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Art astronomy belief comfort divinity gratitude love poetry

John Dorsey, John Dorsey, John Dorsey

if the shelves of hell are lined

with all the books

that should have been written

please know

there’s a big gaudy ass pink satiny lace volume

of poetry i didn’t write about you

sitting quietly in the

damn, but didn’t we have fun

section

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performance poetry publishing punk writing

Not Your Mother’s Open Mic Night – This Sunday

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lore

just a man

drag off a cigarette smirk

a walking shell game

snake in a can

so backwards in life

one questions

reports of his death

yet

he would crookedly smile

calling it

legend

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Abelard and Heloise Americana astrolabe astronomy baseball writing beauty cemeteries chronology cinema civility coffee comfort dance death divinity fairy tales forensics fucking funerals iconography life literature local color love poetry mortuary science non-fiction punk relationships religion shooting stars Southern Gothic Urban Legends writing

memento mori

Marci Payne

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Uncategorized

Juicy Rationalizations

Sugary justifications,

& candied white lies

once satisfied, however,

I no longer feel full

from such high calorie

low content diets.

It’s teeth gnashing truthy meats

I have in mind.

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activism Americana Art cemeteries childhood chronology crime death destruction digital photography epidemeology Europe family geneology history muse non-fiction religion reproductive rights rituals shooting stars society Southern Gothic The British Royal Crown theatre travel writing Urban Legends war weddings

Pocahontas

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activism addiction Americana civility coffee comfort rituals shooting stars

You sure it ain’t Sanka?

This morning’s coffee

tastes like resignation,

however,

I’m in the mood for redemption.

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Americana analysis death funerals

crazy

it was the moment

my body fell limp

6.5 years old carried

in my big brothers arms

during the final casket receiving line

when i realized

i would never kiss my father again

that was the moment

my sanity didn’t survive

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Americana astrolabe astronomy baseball writing beauty behavior childhood Christmas cinema civility comedy communication death fairy tales family humor love poetry punk Uncategorized

his laugh

if i could have anything back

any part of his essence

i would want

his laugh

as life without it has been

no life at all

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Uncategorized

the coffee scoop

It’s ordinary…

mundane, absolutely nothing special.

Part of a set that was purchased in the late 80’s

or early nineties would be my guess.

This brown, plastic 1/8 cup scoop

that came to symbolize our every morning

spent sharing coffee

no matter if we were 12 inches

or 1,200 miles apart. We always had coffee.

It is special because he sent it to me

in a care package when I was aching for him.

I still ache for him,

so it’s my coffee scoop until my dying day.