…a poem by Sena Quashie Tonight the moon dances with laziness; As well as beautyOn the cushions of many who dream. With its dull light like a distracted handIt caresses the outlines of ourselves as we fall asleep. On the satin back of the soft avalanches, Dying, she surrenders to the long swoon, And walks in our eyes, a white …
The Fountain is dancing to the beat and I watch it cheerfully.It sways to the left, right, and into my shallow hilarity.I never laughed that way to such, there must be some magic to it.And so, it waves here and there, and I, giggling from ear to ear. The Fountain is dancing to the beat …
Everyday, at every nightYou can’t break me downI won’t surrender In the stillness of the nightI hear you all too wellBut I will not open my eyesI will fight When its just me and youI’ll awake to find myself asleepEvery night we will dance and when I wake;We’ll both disappear I won’t fight no moreI …
gone!
This is not a poem
Every bone, though not broken
sticks out sorely.
As the angry sun raged through
the dusty afternoon
I have sat here for long observing
how the hot air never flows
Nothing every flows in here, tbh
– not me and surely not you.
As I leave for the last time
I’m not sure anybody else knows
It’s a quiet goodbye and I’m sorry
but I wish I were sorrier.
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