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 5° 
minx
doctor, doctor
what's wrong with me ?
i'd do anything to just live and be
any prescription to help me, please
quick piece to contribute < 3

i love you, angels < 333
Up to the trees I go,
Further north where fresh water flows.
Travel preparations with my heart aching,
Home is where I’m free,
Left alone just to be.
Not in this gloomy place,
Not within this heat wave.
Like a pioneer,
I pack my bags,
Leaving behind the places I know,
In search of the places,
Where I’ll grow.
I’m on the road, making my way up to the mountains. Travel is good for the soul, you shouldn’t dwell in the same places for too long.
 5° 
kortu valentine
i don’t want us
to be anything.
but sometimes i wonder
if i crossed your mind
the way you drift through mine.

why else would you give me
your plushie crocodile —
just in case
i miss you
while you’re away?

we’ve been spending
so much time together.
you keep finding ways
back into my head.

we’re not going to be a thing.
you told me.
i told you.
we shouldn’t work.

but baby —
we do.
this one is about a strictly casual arrangement that worked better than it was ever meant to.
August 14, 2025
A priest arrived by ambulance
to bless our sudden kiss

A doctor brought his bag but cannot
treat such things as this

My jewelry is just colored rocks
like pretty polished hollyhocks
in silver settings gone to curls
the same as any other girl's

but I could be your only love.

A flautist played our melody
in notes so fine and clear

That summer brought her midnights close
so that the moon could hear

the notes, the song so marvelous
the player played so long for us
the priest laid down his holy flask
the doctor blushed before he asked

if I could be your only love.

An urchin took a photograph
of you in uniform

You gave me spice and chocolates
to keep my fever warm

and lucky is the lucky bird
who calls and calls a wafting word
In this peculiar pregnant dawn
his curious and constant song

that I could be your only love.
 4° 
Agnes de Lods
Carrying my truth.
I stand by my views,
watching through
my weakening gaze.

After a raging storm,
making peace with myself,
I vanish into the air,
my convictions fold with me.

Without simple answers,
wearing the new lens,
I see another world:
not clearer,
not wiser,
not safer,

just slightly shifted.
 4° 
Anna May

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my scars?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my eating disorder?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my father?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my OCD?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about how they ruined my trust?

Will you love me anyway if I told you about my trust issues?

Will you love me anyway if you knew about my anger issues?

Will you love me anyway if you knew about my mood swings?

Will you love me anyway?

❓❓❓❓
We sense it because it comes inexorably,
this is the beginning  of good-bye.
Her eyes avert his, a touch with no
feeling, a caress more cautious than
caring, a kiss when lips do not meet,
this the beginning of good-bye.
A perfunctory placement of the hand,
a conversation moribund, sipping
scotch and sodas in silence, a call that
never comes, memories that have grown opaque,
this is the beginning of good-bye.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 4° 
Nat Lipstadt
4:21am
Tue
Aug 12

<*>

restless is the thinking brain,
rapid repeated beating
from an overheating sun
in a room of full-on dark,

difficult to weep,
harder to silent breathe,
one listens to his arrhythmic heart,
sending out messages incessantly & incomplete

every single sin ever committed
comes in with cheery face,
a greeting of, still here!
in this ,
our temporary final resting place

finish us off by completion,
makes us full of restitution,
by seeing to our undoing,
revolving, unending, the finally of sufficiently

those old curses
we can only face
by turning our faces away,
drop in, like best friends, come to sunrise visit

though dawn is yet eons of minutes far away,
though relief can never be fully attained,
though "though' is the first ****** word of excusal,
though betrayal is always next, the secondarily, refusal,

there is never a dot of period,
only a comma of pause, because,
there is no ending in completion
only in forgiving by your harshest critic,

yourself, yourself, our selving,
this unsolvable function of forgiveness upon this,
this, the two-days of Tuesday,
to day
two partings of one day ~ the night and the day

f:
In various contexts, "f" can represent several different things. Most commonly, it refers to the letter in the English alphabet, representing the voiceless labiodental fricative sound /f/. In mathematics, "f" often denotes a function, especially when used as f(x), which represents the output of a function for a given input x. Additionally, "f" can stand for force in physics or frequency in other scientific fields. It can also be a written abbreviation for various words starting with "f". Furthermore, in musical notation, "f" (or "forte") indicates a loud dynamic.
 4° 
lizie
eleven days.
every one
was borrowed.

tonight,
i’m
overdue.
 4° 
Farwa
Its me
  I'm not perfect,

I'm flawed
   not worth it,

Its me
   I'm flawed,

A broken heart
    That's worth it.
And a little self-conscious.
 4° 
Jay Jelly
Back to where
We began
I think I’ll stay right here

Dullness finally restored

Stepping outside the nest
Turning tides
Winds changing direction

A life you never

Imagined thought possible
Has come to fruition
Doors opened

Steps taken days feel fuller

It’s all coming around
Living life never felt so good
You can’t

Have it all right now

But that doesn’t matter anyway
Live in the present
The past will do you no favors  

Never let you mind drive the car
Follow your heart always
My unrest is steeped in humility.
Fear, though tamed,
still begs for a trace of attention.

