Monday, February 11
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Common Book Pillow Book
Long enough since the genre was popular
we've forgotten what to call it: weird mix of quotes and collectibles, private
thoughts and uncensored meditations in brief, like locks of hair and
child height charts of your considerations
and ponderings. An abandoned art, you practice it with care: each quote
equal to the other, simple entries like coordinates of unmarked
          appearances
in the sky - twenty years, over
8,000 days - the weather is "what you make of sunshine," and only
                                                                                                           women "can
make a man successful," haven't you heard
"God is the messenger, and we are all brothers and sisters," organizations
of hate "must be fought with the ultimate crest: humanity," and you
note a quote with a love reserved
for precision and the unattained, and I
suspend like cracked meteors in the ether
of your common message: go to bed, what is truly important in this world
has already been said.

"When people deserve love the least
is when they need it the most," we are the axis
of cliche, "like mother like daughter," sign your name
on this one before I turn out the light
and resume my interrupted prayer.
 - Priscila Uppal









  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov