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 Aug 2016 Dan Schneider
irinia
Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.

In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.

My eye moves down to the *** of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.

We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time

It is time

**Paul Celan
This person
Is the Gestalt consciousness
Of beings both infinitely wise and foolish
Entities of absolute good and evil
Who, when encouraged to do so
Summon phonetical hymns
To invoke emotion in pure song
These individual constructs
While impressive in their solitude
Fail in comparison to their unity
Each a wildcard
That, when played
Become a wildfire of truth.
Perfection stopped being what you spoke about on Saturday evenings.
Instead she walked around barefooted with her hair bewildered and her blue eyes dancing with your soul.
You found her in little strands on your pillowcases and car seats and floating around in your head.
She rolled you up, tucked you in, turned her back on you when it got rough.
She fell silent, just like you.
Sans peace in loneliness.
Fragility woven into her like she herself was woven into you.
She smiled.
Smiles that traced your skin lightly.
Smiles that dug their way through your flesh and made your chest feel bigger. Safer.
Perfection wasn't what you spoke about on Saturday evenings.
Perfection wasn't perfect.
Perfection was all you had needed all those Saturday evenings.
Her.
I came to this world,
             As a twisted seed.

Drifting along in a realm which,
             Did not belong to me.

But these roots have sprouted,
              Now suckling on lies

A foundation built on malnutrition,
               And a trunk full of wickedness

To be ingrained is a nightmare,
                This forest is for the ******.

These branches reach for home,
                But cannot escape the canopy.

Underneath the bark of the horrific crown
                 None are surprised to see how hollow...



                                      ....I have become.
 Aug 2016 Dan Schneider
Tehreem
His mind drifted around her
Cigarette burnt his tired fingers
Her lips contained unsaid words
Words that set her soul on fire
All of you MM.
 Aug 2016 Dan Schneider
Odonko-ba
i awaken to breath
light kiss
upon my nape
the softness of your touch
electrifying our bodies
pumping life
into a new day
She saw through
my        pseudo smiles
and
empty eyes and
        gave me
iris’ of blossom
and perpetuity
if she had       kaleidoscope lenses
she’d still see
me
clearly,
she’ll always
be my median of
perceptive mires
or
thoughtless meadows,
if a diamond in the rough
sleeps on spikemoss,
is it
still worth something?
                                              MJB
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