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When you move in together
You both bring all your ****
And nobody wants
To surrender not even
Just a bit
So you double up on lamps
And stereos and mugs
But the worst offender Is cutlery
Those stainless steel thugs
And the worst o the worst
Is of course the spoon
Cos there's Several sizes
Applications and soon
When combined together
Both hers and yours
They take up the full drawer
A redundancy of course
And  when youse part
As is written in the runes
She'll leave the ******* with you
Cos
Women
Have
No
Interest
In
Spoons.
 Dec 2024 Devin Johns
Bree17
I think she’s gonna break, the girl to my left
I'm watching her warp and bend
While she sits and stares at nothing
Waiting for class to end

She's leaving next week
Don’t know when ill see her again.
I can't see a way out of this
She was my only friend
to the ******* my left

I think I'm going to start writing a back and forth between two girls about each other
kinda fictional but based off true situations
I love you with my
heart, hands, eyes, breath, feet and lips.
will it be enough


I can feel them there,
heartbeats echoing softly
when I hold you close


Give your love to me;
I will treasure and hold it
with an open hand


Hungry to see you;
and even after they do,
my eyes still want more


I hold my breath and
count to twenty to quench it,
this longing for you


When you laugh with me,
my soul feels so much lighter,
my feet start to dance


Silent lips await
their chance to sing your praises,
or kiss you softly
Love is always a risk;
once you give it away
you cannot be sure
if it will return.

Some will wear it
as an ornament,
posing, seeing only
how nice they look in it;

Some will reach out
and ****** it skillfully
from the air,
and throw it to the ground,
and laugh at your weakness;

Some will demean it
and call it a farce,
holding you accountable
for every act of transgression
before it;

Some, not knowing what it is,
will toss it, and play with it
until they tire of it
and then leave it behind
like a toy;

But where love is greatly valued,
it will be carried, carefully,
and placed upon an altar
of thanksgiving,
and reverenced;

And the author of love
will receive it,
and return it
in such great abundance,
it will overflow its course
and wash everywhere,
making debris of the
hard-hearted
and foolish.
 Dec 2024 Devin Johns
Rick
words that hang like shutters
from broken hinges.

words that hover like nurses
after surgery.

words that splatter like
thin remorse.

I heave with sickness
when they arrive.

I spring with ebullience
when they leave the ** dunk
parts of my mind.

these words
these ******* words
that show up in Pontiacs,
in Plymouths, in Pintos

these nonsensical,
satirical,
antiquated words.

they charge at you
like a dead bovine
swinging from a meat hook.

they crawl towards you
like a silverfish
out of the sink drain.

they creep up on you
like an old ***
rattling a change cup.

why? I ask myself.

why does this happen?

I don’t want this kind of ailment;
give me
bee stings
or bedsores
or steam burns
but not these words,

these words that linger like shingles
across the ribcage of burning torment.

I pray without ceasing
towards a signified God.

I pray for simple sacrifice;

I want suicide rather than poetry.
I want a cow without milk.
I want a statue without structure.
I want a woman without grace.

I can feel the floodgates opening soon
and I think I’m going to puke my guts
out all over this page again.
the bees are sharing their dreams
with me

and I want to know what
it feels like to rob a bank,
to run naked through the moonlit garden,
compose a sonata,
stare up into trees
then pause to listen to blue birds singing,

the bees are sharing their dreams with me, today

and I want to run with the bulls
in Pamplona

I want to remember

time insane
when untamed dreams
ran wild
in the dim light
of a room without windows

desperado,
purple eyeshadow and lips

dancing through misty memory,
she comes

quiet midnight settling in her eyes
bare foot waif, never kind...

the thief of my dreams
there was a wishing well
on the boardwalk. a fountain

spewing yellow and blue water.
I reached into the pool

grabbing change.

crossed the street
and spread the wet
green change across the bar

and got a beer.

2 a.m.

just in time for the turtle races.

so I rushed across the street
to get money for beer
and to bet on the race.

she was kneeling
in front of the wishing well.

she told me her name was Destiny.

the green-dyed water
dripping from her clenched fingers.


DESPERATE LOVE was the turtle
we picked. a 40 to one shot.

Destiny and me
spread the wet change
across the bar,
placed our bet...


...right after the fight
the cops arrested Destiny. the green

dye. she never washed it off
her hands, her arms.

Desperate Love came in first.
I took the winnings and bailed
Destiny out of the county jail.

it was love at first sight.

...meanwhile,

we're back at the wishing well...
I sat up all night
by the pool of sleep
stirring the water
with my toes,
but didn’t slip in;
you floated easily
beside me,
a couple
singing harmonies
behind an open door,
inspiring the curiosity
of children.
You can listen
to the news,
you can express
your views,
you can point your toes
when you dance,
but the future, my friend
will unroll like a scroll
and there won’t be
a thing there by chance.

There are things
that you hear,
there are things
that you fear,
there are demons
inhabiting dreams;
but events that unfold,
or so I’ve been told,
are not the results
of man’s schemes.

So retire your talk
and just go for a walk,
look up at the stars overhead,
and be thankful that you
have no claim on the view,
and then, laugh, be happy,
go to bed.
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