Bryanna Joy
all night we were crossing the ocean
none of us could see
through the dark egg windows
far below us the baleen were
rolling in the deep we
were tired but could not sleep
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all night we were crossing the ocean
none of us could see
through the dark egg windows
far below us the baleen were
rolling in the deep we
were tired but could not sleep
That life is but the dream
half remembered,
half made up,
never entirely certain to whom
(or is it to who?)
the question of belonging belongs.
Pink moon chattering brightly
draws me out of hiding,
using the same gentle trick she pulls on the tides.
Pink moon chattering brightly
draws me out of hiding,
using the same gentle trick she pulls on the tides.
She is daydreaming again, soft things that will never be put to good use–
sunlight and coffee rings and work that won’t get done.
She wishes she had more answers and less time, was better at making choices,
understood what her choices even were.
At about this age, their hearts were halved like
an elephant's divided eyes of which one was
in the sitting room
my girlfriend drinks wine
and talks with her friends
about marriage.
I know what you're thinking: But it's the middle of summer! Rum balls are a holiday thing! And that's exactly what makes these suckers so special. They just never see ‘em coming. I whipped up a trayload for my brother's Fourth of July barbecue last year and nearly got the sister in law blackout.
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