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 Jun 2012 JLB
PK Wakefield
Untitled
 Jun 2012 JLB
PK Wakefield
to die? i think it is appropriate
that you should less of striving
body into the vast littleness of
nokissing, lips never, and ivory
bare of the candor of your muscles
spokes of whitest, spindles become
and dust

                  lastly
 Jun 2012 JLB
Quentin Briscoe
snake
 Jun 2012 JLB
Quentin Briscoe
Cold mornings but yet i dont feel it...
Cold blooded soul
Got a heart with a hole....
No sealent...
30 and below
i wont start to show...
Black ice on the ground tell me you can see it...
Tropic antiseptic...
rubbed across my skin...
novacane injected...
followed by a pin...
No pain, just frost bitten..
with no mittens...
ground across my belly..
Eat the fruit I know your hungry...
 Jun 2012 JLB
Logan Drew Arnold
The smell of corn bags will
Always remind me of you.
We would jog to seem modern or
Just tour around campus and city bridges driven by
Conversation and company until we were exhausted.
And we would come home and
You would warm you bag after making love or
To relax and read.

The smell of corn bags will
Always remind me of you because
You are not around anymore.
I found someone new
Someone modern.
 Jun 2012 JLB
Odi
You dangle from the strings
of an invisible puppeteer
you sway from the knots he has placed
on the inside of your ears
the scars on your face
come to resemble a smile
I know that crash has left you defeated
but you will never know how much it hurts to see you dangle
for someone who wants to see a dead man dance
your inflated stomach and sunken eyes
sway sway sway
being held up by some cheap string
you look for a quick fix
You are held at the elbows that have nothing left to bleed
your feet cannot compete with the sound of music
that only you can hear
Do those monsters make you dance?
is there always music on?
I bet you wanna die
everytime you hear that song

Do you remember Kaycee's smile
the way she sung that broken tune
I bet you remember that black eye you gave her
when you thought the devil was in you

Because I remember going ******* 5000 miles an hour
on a cold dark rainy road
and smelling the alcohol on our breaths
as we laughed out loud at something
someone must've said

I remember the way the light was off
and waking you up from that gravel road
seeing pink and red all over the floor
Johns hand cut off from the car door

You cant revive someone who doesn't have a  brain silly...

Do you think of awful things
Or are you just a puppet
that sways
sways
from invisible strings

So Dr Phil dont ******* sit there
and preach to me about denial
when you yourself
are still wearing that
pain-stained smile
Do not tell me what it is like to
let **** out
When I know you close your eyes
and still hear her shout
Dont sit there and ******* tell me
"the healthy thing to do"
When you tell yourself that healing
is simply seeing what is true

So you know Puppet, that we are guilty
as sin as sin can be
We killed we killed we killed a friend
we killed her, we killed Kaycee
John may shake your hand and smile with a lump in his throat
But you and I puppet boy know what makes us choke

You cannot bury a headless corpse.
Morbid but I don't give a ****.
 Jun 2012 JLB
Ruby Flynn
i was born into a generation immune to tragedy,
conditioned, we have been made, to calamity.
hearts hardened by television images,
minds numb at the sight of pained visages.
i was born into a generation wrought with fear,
for the end of the world is coming near.
whether by anthropogenic atmospheric grumblings,
or symbols of american freedom crumbling,
the earth is no longer our home.
a place where mind, body, and spirit
are subject to torment,
and every child's aspirations must lie dormant.
the world, as i know it, is an unwelcoming place,
no matter what your sexuality, age, gender, or race.
our forefathers have pillaged our once overflowing pockets
to fulfill empty goals on lofty campaign dockets.
what is left is ours to fix, though not by choice,
and nobody knows if "they" hear our voice.
i was born into a generation less than "Great",
yet it is only we who can determine our fate.
 Jun 2012 JLB
John Mahoney
and, as i stood there
on an unpeopled shore,
as the waves rolled in, one
following the other, i knew
with certainty, as in a
remembered dream,
that there was no returning
neither a going back nor
a turning away...

i felt the salt spray, cold on
my face,
and now i heard the sea birds
and looked,
to see them wheeling
above the water, now diving
and fighting one another
for the catch

and the beach, a grit of
seashell white, seemed as
the ocean itself, endless,
the evidence of great age
all about me in the sand
quartz ground from the
action of the water upon the
mountains
eroding even these
wearing down everything
in time
am i the sand, always washing away, or
the waves, eternally crashing against
the shore

what was it i was saying?
oh yes, i remember...

then, i walked back to the car
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