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 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
the howling tunnel
of reminiscing shafts
sunlight beaming,
swirling on the cracked
brittle bits of aged brick
weigh into the soft soil
and slimy with moss,
glistening with dew
as the butterflies stutter
at the edge of each petal,
remembering the echo
of another duo swoon
rippling music and
cascading laughter,
bouncing in the spaces
between the pebbles,
slipping in between
the ruffling book pages,
a quiet abode littered
with graphite and ink,
another place for
a howling mind
to breathe
What would be the color of my sky ?
I'll tear up the clouds
My small tongue kisses you
The sun is turning
Your white teeth was biting two round points
Your dandelion is growing
The wheat is always menstruated in my poems
And I like to sleep on the back of my red backpack

آسمان من چه رنگ خواهد بود ؟
ابرها را پاره می کنم
زبان کوچک من تو را می بوسد
خورشید می چرخد
دندان های سفیدت
دو نقطه ی گرد را به هم گاز می گرفت
قاصدک تو بلند می شود
گندم ها همیشه در قصه های من پریود اند
و من
دوست دارم
پشت کیف قرمز رنگ مدرسه ام بخوابم
Either I'm swept up in colors and light, running after day-to-day life
Or I'm curled into myself and crying without tears
Either way I can't give the words space, to breathe and grow on their own

So when I disappear, I'll let you imagine me whichever way you'd wish
See me happy, see me sad
Nevermind the truth
If you so much as spare a thought to me when I'm not writing, that is already more than I can ask
I've been away from Amethyst for a while
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
the simmering summer heat
lingering like a blanket of sticky tack
weighing on the leaves of the
bright summer suns,
the radiating petals
golden array of sunlight
rows upon rows
where the eyes tend to meet,

holstered with swaying stalks
thick, green leafy stems
whispering in the slight breeze
the sweltering heat humming with life
as the buzzing increases in strife
the screaming cicadas, the speckled path
striking down the field of suns
for the secret, secret place to sing
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
the unknown beast
lurking behind the old
glossy surfaces of photos

the photos of another time
another place, another life*
glossy old photos
of hands held with peace
and a voices unheard

holding the thin vessels
of memories etched like stone
what is there to look back
to old photos
*of another childhood
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
what does it mean
to be my mother's daughter

how much of me
stems from her memories
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
surely, yes surely
          the swindling sway
                 of frost bitten leaves
crushed to the marrow
             of another dinner's eve,
                   tender hands steeped in oils
fragrance wafting like
             the soft moss underneath feet,
                      a candle lit, drowned
in the droning stream
              of coursing music,
                       strings like an airy vessel
teetering like the flight
             of a subordinate trickle,
                        an orchestra crooked in

the loves which steeps
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
perhaps by the fire
the body can ease
perhaps in the wind
the weight can cease
perhaps with earth
the runner can soar
perhaps with water
breath can become
once again
 Apr 2017 Gregory Dun Aer
Eriko
centered, I like to be here
rather than that
of your land sliding grin
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