I loved you
until the final heartbeat;
I saw a tomorrow that would anoint
the future.

You returned my dream,
untouched, unmarked by use.
A crumpled memory preludes
reality.

A sold tomorrow echoes the pride
so difficult to confront.
Reality is the mistake—
on its knees
I lay my fear.

Perhaps tenderness
will make dawn more bearable?
Perhaps truth
will break free from longing’s reign?
I don’t want to be a life
that arrived too late for its own beginning.

The body clings tightly
to the past.
 4° 
Ander Stone
darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
as you chase
someone else's dream,
as they chase
someone else's dream,
and no one's
chasing their own.

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
you pass through
the valleys of life,
as the shadows
stretch further
with every step,
and the valley
stretches too.

darling,
it hurts too much
to hear you
say to me,
in that crystalline voice
that warms my heart,
"the only way
is through",
while I stare back
and whisper to you
"the only way
is through".

darling,
it hurts too much
to look up
and face the sunlight
with eyes
that've only
tasted the dark.

darling,
you love
sunlight.
 4° 
ayushikori01
He stepped back without slamming the door, but i can still feel him standing behind it, maybe still waiting.
 4° 
Sean Maloney
Last night
I didn’t send a lovey goodnight
This morning
I didn’t say goodmorning Lizie

When will I wake up
The street is washed in a morning hush,
Tiles whisper stories under rush.
A woman walks in flowery grace,
her dress flowing behind her
A building in the background keeps watch
Over all that’s there
Like a silent protector

Between the stone and sky’s soft blue,
The city breathes in something true.
Modern windows, ancient light—
the city begins the day just right.
It’s morning.
 3° 
nivek
quiet opposition
silent reaping

a force umoveable
growing stronger

words to scatter
to the four winds
 3° 
Nat Lipstadt
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
4:30am
Manhattan Island
Sonnet.

Deux sonnets partagent la ville,
Deux sonnets partagent la cour,
Et semblent vouloir à leur tour
Rallumer la guerre civile.

Le plus sot et le plus habile
En mettent leur avis au jour,
Et ce qu'on a pour eux d'amour
A plus d'un échauffe la bile.

Chacun en parle hautement
Suivant son petit jugement ;
Et, s'il y faut mêler le nôtre,

L'un est sans doute mieux rêvé,
Mieux conduit, et mieux achevé ;
Mais je voudrais avoir fait l'autre.
 3° 
Jimmy silker
PPP    Ppp

PPP. Pppp
Ppppppppppppppppppp
P.        Pppppppppppp.        
P pppp pppppppp pppp


Ppppp p
Pppppppp pp ppppppp
Pp
Ppppppppppppp
Pppp ppp pp pppp
Ppppp pp ppppp
Ppppppp pppp
PPP ppp ppppp ppppppp
Pppppp Poetry.
 3° 
Shambhavi
Sea creatures live beneath deep oceans,
sheltered by beautiful coral reefs,
sometimes hidden in the darkness,
where the sun cannot reach.
Poor sea creatures, longing to be with the birds,
rise toward the sparkling surface,
only to learn the air was never theirs to breathe.
I just wanted to say just be yourself no need to change yourself by looking others.
The uniqueness in us makes us different from others and eventually it becomes our identities if we try changing it we might lost ourselves
Save me, so sweetly,
with your expert advice
on how to live someone else's life.

Advice is 𝑛𝑜𝑡 opinion.
It should be dissected, examined—
an understanding of 𝑚𝑦 situation.

Put yourself in my 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑,
not just in my shoes.
Tell me what I’ve forgotten,
𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 me—don’t remake me.

Open my eyes to 𝑚𝑦 goal, not yours.
Tell me how to achieve—
𝑛𝑜𝑡 what you believe.

Otherwise, don’t be surprised
when I seem not to listen.

I do.

I 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 do.

But only the good advice
will be used.

Still, I should be thankful
for how kindly you’ve killed me.

And now,
what an honor—
for you to save me, so sweetly.
**** Me Kindly Pt. 2
 3° 
Maria Mitea
On a morning like this, lethargic and indifferent,
It is so easy to make me rich,
When the pain is moving slowly and smoothly, and
I hold on to you, like a monkey,
                                                         ­            Sob on me,
Make me the richest woman in the world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Can you see, my dear, how fast it is raining?
And the forest, a trickster, is washing its leaves,
Pretending that it cares while it is cheating with the rapper.

