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my ego so easily constructs
     a fantasy
in which you, my favorite reader,
       t
           r
       i
           p
over my words and fall into
a wonderland
     with me

a single small s  p  a  c  e
between the blackness of
     these letters
and you fall into my fantasy
where we relish in
     our fetters

we forget to climb back out
as the passion starts
     to mount

we lose our minds with pleasure
hands and mouths
     d      i
           s      c
                 o      v
                       e     r
                             hidden treasure

the words that you pour out
my own that you soak up
leave us beggingpleadingscreaming
till our keyboards
light back up
 Nov 2016 Angelica
Dana Colgan
Keeping up appearances,
Shutting the dark vibe down.
Keeping up appearances,
Putting on a crown.
Keeping up appearances,
Make a smile out of a frown.

Keeping up appearances,
But quietly you drown.
 Jul 2016 Angelica
Polar
The Hunger
 Jul 2016 Angelica
Polar
Twas the great hunger of 1845
When I ceased to be alive,
Was weak with whooping cough and fever
Was left by man who spat out "leave er".
Rain fell hard and soaked my skin,
I awaited death.
Abandoned by kith and kin.
Then I saw him, corner of my eye,
Tall and strong as he walked on by.
Handsome features on his face,
His setting here, out of place.
He stopped upon hearing my whooping cough breath
And told me I could avoid this death.
So now I walk in purgatory,
I trekked so long with my weary story,
So I say to you, dear friend,
When your body is too broke to mend.
Think of me and heed the danger.
Don't fall for the words of a handsome stranger.
 Jul 2016 Angelica
Emily B
Your truck isn't stolen.  
I got it stuck in the field.
Keys are in bowl.
We will unstick it tomorrow.  
I picked a quart of blackberries.
Had to walk back in the rain

P.s.
Tyson got a new toy.
Am I wasting too much time learning my computer things at work,
stuck behind my desk, I don't know how to twerk.
Do you ever miss me from far away
But I guess only time will say.
Would we ever play around again the same
Just me and you- not chasing the fame.
I bet you didn't realise we're all after some type of glory,
And when I finish my book, you'll remember my story.
She sits from where
the rainbow arches into the river.

As I eye her fishing net
she reads the question in my mind.

I'm waiting for three thirty
when tides begin to fall
but the shrimps can't go back.


When the bank begins to bare
she glides into the waves
till the water cools her *******.

I walk away knowing
she would bob up to the hour
the moon is upon her face
and she has made another morrow
from the river.
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