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Literature Text
the bright
november 11/06
this is a lonely room of drawn curtains and lengthy shadows,
where i wake to the sight of a familiar spider spinning lovely webs.
in the morning I funnel any drop of luminosity into a porcelain coffee cup.
and come the eventide i offer up this liquid light,
gently dying the webs as a sun-bleached white
as i quietly watch the spider’s last flight,
sailing over my head and into the light.
and tomorrow i will wake to a foreign sight;
torn up curtains and a sun-bleached spider laying in the bright.
november 11/06
this is a lonely room of drawn curtains and lengthy shadows,
where i wake to the sight of a familiar spider spinning lovely webs.
in the morning I funnel any drop of luminosity into a porcelain coffee cup.
and come the eventide i offer up this liquid light,
gently dying the webs as a sun-bleached white
as i quietly watch the spider’s last flight,
sailing over my head and into the light.
and tomorrow i will wake to a foreign sight;
torn up curtains and a sun-bleached spider laying in the bright.
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Comments3
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Short but nice.