No one tells them that after the colors explode,
They will invade their hearts, like big Colonizers,
Will put names on them, and play cards,
Drink whiskey, laugh, and feed the earth, so after
They can ride their horses as a symbol of freedom and kindness,
Making donations and digging water wells,

On a morning like this, I believe,
Our story is like that of the gold seekers,
It is so easy to make me rich,
Make me the richest woman in the whole world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Dig me, baby, it is in my eyes,
Whisper in my ear, while the cold raindrops are touching my face,
They are hiding in my hair, on a morning like this,
Be my tears, lethargic and indifferent,
Ask the leaves, on a morning like this,
I hope they do not lose their mind,
                                                And will remember me in the spring
 3° 
Mira
?????????????????????????????????
?            you've changed               ?
           they say            
?                                                ­       ?
but they dont
question
?                        why                       ?
?????????????????????????????????
change is normal, they say
as they belittle your struggles
 3° 
Oliver Lenz
It's a perfect night
To talk to the moon
And wait for the wolves
To reply in your voice

It's a perfect night
To change your name
Into something
You always have been

It's a perfect night
To be reclaimed by the forest
 3° 
Kiki Dresden
The porch sags beneath me,
its gray boards sighing.
I light a cigarette,
send my breath to the wind-
maybe White‑Shell Woman
will carry it to the horizon.
He's fired again,
last kitchen inside forty miles
that could stand him,
bridge burned behind.

At lunch I’ll call,
say get out
or Daddy and Jimbo
will haul your whiskey bones
to lie with the rattlesnakes.

I swore to Mama and to Owl,
I will keep the night honest,
I wouldn’t spend my years
driving a man to dialysis,
watching Irish blood unravel
like wet lace.

But I remember the long Covid winter-
two bears in one den,
one soft, one starved-
when Spider Grandmother
wove us together
in the dim blue light
of tele-novellas and snow.
I almost believed
it was love again.

He pops up like a coyote
in the truck’s passenger door,
smelling of smoke and ruin.
Eighty‑five down the prairie road,
bug‑spattered glass,
sky bending blue,
fields gold as escape.

This isn’t working, I whisper.
We want different things.

Don’t, he says,
fingers crawling my thigh

No-
I shove.
Sweetness peels,
the sleeping volcano wakes.

Before his hand
can teach me the rest,
I already know:
there is no leaving.
The road is long,
lined with white crosses,
and Ghost Buffalo
has been leading me
down it all my life.
 3° 
Birdie
You keep your cards safely packaged
Close to your chest,
I throw mine around the room,
And they never rest.
You are careful, calculated and
Logics steadfast servant.
I am flippant, chaotic and
Ever fierce and fervent.
The bottom line is that you
Don’t feel like I do.
You don’t love me it’s true.
And I feel and love too hard
When it comes to you.
Dealt such differing decks and holding such dissimilar hands.
You and I are so desperately distinct
In ways we’ll never understand.
I do not underestimate mysellf. More importantly, I do not underestimate the poor of Earth. They have been enslaved, abused, scorned, starved, left homeless and uneducated to this very day. Yet they persevere. Notwithstanding, they bring new life into this world, their babies, their children. Each is sacred. Their divine worth is inviolate. But those who currently rule the world are impervious to their suffering and are unaware of the great, fatal, inevitable result they will encounter because of their moral blindness. There will be, sooner than later, an uprising of the poor of Earth. There will be no guns, no bombs, no killings, no wars, because this ascendancy is spiritually preordained. And the poor will no longer be poor. They will share equally with all others the good of Earth. And this horror of millennia will come to an end. It is already beginning to happen as I write. Rejoice!

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 3° 
Marwan Baytie
I am not a poet.
I am only a wanderer in the marketplace of words,
a fool who follows the glimmer of syllables
as others follow the scent of bread.
Poetry is not ink on paper.
It is the pulse beneath the page
a breath moving through the hollow reed of the poet,
a secret that leans close to the ear of the heart.
When I meet a poem, I bow.
I circle it once,
then twice,
then again,
as though it were a shrine whose mystery
can never be entered in a single step.
Each reading strips away a veil.
Sometimes the veil is my own blindness,
sometimes the poet’s mercy in hiding the flame
until I am ready.
There are nights I leap from sleep crying, I have it!
and mornings when the truth laughs,
gently reminding me:
Child, that was only the shadow of the meaning
come back, and drink deeper.
Poetry is a journey without map or return.
It is the caravan of joy
that passes through my heart again and again.
 3° 
Bri
Do you remember?
The way I stood to the side?
The way you looked to her first?
Do you remember?
The way I never was a part of your joke?
The way you ignored me?
Do you remember?
The way I held back tears around you?
The way you never asked about me?
Do you remember?
The way I wanted to die around you two?
The way you ruined me?
Do you remember?
No.
Because I was never more to you,
Then a second thought.
 3° 
mysterie
was it selfish
when i chose
to end our friendship
because
you
grew to become
toxic?

i was saving myself.
that's not selfish.
it's self awareness.

i didn't deserve
a toxic friendship.
date wrote: 13/8
lol i hate friendship issues
I have spent most of my life
walking through department stores.
I have come to feel that
Bill Blass, Ralph Lauren, and Calvin Klein
are close friends.
I ride the escalators for exercise.
I have become a professional cologne tester.
I check my credit rating daily;
American Express knows me
by my first name.
I have been married and divorced three times--
to two mannequins and a sales clerk.
I got stuck once in a revolving door
during the entire "Summer Madness" sale.
During annual clearance I inadvertently
got marked down to $42.50,
but due to inflation,
I have regained my worth.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 3° 
Sunamin Tamang
The day
I came into this lonely world is the same;
only the city’s name has changed
and the man I have become.

Many happy returns .
7teen > 8teen
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