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Two boys
and girls
unclothed each other
simply at a picnic
flush with wine
alongside
sun-flecked trees.

The girls,
easy as the
forest round,
burned,
delicious,
as the boys
eager and nervous
in unequal measure
partly gave up
concealing
their joys
at forgetting
or remembering
in flickers
their bare bodies.

It went on
over nettles
and half-hours
and clambered
trees and
photos taken
almost formally
(on film,
of course).

And boyish lust,
at first sinuous,
a darting tongue,
began to
soften against,
for instance,
the sheer,
unthinkable
texture
of the two
girls carved
now backward
over the bough
of a storm-felled elm.

And there
in the embers
of evening
they learned
to thrill originally
at the vast,
gorgeous
and astonishing
irrelevance
of what
might happen next.
A nuclear bomb has gone off in my bedroom

Scorching my skin and burning the pages of my diary

My hinges have been loosened and I fall wide open

My face and thoughts are lost

I always held the right combination on narcissism,
skepticism,
and optimism.

Painting my best days in grey and teal

My ears are still ringing, not that it matters,
I was tone deaf to begin with

I punch holes in walls to widen my perspective

I bandage my chest in drawings from your sketchbook
Birds,                                              ­                                                                 ­                               
girls,                                                        ­                                                                 ­   
trees,                                                         ­                                                 
and poetry                                                         ­                       
lend themselves as temporary skin.

Fending off the cold and ash

*“Where the hell am I?”
white walls,
solid empty,
begging to be a canvas.
silent,
ominous,
echoing and reverberating
with the slowly dropping pins of my mind.

lights out,
i call and everything shifts to overdrive.
my pulse is through the roof,
the beating has moved to my ears
as if to drown out the silence.

i'm wondering when the panic stops.

i'm searching for any thing
that bears resemblance to that which is dreamt.
dreams so often confused,
misconstrued,
bent at will to provide us with the most pleasing ideas.
time will only pass,
its up to me,
to us,
to usher them
and

it

is

still

so



EMPTY
cooking pots simmer on the back burners of my mind
steaming, steaming

wordy vapors rise,
spreading syllables across my bone-dry ceiling

letter clouds are gathering

i stand below,
head raised,
mouth open,
hoping to catch the rain of inspiration
Days pass,
days pass --
shadows tread
the night.
Hearts break;
glass shatters
   from above.
Grey eyes
blink back
the tears in vain.
And the world
comes slowly
to an end.
Let me just say that
Thank god I'm over you
Because this just in
the list of exploits you did do
is only getting longer
minute by minute and
hour by hour
actions speak louder than words
they say take a photo it will last longer
but its so much more entertaining
when we've got video coverage
so that I can kick back and watch
as your whole life falls apart
I can just sit back and laugh
And realize that my life ain't so bad
That I really should go and thank you
For going and leaving me
Because otherwise I would be
Strapped tight to your sinking ship
And just another line in your silly poem
But since you did cut me free
I now have front row seats to the show
I don't know about Karma being a *****
But I sure know you were
Being away from you has proven to me that
God isn't it good to be free
God life is great to me
feline princess,
with  lithe, agile limbs
mistress (with/of) dark instincts
tormentor of my libidinous dreams,

perpetually  under the spell of
your radium eyes,
experiencing , in every sense
your nocturnal effervescence,
I would doubtlessly testify anywhere:
your day light innocence,
is the act of a cheat.
(would I ever do that? you know, it is just a joke)
I am bit confused, still
why should you behave in that way?
you are indeed bold,  barbarous in an amorous sense
in that you are proud, as any one would understand.

your thorny nails
hidden under soft paws
plays with the ups and downs of my body
both ways, some times it only  tickles
and at other times, plunges deep, draws blood
                     I am a sinner with clean conscience
you can tell me all your desires
dark, white or purple
we would be together
in that  boat to the dark  dark shores
where you promised to
make me inhale the imagined flowers
of flesh with the  scent of fulfillment.
When
I asked
for ten words,
I got…
much more
Since this collection's inception 17 days ago, 145 poems have been submitted--great stuff--thanks and keep the poems coming
muffled songs
of a bruised lion’s meow,
playin’ blame game with Narcissus,
attempts to break patterns
cycling around you,
treading over my anger
in all the unfolding places
it hides -
recycled love to get us through
the weather
that has trapped our hearts in,
in the bend
where if you close your eyes
I can run and hide,
tried and tried,
still so contrived, though,
and I can’t love like that -
a stranger in my bed
and in my house,
in my head,

a leg for a *******,
a tongue and kiss for a palm,
a touch or grip for a broken heart,

you never played fair, anyway
I wish I could be heading somewhere
Instead of peddling in place.
I wish I could get something back
Instead of what I'm giving go to waste.
How do I escape,
fly high above the birds and trees?
How is it I keep walking on
Instead of falling to my knees?
Set me free!
I don't know who I'm supposed to be.
But apparently if I'm not the right one
I'm not good enough for you to invite me.

I'm tired of all these people,
Of not being enough.
Of giving everything I can
And getting dust.
Getting to sit in the endless hours
While everyone has fun.
Apparently I'm not enough.
           Now just look at what I've done.
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