassembling a leg of lamb:his left hand is a hook. Still…

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