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I am afraid you
won't like what
you see....
So inside these words
I stay and remain free
Piece by piece
I give a little of me
At least you will know where I'll be
Maybe I can find my worth
Somewhere in all these words
too broken
so will remain frozen
Inside these words
See,
     Unsee,
      Me:

Alone in a crowd
I pass through without circumstance,
    All the people
I talk to in my mind,
    Their eyes
Pass through me,
Outside me,
Aloneness within me;
  I am the circumstance.

Bymyself I am an architecture
Of peoples,
My mind invents crowds,
In the silence there is
        No silence.
I recover my breath
As I held along the faces
And they echo
Like footsteps in the hall.
    My obscurity
Is a whole world to myself,
    I speak
Without being heard,
Still the audience listens.
    I remember myself
In a sea of souls
And I speak to them all
As I reflect,
     A memory's echo
And I can still see them all;

The afternoon stands still,
     A woman walks by with
Autumn's grace
    And the murmurs of her
Silhouette enchant me,
Alone she has become real.
     The man whom played with
His daughter now evokes a music
In my my mind,
   He carries her in the gentle air.

Aloness is not sorrow,
It is a world in reflection.
The rumors are true,
Nighttime crowds, hand stuffed hoodies.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
V neck t-shirts with decals printed on the back of them.
Sweatshirts. Loose cargo shorts.
The holiday of photo galleries captured between blinking eyes.
Tickets sold half priced.
Too bad movies aren't the way they used to be.
A stigma that everything around changes.
A few empty seats, one empty stall in the men's bathroom.
A exclusively graphic depiction of unzipped blouses, unbuttoned  pants.
Toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of worn shoes.
Suddenly there's a tote for whatever bag that needed to be held.
But then again we're just chatting, aren't we. Two souls with nothing to do but vandalize each other's mind.
Blah blah blah. Yada yada yada.
I was goofy in love,
That sort of sarcastic your ugly but I need you type of love.
That lounge around in underwear all day not afraid to be myself love.
In all seriousness, I wore nothing but her.
Smothering my nose in her hair. More commonly a set of areolas.
She was a character, sometimes rambling through my t-shirts.
Sliding her arms through loose hanging sleeves.
Pushing all of her hair to one side of her head, making silly faces.
Actually quite a scary thing to see, At that moment I prayed to God thanking him that she had a full head of hair. Although admitting that her left eye looking at the right one was kind of ****. Especially with her tongue cocked to the side.
A smile ofter kept me out of trouble.
Although admittedly I'd avoid certain questions,
She was that big head pretty girl whom believed she was always right, even when she was wrong.
I loved telling her no.
Even when I meant yes. The first time was an accident. The next twelve hundred just became habit.
The concept really wasn't as vague as it sounds.
Honestly, I am a good guy.
I just loved dancing on her nerves from time to time.
The crinkles that formed around her nose as she turned red.
Especially in public, I'd always tell the cashier or waitress that she was abusive.
Often locking me in the closet.
That I was her *** slave and this would be the only time she'd let me leave the house. That she held me hostage, to only refer to her as mistress when we're out and about.
Either that or I'd push her on random isles of a store and yell shoplifter.
It was always something crazy with us.
Grabbing a foam sword and constantly poke her in the *** until ultimately she'd just stop walking.
Other women felt her pain.
Laughing before revealing intriguing conversations about their men and how they would always leave them at home.
~

~ for my knowing friends~





~~~
so simple the notion,
that healing's potent potions
are non-directional portents
coming at you
like a Bob Dylan, Avettt Brothers,
rhythm and rhyme,
tunes injected from the outside knowing,
from the first time
that they were residing inside,
all the time

in, on and under the skin

the conflicted battle rages between the
coursing forces of

I believe

and the low grade infection, incurable return of

faithless disbelief and irreconcilability

a parental entry knowing,
despite different routes of administration,
there is no pharmacology for a limb lost,
any prosthesis healing supplanted
from without,
never achieves
anything approaching next to normal

but from within,
the heart can heal itself,
trying a natural bypass,
doing its imperfect best
to correct the uncorrectable,
resigned to accept the unacceptable

the slight edge felt from
cutting a garden's new growth for replanting
an act of belief in the future,
witnessing a sunset's nightly color sky's return rebirthing,
knowing, admitting to oneself,
that miraculously better than all ever seen prior are

medicines that come from the outside,
and inward bound daily injections,
they are:

"healing, from the inside out...
just as it was meant to be!"
Warning:
any message you send
can and will
be turned into a poem

"this healing, from the inside out...
just as it was meant to be!"
SE Reimer
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode

Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse

You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will

You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past

You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine

Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast

Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves

Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave

You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies

All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest

From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest

Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
When Socrates likened poets to seers and prophets, his disciple Plato banished them from his ideal Republic calling them mad men. But we know that poetry is the best medium to inspire human hearts.  As Kierkegaard says… “A poet may be an unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music.... and people flock around the poet and say: 'Sing again soon’ “ – As poets, let us sing our heart out!
It was hard to forget her
Especially on overcast days.
The spots we stood, eavesdropping in the clouds where she came the hardest.
The quiver sent through her spine constituting the lightening that left her paralyzed.  
She stood electrified, curious of where we would strike next.
All I wanted was to be needed.
Soaked in the rain that poured
In between sounds of thunder.
Her moan was the loudest.
In the pursuit of true happiness
I stood in her storm.
Pacing back and forth becoming the lightening rod causing her to strike.
With gusts up to about 120 mph she came without haste.
A bolt of lightening, devoured by swollen space.
As strong and as fast as she came she was fragile.
Collapsing soon as she struck.
Dissipating into the belief that she was to disappear without a trace.
Thunder pierced through the sky.
Bellowing her return.
The crackle of her moan replied, wrapping around complete space.
Resting her head for moments longer.
Changing the way she saw herself
Whispers of aroma flood the room,
as visual acuity asserts its intricate
structure of pleasant blending's.

Monetary stillness is exacerbated
by the pleasure of its surrounding,
Metamorphosis tingle on the emotions.

Lingering on that juncture of this
Perception, it entwines within a
culmination of it greeting your smile.

"The deeper meaning of a flower says one thing,
                           It means
*"I LOVE YOU,
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