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  Nov 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
At first I did love you,
but then the rain caught up.
Always thinking of you,
laying dormant on your crest.
To drink until you blurred,
until as velvet as the mist.

When I grow up, I'll be cool.
Smoke until my lungs float.
Drink until my body's a pool.
Think of people with three felonies,
singing the same penitiary melodies.
Think of girls that said no,
love that diminishes
while a fetus grows.

I'll think of my dad growing up
under a different circumstance.
Think if my mom could hear,
she'd probably like to dance.
Think of my grandpa and my brother,
one isolating, one with too much love--
I wish it'd smother
me, under a Christmas tree,
whispering, 'I wish I could give more,
but all I have is me.'

At first I did love you,
but the frame spills metal guts.
Always thinking of you,
the way your eyes, wide shut.
To think of a turn,
I watched it blur,
the glass shattered.
The paramedics mimicked me,
lifting me up,
'What's the matter?'

When I grow up, I'll be dope.
Find a nice blond and maybe elope.
Shake into her what was stirred into me,
and tell her not to mistake it for chemistry.
And bleed no more, so she doesn't believe,
that there used to be a weaker me,
but it's hard to control a certain circumstance--
like, what if my mom wished to dance?
  Nov 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
Mass graves breathing,
like beached jellyfish.
Ketchup packet pastels
painting a diner dish.
I sit and imagine
so many things and more.
I smoke ribbons of grey
that dance around
the diner door.

The people move
and have so much to say.
Watch them scurry and hurry
through the invisible day.
The sun's colors bounce off
weekly washed windows.
And I suffer from the certainty
that my fulfilled dreams
will fulfill me,
as I flick ashes into the world
for the wind to carry away,
dragging shadows.
As my boss smokes
  Oct 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
Chocolate colored Toms, Cool Blue and Navy, too,
North Face jacket, give me some individuality
I wanna feel ethereal; violently, annoyingly
happy. But the sky is as black as lonely cancer
without a soul mate; I know what it's like
to kiss as you erase her.

Hauntingly, melancholic instances ingrained
into my gelatin mind and
And the smolder
from the brand on my shoulder
I wish I could alter my reflection,
but the mirror I've bought,
somebody else
South Shore
  Oct 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
I have swallowed so much of other's blood that I have forgotten that I have bled, too.
With the world shuffling past,
I have became transfixed with the movements of my idols,
forgetting that my feet have left footprints that have, will, and always be buried under the sedimentary memories that I waited to smother me.

Sometimes I can feel my body buckle under the weight of all the dreams I've dared to dreamt.

Under the moon and on top of the world,
I understand that I am inbetween and will always be.
Ashland, Wisconsin
  Oct 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
I lain in a half-sleep, hearing my grandmother's voice.

When she died, I was jobless,
sleeping on her couch,
and a few months out of the ward.

My mental instability helped me lose friendships, love, and my identity.

I used to hope death would touch me
and I did not know why I wanted it to.

Death instead touched her,
drifting like a gas, underneath her door,
into her lungs, erasing consciousness
like lavender being blown by the wind,
into marked a detergent bottle.

I lain in a half-sleep, hearing my grandmother's voice.

A blue shock spread throughout me,
like the ocean swallowing animals
and forcing them to adapt.

I began drowning in water that looked like gas station slushee,
my ribcage hugging frantic gelatin organs,
beating alongside the spindle of time.

I lain in a half-sleep, hearing my grandmother's voice.

My carcass became Sun-kissed from the burning of change --
my grandmother died before I could succeed:
my grandmother died before she could see me live.

I crawl through the coarse, wheat-dyed sand,
hoping the blood I trail can be measured in her love.

I hope to make her proud, to learn to work hard,
then harder and harder and harder.
To become fully healthy,
to become what she stayed by my side for.

One of the few.

I lain in a half-sleep, hearing my grandmother's voice.

She said she was proud of me.
It probably was me and not her,
but at least someone is proud.
Dedicated to my grandmother, Kay Hannas.
  Oct 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
If every red-ripped ****** and perfect ***** meant something, they'd represent all.
The way the alcohol flows and the choreography of women under the night call.

If every smile smothered the defeat in her being,
she'd be less from a fogged mirror memory
and would be seeing
that I love her and the hurricane behind:
I still follow her into the flood,
follow her where bodies intertwine.

The wind whispers shouts and knee scrapes --
And there is something wrong with me
because I wonder of the way the world tapes
every traumatic second onto her hips
and lets it flow into her pale-palmed grip
that grasps my face and the hollow within;
the shallow shake of tomorrow's sin.

Her bed has a garden print,
but I close my eyes and hope
I stand in a Sun-bathed tomato patch,
waiting for the wind to whisk me away.
Ashland, Wisconsin
  Oct 2015 Margot Dylan
Joshua Haines
The sky, black as the eyes that stare at it.
Star-studded and as seamless as new programming.
I look down, the streets molested by fluorescent splotches --
red ribbons of memory evaporate from the lights of motorcycles,
gurgling by.

A homeless, pregnant woman, in a bar, once told me,
"Forgiveness is letting a prisoner free, then finding out that you were the prisoner."

The sunset looks like an explosion of emotions
no one understands, yet.

The smudges on her lips
look like the bruises of an orphan apple.
Ashland, Wisconsin
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