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shadows of echoes of memories of songs
My insect life

Red wall, red chair

Red chair. A boot. Still life
or love in all its banality
as how he sits, or she removes
her shoes, or he crosses his ankles,
protrusions of bone. Still life
in the old walls yet, pinned
photographs curl like wings.
Here we have made and broken
beds and hearts and promises,
rattling words in skulls. Still life
and life only, not a meaning
or a story or an effortless break-
ing down of everything into its
parts, finally departs. Still life
wherever you leave it, complete.
Read 5 | Write
livredor From: livredor Date: February 11th, 2015 09:59 am (UTC) (Link)
This is amazing! It's the sort of thing I want to keep reading over and over. Not only you're posting to LJ again, you're writing poetry. Thank you.
j4 From: j4 Date: February 16th, 2015 11:00 pm (UTC) (Link)
You are too kind!
cleanskies From: cleanskies Date: February 12th, 2015 08:17 am (UTC) (Link)

thankyou :)

I have a thing for you, are you around this weekend?
j4 From: j4 Date: February 15th, 2015 11:31 am (UTC) (Link)
Yikes, sorry, there is not much of this weekend left, but we are around for it! :)
cleanskies From: cleanskies Date: February 16th, 2015 09:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
it'll keep!
Read 5 | Write