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World War Z: Twice CompoundWisconsin, USA
[I meet with Lita in the garden of her compound. We are just a stone's throw away from the small one-floor building that houses the compound's residents, and nearer still to the wall of cars, stacked two high, that surrounds the encampment. There are a number of tattered tents erected behind the building. Children are working in the garden, weighing pale tomatoes in their hands. Under the window overlooking the garden, there is a single flowerless rosebush, and through it I can see small plants potted in Tupperware.
Lita leans heavily on her hoe during our discussion. She is still young, but her eyes, or perhaps just the dirt in the creases around them, show that the world rests greatly upon her.]
Tell me what happened.</i>
Where should I start?
Anywhere. Anywhere you'd like.
[She pauses, thinking.] We weren't ready. Not for the ghouls; we knew they were coming. What we didn't expect was the military.
The military came to help
Tornado Sirens& I am outrunning tornado sirens in the city
& the wind doesn't want me to move
& the rain is so cold the streets are steaming
& it smells like inflatable pools in summer
& my breath is steaming
& it smells like watermelon
& a tornado might be a sight to see
Acceptance Letters(Henry Ackleman walks onstage, carrying (or pretending to carry) a letter, reading.)
(under his breath) Mister Henry Ackleman, we regret to inform you that your application to (trails off, murmuring as he reads a bit to himself)
Shit! (he crumples up the letter and throws it aside, or pretends to) Goddamn.
(Henry begins to pace the stage quickly, one hand on his forehead as if he is shielding his eyes from the sun. He is looking at the floor, the fingers on his other hand going like they want to grab something. His breathing is either heavy and angry or overly and obviously consciously controlled.
He stops in the center of the stage, takes a deep breath to calm himself.)
(calmly) God damn.
(anxious again) That was the only school I applied to! Every one else at school was talking about their backup colleges and all the acceptance letters from community colleges they had in their desk drawers. They never accepted, o
According To My DreamsThe antago, the false alarms;
from sheer impulsiveness
I tried to believe the meaning missing
from your letters. I thought
I understood what you thought
you meant, though the words didnt match.
According to my dreams,
you never left me.
Rather, the army called you away,
your step-father had you murdered,
you were out picking blackberries.
But, agon!, I must be my own Savior.
I have never been a patriot,
but you used you carry love songs
in your wake. Your promises
of pies and sweet tarts for tea
were merely in vain, like planting
daffodils before the winter.
Irish not my language.
I speak as the tongues
I speak as
cold winds through
twisting their branches
I speak like honey
for the Queen,
Social TourismI am Forgetfulness.
Do you remember me?
Will you visit?
I live in the falling house
you try not to look at
as you drive to your work.
Often I sit in the garden
during spring and through summer.
I am sorry for my broken eyes.
I am sorry for my unkempt hair.
Instructions for SeptemberDo not allow the pigeon at your stoop
to come inside, for it is a hawk.
When the moon is in your window,
the owl is in hiding,
и дождь идёт.*
After the rainy spell,
let loose lead kisses to the queen,
ohg orjnar gur cnjaf,**
twelve of two,
where they hide in dark squares.
At the close of September,
do not forget to remember me.
Courtship Without A NameHer name was erased
by men her whole life
and she was reduced to
baking pound cakes with
white frosting and strawberries.
She was reduced to lace
collars and shoestring ribbons
adorning her wedding gown,
walking on eggshells
in a matching dress.
She was reduced to courtship.
She was reduced to powder,
and rouge, and curls,
to pale skin white from
the darkness of the sitting room.
She was reduced to silver
thimbles and thin threads.
She was reduced to
petticoats and bonnets.
She was never in rosters,
never written into existence.
She has never had a name,
so here it is: Catherine.
At My Own FuneralShe is dead.
That is it, then.
Her soul is gone,
leaving her body as it shall be,
as it was before her birth.
We may long to mourn,
she is now with
the birds, the forest, the wind.
She has reached the center
of lifes labyrinth
and though she has no string
to lead her out,
surely the center shines bright.
or maybe it actually is.this
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
WomanA story behind her eyes
A dream on her lips
Waiting to be said,
Waiting to be true.
A voice from heart.
A lovely sound.
You're so tender,
So simple and complicated.
Spontaneous and shy.
Silent and talkative.
Serious and funny.
Always in love.
Tears rolling down for an illusion.
Eyes looking up missing somebody.
Letters never sent.
A heart that never sleeps.
You are so beautiful
Even when you feel you're the ugliest one.
You are a princess
Even when you feel nobody cares of you.
You are a goddess
Even when years painted lines on your face.
A sweet strength
A reason to love.
