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poetry/a/a-birthday-every-day.txt

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+a birthday every day
+2019-01-10
+
+***
+
+every day, the universe sketches itself anew
+like an etch-a-sketch broken by accident from a cousin's fall
+if I am made of the same stuff as the stars
+then it is my birthday every day
+
+but even if the atoms that make up my body
+all somehow- miraculously- came from the same ball of gas
+every day these days I keep reinventing myself
+so every revolution might as well be another birthday
+
+I still suspect that others are lying about their birthdays
+an effortless reach for clout
+meaningless numbers on a screen
+that could all be extinguished in a moment's breath
+like the birthday candles you purport to require
+
+but what is a birthday, anyway?
+just a day that marks one more year around the sun
+one more year of being on the run
+running out of time
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/a-royal-color.txt

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+a royal color
+2021-03-25
+
+***
+
+My grandmother has
+a room in her house
+dedicated to purple.
+Lavender walls,
+royal sheets:
+I'd only need
+you there
+for it to be complete.
+For eyes are the windows
+into the soul,
+windows I have spent many a childhood
+gazing out onto the cold
+dead suburban landscape.
+How I wish I could take
+you into my arms
+and let you teach
+this worn-out teacher
+there is still warmth
+worth searching for.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/a-smearing-of-galaxies.txt

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+a smearing of galaxies
+2019-12-31
+
+***
+
+my dream is to take you out for long days in the city
+in little dessert shops we can be found hiding
+curled up in the corner under a blanket, legs intertwined
+how cursed that it's my passions I can barely define
+
+wasting light in the evenings in the hot tub of someone
+slipping into each other's curves in the center of the sun
+as all the other stars in the galaxy fall into place around us
+please, my love, teach me the meaning of lust
+
+curtains close, sun sets, trapped in a frost giant's heart
+taunting shadows of futures that rip us apart
+I ask you to promise me tomorrow; you shake your head and refuse
+for who knows if tomorrow's the next thing that we'll lose
+
+my hands clench the steering wheel as your breath slowly weakens
+half-frozen exhales like deep-shining beacons
+past is immutable, changing nevermore
+but I am the worst keeper of my very own lore
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/access.txt

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+A New Page
+2020-12-06
+
+***
+
+the sun fails its checksum
+it doesn't feel the same
+as the blazing starry organ that
+once sent me sprawling for shade
+
+I need a new story
+to occupy my head
+for I keep running my fingers
+through tattered shattered shreds
+
+that have grown flimsy from folding
+and furry with mold
+and tired from touch
+sparkless, dismal, *old*
+
+I pull out my ROMs
+and play one a while
+picked out from random
+one of a million files
+
+but each of them fails to
+spark my imagination
+so I put controller away
+and continue furtive hunt
+
+hundreds of fiction books
+but each one a reminder
+from when I was naive
+setting my ambitions higher
+
+comics, I find, are
+few and far between
+either boring in their cliches
+or in a language I cannot read
+
+an aged painting is sublime
+but its enchantment temporary,
+whether of trees, landscape, woman,
+or dancing rows of fairies
+
+almost three years has taught my soul
+that is most powerful which I *externalize*
+but my body is weary, sky outside gray
+and I feel neither learned nor wise
+
+so I build a boat from spare unused neurons
+and set out on my ocean to explore
+if there are stories worthy waiting out there, I know not
+but my adventure starts on this unmodeled shore
+
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/arrhythmia.txt

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+Arrhythmia
+2021-04-01
+
+***
+
+When a person gives
+you arrhythmia,
+you may want to write a love poem.
+
+That is,
+if you don't die of
+a heart attack first
+
+or feel the
+implosion of a
+vessel burst
+
+in your brain
+from a would-be lover
+driving you insane.
+
+When a person gives
+you a stroke,
+you may want to paint a sunset.
+
+That is,
+if you don't drop
+the brush first,
+if you don't spill the paint
+onto the floor
+from a misplaced curse of
+silence forevermore.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/artisto.txt

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+artisto
+2020-02-20
+
+***
+
+I bought a statue from a fire sale the other day
+from the house down the street that went up in flames
+because my friends always scream about taking life by the reins
+and nothing really happened on my birthday anyways
+
+I’ve finally learned how to draw
+with the statue in front of the window, greeting guests
+who knock on my door, memories in hand
+from long ago, seeking immortality in portrait
+
+the cold marble provides a great companion
+as those who linger pose in place
+behind the easel, the pencil flies all on its own
+on the subject, feet twitch, begging to pace
+
+the paper shakes my soul with sanity
+but to others, I seem insane
+how dare I call myself “artist” and live
+without the empty stomach to qualify my name
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/a/dang-trees.txt

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+all these dang trees everywhere
+2020-01-17
+
+***
+
+can you reach the stars from here where we stand?
+you'll have to open your eyes first, and stretch out a hand
+and maybe, if you're lucky, the clouds will cede
+and the horizon you wanted will be yours to receive
+
+if you mind, can you please pass the milk?
+they say, in the outdoors, it tastes just like silk
+fine words- but revolting; my stomach churns like a pool
+delicacies do not go well with the worries of a fool
+
+what's on your mind? what's going on at home?
+have the police caught on yet that we've decided to roam?
+I wonder if Mother even cares where we are
+or if she's more concerned with the Spectacle, with interviews and news cars
+
+why does the sky have to be blue?
+why not gray to reflect a burgeoning city
+or green to reflect the mass amounts of trees here
+because that seems to be one of the only things here
+
+trees
+trees
+and more trees.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander