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unstaved
—
stuck in the flow of
what’s going on,
stillness feels like
the rebellion of the lost.
Dreams hold the future,
and it’s held
with an open hand
a guardian angel dangling its legs
from your nightstand
it’s only
our desperate desires that
crash to the floor
but there’s still more
after a tragic, tragic end
.•.peako green•.•
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“Mud Season,” Tess Taylor
We unstave the winter’s tangle.
Sad tomatoes, sullen sky.
We unplay the summer’s blight.
Rotted on the vine, black fruit
swings free of strings that bound it.
In the compost, ghost melon; in the fields
grotesque extruded peppers.
We prod half-thawed mucky things.
In the sky, starlings eddying.
Tomorrow, snow again, old silence.
Today, the creaking icy puller.
Last night I woke
to wild unfrozen prattle.
Rain on the roof—a foreign liquid tongue.
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Today's Poem
Mud Season
--Tess Taylor
We unstave the winter’s tangle.
Sad tomatoes, sullen sky.
We unplay the summer’s blight.
Rotted on the vine, black fruit
swings free of the strings that bound it.
In the compost, ghost melon; in the fields(,)
grotesque extruded peppers.
We prod half-thawed mucky things.
In the sky, starlings eddying.
Tomorrow, snow again, old silence.
Today, the creaking icy puller.
Last night I woke
to wild unfrozen prattle.
Rain on the roof— a foreign liquid tongue.
0 notes