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Taylor Mali, Spoken Word Artist

21 Mar

Amen!

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On Brevity of Encounter

21 Feb

All their intercourse had been made up of just such inarticulate flashes, when they seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods

-Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome

 

 

 
Natures first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf’s a flower
But only so an hour,
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay.
-Robert Frost

  

The way she touched her hand to her hair, the slight of her straw hat hanging from the window hasp, and many other things in which it had never occured [to him] to look for pleasure now formed the steady current of his happiness.
-Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

  

Even if our limited, brief and seemingly
negligible encounter
Is an encounter only in the wasteland
of my ceaseless attempts at
TRUE sexual awakening
You are memorable to me
–Rather our meeting is
–Rather the random and meaningless 20 minutes on stationary bikes we
–Rather…
(I am even wary of using certain pronouns for fear of feeling foolish enough to dignify the interaction with a unifier)
–Rather, even though it was sweaty
and even though my thighs were burning
(gross)
unrelated- solely due to the bike I assure you.
Even though- any interaction we had is 85% imagined
Even though- there was no “spark” no “connection” no “fireworks” no cliche
No sap to hold us together
For a moment I felt keenly aware of the fact that
You and I
Have unlimited potential to create the beautiful
And how can that
POSSIBLY Be Mundane?
-Anonymous

For my mother

23 Jan

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by
herself)have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses
my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)
standing near my
(swaying over her
silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see
nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my
(suddenly in sunlight
he will bow,
& the whole garden will bow)

ee cummings

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