My feelings for you sound like Mark Kozelek’s vocals at a Sun Kil Moon concert

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My feelings for you sound like Mark Kozelek’s vocals at a Sun Kil Moon concert:
The same atonal thing repeated, over and over again, with whatever
rhythm works to keep the groove going, til I can think of something
really fucking sad really fucking sad really fucking sad really
fucking sad really fucking sad really fucking sad really
fucking sad really fucking sad really fucking sad
really fucking sad really fucking sad really
fucking sad really fucking sad really
fucking sad really fucking sad
really fucking sad
to characterise
in minute,
exacting
detail

so, do
you wanna
go out tonight?
It’ll be a ton of fun.
We could start a family,
build a life together, grow old
watching our children burgeon into
adulthood, until one of them gets cancer,
or something really fucking sad like that, and we
experience marital problems from the stress that causes,
but ultimately pull together through that crisis, and the funeral is beautiful.

Sometimes I’m still scared

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I might go blind
if I look at you too long.
It’s like I’m holding audience
with the most holy thing
my godless brain can invent:
you emit this religious kind of light
that touches me in the same way
the sun touches plants.

If Jesus himself busted in on this poem,
in an explosion of sunbeams,
rainbows, and neon angels,
I’d probably just glance over
at that whole dull scene,
put on some dark sunglasses,
apply some SPF 50,
and then turn straight back to you.

Join the library

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I went in search of the greatest love poem ever:

In between work emails
I sexted succubi for research purposes
and catfished centaurs to see how they ticked
I learned pan flute from goat-toed pickup artists
and could hold a tune, but it wasn’t very good.

Weekends, I drove to ancient burial sites
and got lost in the dark
excavating bodies to weep on their remains
It was as disgusting as it sounds
I even chased a ghost for a couple of years
but she eventually grew scared and vanished

And then I found it
four fucking lines in a $30 book
while eating ice cream at the park

Might hit the library soon
it seems more cost-effective

Ghost stories

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You are a ghost
patiently waiting
the return of a summer’s day
spent in beach towels, flying over sand dunes.
Go to the light.

You are a ghost
patiently waiting
for that book you almost wrote
to hit the bestsellers list.
Go to the light.

You are a ghost
patiently waiting
for that lover you never met
to ring late at night, pleading to be taken back.
Go to the light.

You are a ghost
patiently waiting
the discovery of something now faded from memory
that was once so treasured you swore never to lose it.
Go to the light.

I am a ghost
fallen in love with another ghost,
and I am about ready
to stop waiting for you to stop waiting, and just
go to the light.