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WEEK 4: February 2019

2/26/2019

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Relative
We can always assemble
An army of spoons
So that we never loose access
To the thicker red liquids.  

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WEEK 3: February 2019

2/21/2019

1 Comment

 
Bored Bodega Blogger By Katie Sachs

Graze my bones
With a fine tooth comb
Teasing out the tresses
And the messes of my womb

I am sitting up in bed
Watching my cat climb up the dresser
And hoping the she never 
Decides to run away
Forever

Behind a curtain, 
I peak out at things that aren't meant for me
But,
Before I can take another sip of tea
My cat gets clawed in the cave of memories
And a blotchy bodega eradicates my hunger

Rehearsals are meaningless if you're playing it all 
By ear
A waxy sonogram 
Shows me
Just how far along I've grown
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WEEK 2: February 2019

2/12/2019

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INHALE
BY KATIE SACHS (song in progress...)


During times like these I take a walk 
Around the corners of my mind
Cause my legs are broke and voice is thin
And I know, I'm running out of time

The doctors say I must endure
A pain from my dissolving spine
But it's you my dear that hurts the worst
It's you, who makes it all just fine 

Baby you just take my breath away
The minute you walk into the room
But if you should turn and go away
I never want another inhale
With another girl

The feeding tube delivers food
The respirator gets me high
The heart beats well all on it's own
Because I know that you are mine

Baby you just take my breath away
The minute you walk into the room
But if should turn and go away
I never want another inhale
With another girl


Inspired by the story beginning aroun 5:04

A Valentines Day Love Poem

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Week 1: February 2019

2/7/2019

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Maraca Massacre. By Katie Sachs

When I look at the middle of my maraca,
My imagination legitimizes this:

A middle-aged moniker
Of someone stuffy - like an Eloise
Or a Herald -
Running across a field
And frantically felling
All of the feelings
They had been keeping in cages
For the entirety of their dusty existence.

Their ribs get ripped out of their racist rhomboids
Their bones become fashioned
Into classy clavichords.
​
In the future. Sometime, undisclosed. 
New age aliens will discover them - 
After the humans have long been gone - 
And in the steamy sludge of the
Apocalyptic stench
They will play
The hottest Jazz
You ever fucking heard. 
Picture
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    Back Beats Poetry Blog

    A weekly Poem to ponder and please. Pieces for Peace - eases. Proddings for progress. 

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