On a cool morning in the Tallahassee, Florida suburbs, Amy is walking her cocker spaniel, Sunshine, along the edge of the street. There are no sidewalks in front of the houses, but the vehicle traffic is light this morning. It’s a Tuesday, around 7:00 a.m. As Amy and Sunshine approach an intersection with a major street, a man comes around the corner walking his dog, a terrier mix. Just as Amy is about to look the other way, so as to avoid eye contact, the man says, “Good morning,” with a smile. Amy is taken aback a bit, but she doesn’t want to appear rude, so she replies with a “Good morning,” back. But she feels a bit nervous as she comes closer, and decides to turn around and run home, Sunshine running along with her. As she closes the front door to her house, bends down and unfastens Sunshine’s leash, Amy thinks to herself, I know it’s common for people to greet each other in this town, but something just didn’t feel right.
Ample
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On Fire
Electricity
Flowing through my veins.
A bomb in my stomach
Fit to explode.
Falling apart,
From the inside out.
Face is caving in.
Jaw is disintegrating.
Eyes are on fire.
Is there an exit
For me to escape,
Or am I trapped here
With you and them?
Vanilla
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Poetry clash tirade country spill brief tires night
Pig trial Pilates stoke citrate wham talk vanilla
Carried Away
Life flowing from my heart
Is cut down by rivers of doubt.
The rushing water wears down
My early oaths and affirmations,
Slowing my faith to a halt.
My simple plan to ditch the man of the gospels,
Runs into blockades along the way.
Nests of love, peace and grace
Call me away from my solitary journey.
I sometimes fight the current,
Or allow myself to rest,
But naturally I am carried away
By the fantasies and delusions
Of my silly imagination.
Not Resting
Neon bikes strobe laugh elbow monster trachea
Destroy aluminum casserole covers close the dog
In the darkness of the garage wound my knee on
The fledgling goose beak as I walk through the park,
Home is where I rest, but I am not resting.
The Fight
With a battering ram strapped to my forehead,
I push through the glistening walls of the great cathedral.
But for what?
Has this victory won me anything of value?
After all, the war has already been won by my adversary,
And this stub in the toe is no big loss to him.
My screams in the darkness win me no favors,
Gain me no pity, although he may shed a tear.
Shall I continue to throw stones through stained glass windows,
Knowing I am only hurting those I love and who love me?
Whom am I fighting, anyway, if not myself?
Bacon
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Isle
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Ole
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