StoryA man on a corner with a dirty look
Telling a story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
But never to the one he loved the most
A woman on a corner with a gloomy look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
Didn’t know the woman she was loved the most
A cat on a corner with a cunning look
Listening to the story written in no book
A thousand times told in form of a verse
It was the time of the day it loved the most
A stone on a corner with a cold look
Waiting for the man to finish his book
A thousand years passed and no one cared
For the rock on the corner or the story of the man
How To LoveNext time you're laying in bed trying to fall asleep, call your girl and tell her you love her. Say it over and over and talk to her until she falls asleep with the phone in her hand. Tell her you love her before you hang up, even though you know she can't hear you. When you see her next, whether it be at school, at work, or even at her house, kiss her with meaning. Don't be afraid to kiss your girl in front of your friends and family. Show her that you aren't above that and you're not ashamed. Offer your jacket to her when it's cold and insist she take it, no matter how cold you really are. Send her flowers when she's sick and you can't be there, and cuddle with her when you can without caring if you catch what she has. Call her after work or school just to make sure she got home safely, even though you watched her walk in the front door. Lay down your jacket in a puddle so her $100 shoes don't get wrecked, even if your jacket costs $300. Send her flowers even if she isn't sick becaus
Tears of GlassI wish I had someone to comfort now
like the girl staring back from the mirror-
I would whisper my love and hold her hand-
I would soak up her tears and find her smile.
But I can’t dry tears that are made of glass-
I can’t hear lovers’ words that are my own.
There is no one here who will hold me close,
and no companion I can charm to smile.
The only girl with whom I share sorrow
stares back from the mirror with tears of glass.
A Bisexual Poem.A Bisexual poem
Some people like men
Some people like women
Some may like the same genders of themselves
Some also like both
Liking both genders is being bisexual
I'm bisexual myself
No, i'm not ashamed of it
I'm proud of it
All bisexuals should proud of it
It's just who we are
Some people may accept us
And some people may not
If they don't like bisexuals, just forget about them
If they do like bisexuals, be their friend
I'm proud to be bisexual
You should be too.
disenchanted superheroyou are my kryptonite
even though i’m no superman;
i’m just riddled with weakness,
but i must be strong enough
to keep you.
(you are a drug
i can’t put down.
i don’t want to.)
we are standing on a precipice,
and i’m realizing i can’t fly.
(will you jump
on the way down.)
your hand is warm in mine
and i’m not strong enough to let go.
(stay by me.
be my strength,
because i’m not a super hero
and i can’t save you.
Leaving TulsaGuitar strings marked your palms,
tattooing lyrics onto your skin
and making it glow like italic rust.
Garrett, would you have called me
over to your favorite spot
in the mountains
if you'd known that I was just as
lost as those scared rabbits,
running away from a dust storm?
Boy, I didn't expect to fall
prey to your September eyes
but that's exactly what happened.
And I never thought
we'd have anything in common,
let alone a strange
fire burning a hole in our sides;
our protective shells like Lego houses.
The thrill of wanderlust
rushed through our veins
as we sat, sipping cokes with rum
at a little soiled dove
bar in Tulsa on the weekends.
We talked about the places
we'd see if we ever
were to leave home,
sharing made-up fantasies
about running down gypsy roads
with backpacks strapped
to our bodies and wildflowers
melting in our cheeks
as we blushed under
a bourgeois European sun.
Boy, you smiled like you
couldn't wait to defy gravity
and I felt sorry that
your family didn't see
If...If these boundaries and borders didn't exist,
my thoughts would be less fogy and without any mist.
If we didn't belong to different cultures and religions,
it wouldn't be difficult for me to take these decisions.
If these differences and distances could disappear,
I would be diagnosed with happiness and no sign of fear.
If these restrictions and limitations could vanish,
all my stress and tensions would suddenly diminish.
If we hadn't confessed our love for each other,
would you still care for me, would you still bother ?
If we hadn't met at all,
I wouldn't be so confident and stand so tall.
If I was as mature as you and you as immature as me,
we both could let go of these feelings and set each other free.
If you were as tangled as me and me as untangled as you,
I'll accept that this is not an illusion and your love for me is true.
If I didn't smile whenever I missed you,
and look in the mirror to capture the astonishing view.
If all this was just a sweet dream or may be a bluff,
WorldThe world is calling to us,
tempting us with grassy expanses
and flowering trees surrounding
It has snuck magnets into our free hands.
It has given us cold rooms
and warm suns to tickle our skin,
to allow the fleeting fantasy of touch,
and it is calling us.
Dirt roads and walking paths
were made for our feet to
tread upon together until sunset.
The world has created fireflies
to act as fairy lights to guide us
past all pasts and restraint.
The world has gifted itself to us;
it recreates itself daily for us.
Let us not spurn it away.
Let us smell the wildflowers.
Let us chase the squirrels.
Let us pick the grass in the meadows
and weave chains of flowers
in the shade of young willows.
The world has created my hair
to be brushed out of my face.
It gives us my eyes to catch yours
and your hands to hold mine.
My eyelashes were formed
for wishes for you.
The world has created,
with infinite care,
me for you.
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
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