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I was listening to roller skating tunes.
Yes, I am shallow, sir.
And though thou may say villainess or mistress,
I am content to be who I am.
One noon, we were over dull
and our hearts we serviced
like two thieves there
in the kissing place
where breaths are both as one
and the first of many kisses doubles.
He made vows in mine ear.
He has such hands and lips
and his fortunate nature fed mine eyes
oh, nothing was scarce.
Our horns locked together
with the intensest chutzpah
and we well-made our match.
We sparked feelings we all ascribe to heaven.
I would not tell you
I can serve a man
that by slow designs
men can melt.
He swore oaths
and dropped
half won.
Later he paid
the sweetest
after-debts
—he did owe it.
.
.
songs for this:
Find Me the Pulse of the Universe by Laetitia Sadier
Stormy (Bossa Mix) by S-Tone Inc
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/18/25:
Chutzpah = audacious boldness paired with reckless self-confidence.

**We saw a production of Shakespeare's "As you like it," last week, those rhythms were stuck in my head.
 Feb 19 Evan Stephens
JRF
Shuttering

The curtains are closing
in my mind
Shuttering.

The performance
has ended and so spectacularly
It was quite a show
Explosions and
fireworks and such
Such
A mess
Am I
I am, I am.
They closed their thoughts.
Genuineness is unwelcome in this world.
Their purpose and cause remain hidden.
Smiling ironically with their sharp hearts,
they tied disappearing ethics with golden threads.

Now they invite you to the feast.
The milky blood of a thousand voices is served,
at the table's abundance of emptiness.

Who are they? Survivors,
shaped by silent consent,
walk through the vast field of lost values,
tainted with soulless conformism.
They are afraid, so afraid of their dark shadows…
You make me wanna
Buy a classic motorcycle
Quit my boring corporate job
And move to the Italian alps

You make me wanna stop
Piling up wasted days
And start living
And I'll always love you for this - even if it's nothing but a dream.
beautiful flower

carried away in the storm
laid down in a thicket of thorns.

who will morn
the dancer and sinking sky?
the raven with a broken wing?
who will cry for you? O, flower
folded in the forgotten book of sorrow.
now, a shadow and a name and a tombstone.

my flower, my rose without thorns.

I'm gonna get my shotgun
climb the water tower,
shoot the stars full of lost tomorrows.
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