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 1d Zeno
vik
still
 1d Zeno
vik
she lieth clay, huff fled, withdrawn;
sun sleeps unturned, no lilt, no dawn.

the child stands silent, priests deceive,
she lingers not, the Lord won’t breathe.

they spake of light, of rule, of psalm,
yet death embraced what once was warm.

he looked and found the flesh laid bare;
at last he grasped, God was not there.
 1d Zeno
C Conner
Twilight blue rebounds behind
A great ridge of color
Calling for man
To stand before the night

From a distance
Quiet but restless
The brazen foliage always falls
Darkness follows every time
 1d Zeno
C Conner
I cannot sleep for in the street
A thousand mournful cries
The skies are red and carnage spread
Through a thousand lies

From mourning bells to fairy tales
A Criticism said
For city streets and summer heat
Torments whose left with dread

And clouds smother men as they roll in
A hard rain will come
Lightning strikes like the crack of live bones
And the hoarse words of Cain’s son

And I hear the cries of the
Children - the ones lost
In the dark

I know they want a future,
But I fear
They lost the spark
That seagull gave me the shock of my life
screaming as it flew past me,
I thought it was the wife.

That's a joke, dear,
gotta put that in
before
She reaches for the rolling pin.
It was sundown
The sun had just set
The moon was out
A large white ball on the horizon
It almost looked surreal
Just hanging there
As if on a thread
Against a gray blue backdrop
Clouds painted the sky
Fluffy and white
With two openings
From which white bands of light shone down
It’s as if they came from heaven
Natures art
From the master
Of everything
To all intents and purposes
The king died on his throne
The court gathered in their masses
He was far from alone
Flanked by his truest knights
He tried to stand
And hail the throng
The mob sweetly
Took his breath
To sing
His final song.
--------------------
|             ☆     |
|                     |
|                     |
--------------------

a
single
star
seen
through
my
window

­wh­o
knew
stars
could
be
held
in
a

box?
 2d Zeno
BEEZEE
I have retired from temptations of attention.
I’ve retired from the need to judge.
I’ve retired from feeling like I need that moment,
And I’ve retired from feeling too sad.

I have retired into a place of contemplation —
A place nearby, and where I sit.

I have retired from feeling guilty,
And I’ve retired from needing your yes.

I am retired.
 2d Zeno
Maryann I
What happened  
to slow-dancing  
in rain-slicked streets,  
to trembling fingers  
folding paper hearts  
sealed in wax-red promise?

Now,
we’re offered
chains dressed as charm,
red flags stitched into roses,
gaslight glows mistaken
for moonlight.

They call it love—
but it bruises.
It breaks.
It bleeds.

We settle
for breadcrumb kisses,
for apologies soaked
in venom and velvet.
We wear wounds
like wedding rings,
and call it passion.

What happened
to poetry—
to consent,
to slowness,
to souls peeling back
each other’s layers
like pomegranate fruit—
bitter, sweet, divine?

Now they want
power,
ownership,

ego-fed feasts
where one devours
and the other withers.

We’ve forgotten
how to write love
without trauma
as punctuation.

I don’t want
a story
where I’m shattered
then thanked
for still being beautiful
in pieces.

Give me
gentle.
Give me
growth.
Give me
a partner,
not a puppeteer.

And stop calling
toxicity
a twisted kind
of romance.
It’s not.
It never was.
Why are toxic relationships being normalized?
What happened to romance?
 2d Zeno
Damocles
One day I'll come home,
To bask in golden sun,
To swim in bluest waves.
Through wheat fields, I'll chase Persephone,
Knowing I can't save her,
Yet love will prevail—
Dramatic kisses beneath erupting Etna.

I long to meet among Greek ruins,
To explore Phoenician treasures.
I wish to be engulfed in the aromas
And candor of happy vendors,
Filling fresh markets all morning long.

I dream of your quietness,
And the loudness of passionate people.
I ache for home,
My sweet Sicily.

Sicilian translation:

Un jornu mi ritornu a casa,
A vagghiari di lu suli d'oru,
Pi nutari nta l'unni cchiù blu.
Attraversu li campi di frummentu, haju assicutari Persefuni,
Sapennu ca nun la pozzu sarvari,
Eppuru l'amuri privalerà...
Vasati drammàtici sutta l'Etna ca scuppia.

Anziamu di 'ncuntrari ammenzu a ruvini grechi,
Pi esplurari li tesori finici.
Vuliu èssiri nghiuttutu di l'aromi
E candor di vinnituri filici,
Riempi li mircati frischi tutta la matina.

Sunnu la tò quieti,
E la vuci di genti appassiunati.
Mi duluri pi casa,
Sicilia mia duci.
One day I’ll get to go back
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