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Derrek Estrella Oct 2020
Walk on babe, the night will find you soon enough. But, do not give in so kindly- it seeks to play with you for 100 hours, or 100 years; perhaps 100 years and 100 hours, I don’t know…. my glasses fell off. The best way to say it: if the day is temporary, so are you, and the night will swallow everything, from common skin to rare hues.
Don’t pull your punches with nature! Don’t let that primeval smell defeat you or good God- get a kick out of you. Nature is the piece of furniture that you bought, not the other way ‘round. So, how do you feel? Icicle fingers, sap bearing veins, rebar arms, tenderloin body, washboard neck, prison gate mouth, airstrip nose, typhoon eyes, telephone ears, coniferous hair, freedom’s mind. You owe it to nature, she coddles you.
A funny thing, then: the lifetime of a dream. Where love, bliss, sorrow, *** are not unknown, but as uncanny as they can be. Old friends may sleep it off and give you a cheque and a kick out the front door, but don’t you know what you were in their beds for? It was something true, and if you were the only one to find it in that pile of quick/messy lovers, it is truer still. So walk on babe, the technicolour night has left you, but in its hazy laboured breath, it promised to return. It swore to explode all over you- what can you do in return?
Derrek Estrella Oct 2020
Perhaps its best we cannot sleep
That eyes burn
That fingers weep

In the morning, should we still blink
The breath returns
The feeling sinks

Under the noon, where dreams are cold
The chest will collapse
As memory folds

Before the sea, where light is frail
The arms will creak and wrap
Around the shallow pale

When favour leaves the lame and young
They will speak in toothless tone
They will pay to use their tongue

As statues lead the morning choir
The children all wear shoes of stone
For fear of seeing any higher

The willow bursts and spring combusts
Onto the row of newborn nimbus
A sight beyond our awe or disgust

The angels lift us off the ground
To the gilded cliff of old Olympus
Where heaven was murdered by one last sound

The stale sound repeated, and pounded with sour trembling rasp
The sun was defeated, retreating a coward with the angel's gasps
As they too were shot, ****** dry by leech with pinioned skin
Now lay in their rot, plucked and beached on shores of sin

O, the sound of horrid noon
And every lasting ache
Came from the hidden moon
Begging me to wake
Derrek Estrella Sep 2020
Who wants to fly down the roots of water lilies?
Or through the dunes of grave men?
It is on wooden creaks of floors and idle whistles of ****** that you find your measured path. You could take a ruler to it all the same, still come up short, impossible somehow and ruthless in design.... truth nonetheless. And a careless thing that is- acceptance. So maintain the stranglehold of hindsight and pray to the yes lord and the bad omens for they might give you something you didn’t see, something you didn’t beg for. Or the farewell “no”. Or nothing entirely; the greatest of all weights for skinned shoulders.  When looking back puts forth more ill will in your movement than trying forwards then maybe it’s the right thing to feel: the feeling of good gracious disgust. So spit at your feet and it too will follow you to age and bliss beyond that, for the time being. Be it as it may, you should laugh with the skill of a parrot and cry with the tightrope walker’s unease. And bless you bless you ‘till the very end. Might as well, for that makes a fine bookmark in the shape of all things ending.
Derrek Estrella Jul 2020
Twice hardly could I believe mine eyes
As old sunset did arise
To and fro, the honeysuckle morn
That brought the nascent-sparkling dawn
So surely did I meet
The words so concrete
As grass and dew held sway
And all old scrolls had no delay
For beauty was the mare on which I rode
As the buck-toothed medallion began to corrode
Overlapping streams of great renown
All seeking the final ivory crown
In pillars of smoke, bellows of grass
The hastened steps of many a mass
Send their prayers to remorseful wind
For a useless chance to begin
The rhythms of Eunoia did spring
As the new decrepit moon was beginning
Derrek Estrella Jul 2020
Such a crying shame
That my frail body
Could so concisely
Imitate my brain
Derrek Estrella Jun 2020
I fought hard enough for the things I wanted
Hard enough to beg for the things I need
Derrek Estrella Jun 2020
I do not wish to join the school of the wise and impotent in later years. I do not wish to join anything but nature; something to make amends with as twilight nears.
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