texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to matt margo at firstname.lastname@example.org for consideration...
Monday, August 19, 2013
text || Nikita Gill
In a Nutshell
met you. I didn't meet you. I met you again. We laughed. I laughed. You
laughed. We laughed again. We found meaning. We looked at little
things. We talked. We loved. We looked at worlds in different
perspectives. We understood eyes being windows to souls. I liked yours.
You thought mine were pretty. We found balconies insipid. We found
doorways ironic. We thought stars were overrated. We circled around
discomfort. We circled around love. We circled and circled and
circled...and then you told me you loved me. We smiled. You asked me to
run with you. You told me time and space were ours to take. We were
invincible. Stars became ours. Ours became different. Different became a
problem. Your friends. My friends. Your ideas. My thoughts. You
laughed. I didn't. I laughed. You didn't. The world was harder. Your
eyes were colder. Balconies became escape routes. Doors were meant to be
closed. Stars disappeared. Discomfort became natural. We argued. We
fought. We stopped running together. Time and space became a black hole.
I cried. You left.
I met you once more. You were with her. You thought her eyes were pretty.