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 Dec 2013 Dear
Julia
Suns
 Dec 2013 Dear
Julia
Is it you--
are you the rain
that my children
dance in?
Are you the
harvester of long
grains and seeds
that the lone bird
feeds on?

To know you
is to know for an
eternity.
It is you,
the hand of death,
the whisperer of
rustling motions,
who knows of both
the grandest scope
and of who I am
in my smallest ways.
 Dec 2013 Dear
mûre
* **** ***
 Dec 2013 Dear
mûre
poetry is the silence between the words
poetry is the aching spasm of a ribcage
when it opens wide enough to house another being
born in the unconscious tears
sprung from the shock of believing in something more than religion.
 Nov 2013 Dear
st64
twin-seal
 Nov 2013 Dear
st64
r EVOL ution
uncoils slowly by the fire
pondering of profound-flickering in the reverse-sparks
within the pupils of shifting-light


1.
love(r) dips deep within a hardy fire-maker from another sky
body recycled and soul carried on
mind unlike any other
it’s simply a matter of Time.. holding that rusty-key of long ago
entrusted to a cavorite-place behind silent-wells whose treadle-functions heaven forgot


2.
yet what counts highest sits on a ledge of paradox
as happiness falls short upon the threshold of *fornever and never
after

there are tumult-fears to overcome
and it needs time, once again
as hearty does beseech temporal-cogs to ensure one full revolution

thanks are not enough for things that words fail to express
no specific thing to pin-point
of the immense power the discharged-missile holds
who is ever the same person in the marching of months?


3.
exponential growth is combustion understated and surreal-excitement catches
to find traction in the whistling wind.. only a quarter-whisper away
it has instead.. been phenomenally unreal

.. can't explain it
.. won't deny it


4.
the full idea has near-outgrown its twin-seal flanks
that choices came shaking.. aghast and                                
dripping its magenta-fury in heavy-drips upon the sand
                                                            ­                                            half-spilling lava-filled cups of ire            
near the camp-side        
grabbed it by the lapels        


shaking – I love you so
now, why can’t you say it?
why won’t you declare it?
what holds your yellow-*** back so?


5.
there's a power-burst in the trajectory-whirligig here..
can’t be stopped, won’t be stopped

burnt offering rises up in a scathing-hiss

  and exudes such a sweet-cleansing                                                  ­                                           

   of               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                           

semi-cinnamon and subtle ginger                                                    




a­nd.. love is but a word whose letters
lie
in the sand






S T – 11 nov 2013
so, yeah.. that’s about the size of it.. lol



sub:  none

none of loss
in moult of moments
let go
to see the new
 Nov 2013 Dear
Emily Thomas
When I was six
I looked up to you
Such love in my voice,
"I want to fly daddy."
So I glued a few feathers
To one of your shirts
I swung my arms as hard as I could,
"Get away from me child."
When I was thirteen
I started to fear you
"I have to fly daddy."
So I took a few pills
My boyfriend slipped me
"These will make you high"
But they didn't daddy.
You just called me a failure and drank with Jack
But now I'm fifteen dad.
And I'm tired of you.
So I stand at the top of this precipice
And  swing my arms like a six year old
" Hey Daddy.
I can fly"
This is not a true story.
 Nov 2013 Dear
Emily Thomas
I wonder about the boy on the park bench
He sit's on the left- I on the right,
We sit in silence waiting for our rides to arrive.
I worry that he won't be there one morning
I've developed an attachment to him.
I've noticed his scrapes and scars
and I think he's noticed mine.
It was Sunday morning,
we sat together,
no buses to take or
time to keep
But closer than usual
Our breath clouds the freezing air around us
We sip alcohol from our coffee mugs
Our lips locked, bodies steamed.
I think I am in love with
The boy on the park bench.
 Nov 2013 Dear
mûre
You could win my heart with peanut butter
or with passion for the never ending quest
of finding the perfect running shoes.

You could win my heart with literature jokes
with Kishi Bashi, Bach, or Bocelli
and if you play with me, I'm yours.

You could win my heart with affection
honesty, cleverness, and candidness,
I'm addicted to non-corporeal human evolution.

But I'd rather you didn't.
Not yet.
I'm a very simple equation.
(Just don't try to solve me)
 Nov 2013 Dear
wandabitch
they burned acts 21 just to feel closer to enlightenment,
they danced on rooftops so they could feel the light of stars,
if only though a telescope.

at the moment of lost translation there is no hope for
western civilization.

and here i gather my sandwich in deep thought.
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