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  Sep 2017 AM
Suzanne S
The earth is steaming
Boiling from within
Pustules forming in oily breaches at the surface
and below,
All the skeletons flouresce -
Do you not remember how we scorched every star into being
And breathed shards of silver moonlight into the sky?
Before we knew how to build invisible cages,
when all we had ever known
was the light?
I miss the tingle of stardust on my skin most
While scrubbing at dank layers of smog beneath each half moon nail
The ash of a day in this city making itself at home -
Have you dreamed of it lately, that glorious inferno? Dying a thousand little deaths while we baked
in fields of swaying corn
How lumious we seemed
bathed in liquid gold,
When all we had ever known was the light.
If you could breathe I would take you there again,
Will us both back to the safety of that life,
The great wide anywhere with the infinite violet sky,
And foaming waves slipping up the dunes-
Could you imagine our place, frozen out of time, where we could watch every planet turn and every leaf fall? I remember each constellation you called to light the way home, and how the earth trembled beneath our feet,
how we loved like we couldn't help ourselves
when all we had ever known was the light.
AM Sep 2017
They were an ethereal dance 
Covered in magic powder, translucent in it's mighty error

Placed mistakenly in heaven, for they belonged to the devil.

They were merely pagans and lived oblivious to the sins they were called upon

Once believers, once followers, now they danced in yellow shadows and echoes of the unknown

AM
  Aug 2017 AM
zebra
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless

we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there

i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine

i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever

i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's

they wait for me

on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco

i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do

i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist

a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma

i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up

i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb

i am the dead living
Irish Ditty.. One fine day, middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.
AM Aug 2017
She lit a cigarette in his name, and poured some ***** onto her scars.
As the night became darker she whispered a broken 'i love you' from the door ajar.
She could see his chest rising and falling, and that was the first time she neglected her heart.

The second time came around as she poured some wine onto her guilt.
As the night became lonely she whispered her shaky 'im sorry' to the candles reflected on the silk.
She could see the shadow of his embrace as it moved slowly to the rhythm of their thrill.

The third time came as she poured whiskey onto her fears.
As the night became somber, she whispered 'i don't want to be here'.
From the kitchen counter she could see the glim of his body, as she hoped he couldn't see through her tears.

The last time came around as she poured some gin onto her lies.
From the shower curtain she could see the warm water falling upon his eyes.
When the night became heavy, she whispered a nostalgic 'good-bye' as her clothes fell from skin, for one last time
  Apr 2017 AM
S Olson
I will retaliate with his mouth,
and you will become what you have made
me.
-- you leave me to stagnate;
talking myself in and out of love, I
forget the curvature, and allure of your body,
and the parts of me that fit in it
starve.

-- call it neutrality, abandonment,
or an "inability to live within" yourself -
call it your serotonin's-seppuku, or
the fact you are inconsiderate;

call it out, like you did in your sleep: "I love
you;"
I do not.
AM Jan 2017
The Nomad

She sat in the shore of the sea, she needed to breathe.
She wondered if the waves that kissed her feet, were the same that waved his ship.
She thought back at his body’s silken glaze,
And how it would luster on the linen shades.

He wanted a lady, fresh from a family home
But he had no idea about her nomadic soul.
And little did he know about the abyss in her heart,
And how she dreamed of discovering the stars.

He got a woman possessed by the world,
And all he had built for them was never her home.
He found her lady, but she wouldn’t carry pearls and a cross
For the crowds was her peace and in their wonder she would get lost.

One night she took a road trip to the beach,
Hoping that the sea would satiate her gypsy dreams
And as she touched the salty water, she wondered if he could see her face in all of those ports,
For she whispered her good-byes and hoped the waves would deliver her love.

*
AM
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