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Robin MacCuish Aug 2017
These Anxious people
They're running
A race
Panting in the hills of small tasks
Scared of each beat of their heart
For so many flaws
They want me to catch up
I want to stay put
These hyacinths are beautiful
On the side of the road

They run a path with hills but it's straight
Eyes tunneled
They know where they're going
Trying to be a train
A machine

Yet as I step off the path
All eyes turn back
Their gears stop turning
Gripped in fear
Cause where could I be going?
Off the road
Off the track
Of the intended path
Cause if I'm not a machine
Run by coal and oil
I have the roar of my heart
The song in my head
Sneakers loosely tied
I want to live my life as if it is mine
My life to be longer than trains passing in subways
Smelling better than the sweat of industry
More complex than labeled buttons
Scattered but in a line
  Apr 2017 Robin MacCuish
WickedHope
I'm just sitting here
Eating the ice cream you love
With my heart growing colder
My soul feeling older
I remember your smile
It hitting your eyes
The fire glowing as bright
As the spark between us
With your absence so is the light
Found in drafts
Robin MacCuish Apr 2017
Cloudy Condensation
is her
Warm Respiration
  Apr 2017 Robin MacCuish
Nora
Two camps, divided;
On which one will I stay?
Little did I know
The road I took
Would **** me someday
inspired by Humoresque (1946)
The ear,
The oil, resists
Stubborn word water

She locked her neck target
Like a missle mother

I chimed in
Like a dusty daughter

But she loaned attention
To someone further

Away I go
To ground control

So my flighty feet
Embrace the mold

Of the runways and get-a-ways
For which I've packed

Will busy mother
Want me back?
Robin MacCuish Apr 2017
Is the Man bound?
By equal law?
No.
He's more bound by skin
Bound, to nothing but a few
different Pigments
And his **** like a compass
pointing to the painting of his ocean
Full of dead enemies in a world full of friends
Dark and red the water he Stands on
His skin bright white flames of his Desires
His eyes rich and green bags full of jaundiced
Gold
Reflecting the indifference and dead below history
He burns them paper to fire
He runs on desires excused
because ashes blow far in the wind

He isn't bound by the child in her womb
He is more Bound legally to  his Car
His Baby is Her Fault
After he Loved her
*****
After he was her First
*****
After he ***** her
*****
He isn't bound to the Chains he
Wrapped her in

He walks Proud down to the bar
She wilts to her chains
They become her
They rattle behind her
Screaming life is sacred
But not Her Life
She's a *****
She's the one
the one that called the Hit
Not HIM
She called a hit for her Freedom
a shot in the pale bleakness of the future

So he wages War
Starts up the old Political Machine of Religion
And drives over Her Freedom
so that His Baby can have a future
that he Won't Pay For.
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