

skipping lessonsall night long the trees hangskipping lessons
with dead things, and we cannot
wake them up
we blur blue and full of yawns a phone sticky with sweat on the right ear like night
against the outsides
of our shells
we were taught as children to take care of fragile things but sometimes they are not plates or windows, or figurines
if only someone had said this is how you handle growing into a young heart, and old aches


Communication PoemThe girl drops the words. They clatter like kitchen plates. The boy picks them up Piece by piece, wraps them In gauze and hands them back. I’m across the hall so I can see them. This is only reason why I know this so the girl goes and sits on the steps And delicately unwraps the package. Some of the pieces tumble down. I venture to guess she doesn’t want them anymore and that maybe I shouldn’t be watching something so vulnerable. And so I close the door. Then I guess the pieces clawed into her skin. That's when, my neighbors say, she sliced oCommunication Poem


The House is Too Hot to SleepThere are the new days in spring when the temperature rises to a degree that is unheard of. There are the warm days in spring that feel hot by comparison. I turned my jeans into shorts with white, fraying edges. My legs are scratched red by grass and twigs that I’ve been walking through all afternoon. My eyes are sore from the sun, (blazing). My feet are swollen from the miles of sidewalks that I’ve trekked over, through the suburban mazes. Green grass hills and trees with eager buds. Dirt is caked in my fingerprints and beneath my nails. The sun has revealed my hidiThe House is Too Hot to Sleep

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andrewpennyuk
myspace [link]
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Dreams are journeys that take one far from familiar shores, strengthening the heart, empowering the soul.
I really like your photographs.
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your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures.
welcome welcome to DA~
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live long, be happy
Hey there! Welcome to DA!! You're gonna love it here!
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