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Another Mistaken Anima
Another Mistaken Anima
Another Mistaken Anima
Ebook103 pages43 minutes

Another Mistaken Anima

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Another Mistaken Anima is a poetry collection by Alexander Thorne inspired by other underground poets.

The collection is split into five sections; each with their own length and theme. These themes cover broad subjects such as death, nature, and family.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 20, 2012
ISBN9781301045563
Another Mistaken Anima
Author

Alexander Thorne

Alexander Thorne was born in 1989 and spends most of his time living in western Michigan. His submitted work has appeared in the e-magazine Phoenix Lore, the short fiction and poetry collection There Are Monsters Everywhere, and in news articles from the Western Herald. His self-published poetry chapbooks are entited Another Mistaken Anima and People I Can't or Won't Have Another Conversation With.Email me at:azrael2112314@gmail.com

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    Another Mistaken Anima - Alexander Thorne

    Acknowledgements

    This poetry collection is dedicated to my parents.

    I'd like to thank David Bain, Michelle Bonczek, Shannon Jonas, Brittany Kay Lee, Allie Levitin, Michael David Marshall, Conor McShane, Tyler Meese, Cody Morris, Avi Sotonzadeh, Aaron Sternaman, and Shana Wolstein for helping me put together these poems—without them I could not have done this.

    I'd also like to thank the late Thomas James for all his written inspiration.

    Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

    -George Santayana

    A Poem That Says Hello

    The bony hand is waving.

    Clouds are hard as rock.

    The sun shines as something nuclear.

    The strong trees green in increments,

    Then wither. Cat fur whitens

    In wet weather. The moon spreads

    Over the fountain, thick and serene.

    Up the hospital stairs:

    The moon is merely a fingernail; it enlightens

    Those that are dead, walking out of here

    Through their shut doors. The morning papers

    Go unnoticed by most others.

    That same distance is full of dragons,

    bad card store nonfiction, death

    Glorified as an old friend.

    In a campus convenience store, through revolving

    Years,

    The man missing an appendix has memorized

    His mother's last smile. A brand-new script

    For an old film. His stomach is

    Riddled with holes. The acidic organ

    Is a punctured whale. He walks

    In his black, professional jacket,

    Badges to be recognized, the mark

    Of knowledge. They bring him

    Paychecks on time

    That are a step away from being blood-soaked.

    Once a woman lied away

    In an ER. Widowlike,

    She curls in her bed and waits,

    The victim of vodka disguised as water. Her

    skin grew yellower, the rain

    Spattered across the window. The tongue

    Slackened. The gloved hands of doctors

    Couldn't disturb her perfect sleep.

    Mother, friend, most lost of wives.

    In the Hospital

    The doctors came so fast.

    But it is clear that there is no way out

    Of avoiding this damage.

    They cannot stop it with all their hands.

    I have to say goodbye now.

    I'll wait here while they try to save you.

    I want you to know

    That I've been storing up my concerns also.

    You see, they can only slow your short body

    With their believable chemicals

    Or fill you up with their average food.

    Sometimes they even recommend

    Your son to massage you where you need

    Or all of that water

    That makes your liver work through less.

    As I watch you lay down,

    I want to stand on my back porch

    Where the sun is dying

    And feel the delicate wind blowing

    Across my shoulders

    Just as a tornado starts to form.

    But my body is full of traveled roads

    Where it is impossible

    For the drugged aspect within me

    To lose herself.

    Now she is wavering by a ditch,

    And I am afraid of what she might see.

    Here in the hospital

    Everything is different.

    The illnesses of everyone else

    Heal with a kind of mockery,

    I have watched the bright eyes of an egg-headed baby

    Turn from blue to brown

    Whether it was in or out of my arms.

    But now you are going way from me,

    And I understand that this business will never be done.

    They are unplugging your body, wrapped in blankets,

    Into a quiet room

    Where the thick walls wait continually

    And your pieces are removed from your puzzle.

    Clothes on the Floor

    This night I remembered

    How my mother's skin yellowed one year

    And then stopped changing color.

    A woman is coming through the

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