Lucid Dream #1

"Do not weep; do not wax indignant. Understand.”

- Baruch Spinoza

This is how I feel about fires.

I mean sunrises.

This is how I feel about sunrises.

There are no Gods, only fires.

I mean sunrises.

There are only jelly-red sunrises showing up to consume like an existential glutton.

It is almost funny.

Asking if the sunrise is a fire, waiting for colors to speak, then gulps up the earth.

Breia Gore

Sweet Tea In The Summer

-after "seven" by taylor swift we used to be young enough to curl up on the cold grocery store tiles and wail until our vocal cords frayed. if the world dared disappoint us, we screamed at the sun. we raged to teach it a lesson. the moon couldn’t shine without our permission. lemonade had to be as sweet as we commanded and the tea too bitter to taste. tea parties were always had at my house and you brought your dolls all the way down the lane. even when it rained, you bundled them up beneath your cardigan and unsheathed them proudly as you arrived rainboot-heavy and storm-trodden in my front hall. you stayed with me, snug under the bed, flashlights flickering. you stayed until you cried at the thought of going back to your house. four walls haunted by your dad’s anger. the kind of rage that can never be sunny or sweet. so i told you stories of india. i made my grandma get her old suitcases out of the attic and i demonstrated how nicely all your dolls could fit. i asked you to braid my hair like yours and as your fingers wove through the honey locks on my head i knew you were the furthest thing in my world from a grocery store floor.