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Sombro Jun 2017
While the city's often pretty
It tends to exact a price
For I'm a particular person
With a particular paradise

A country-wound clock, head to toe
Is what I'll always be
A place of solace and wooly fields
Is the promised land to me

So don't be sad, for back I'll be
When months have dribbled past
But before then, I get to see
My homely place, my land at last
A silly poem I wrote for my friends to say a goodbye until I go back to the city :)
Sombro Jun 2017
It's the strangest thing,
We can all blush over really
What we're all made to do
By the pink hand of biology

The coated sexuality
We claim and occupy readily
What strange things we tend to see
Under the pink hand of biology

Roaring flames burn angrily
When met with female gasoline
Or the match of male anatomy
According to the pink hand of biology
Sombro Jun 2017
One way we unify, One way we attest to ourselves,
Making short statements with the most jagged bits of our silhouettes
In, out, back, back,
One way we speak to each other, One way we pound thoughts into
What little shivering objectivity we have left
Long shadows describing his form, as he bounces here and here

One way we bridge what art describes
Colour, inference, red courage and pink desire
With a brandish of certain shapes, certain shapes
We find ourselves a little more than people. but blushed
Bound, exalted in the puffing of our slung forward rhythms
Your breath her suspended, surrendered image

How strange, we may form
And embody the body body of our longing
Of our skin-soft hope, sweaty
Snorting Showing yourself
Dancing, a little art, a little embodiment
Of echoes in all we want within
a note on the nature of dancing
Sombro Jun 2017
I thought
Pipe-fed freedoms
Would stay at bay
Behind minds fretting needlessly
Then I was told to buy a lottery ticket

I supposed
My wasted wants
Would keep in my sleep
Beneath griefs of weakness I'd never possess
Then I discovered I'm one more normal mind

I believed
'My' graceful gods
Were lame in their frame
Below fallow understandings in flaking canvases
Then I was told what to believe

I refused
And was suddenly different
Shown the ropes of a living wage
Pariah,
Burned alive
until I was so different
I was marketable
People came to me
And suddenly I was someone
Suddenly I was understandable
Like never I was as one of dissonance within -
One of picture frames without, the label
'Vive le différence,
Ici ça meurt'.
Ok, so I google translated the French, a cardinal sin, I know, but I had no choice :(
Sombro Jun 2017
We
We're not human
Riding on what waves
The length of our spines will flex to
Shiff ff fting focus as if from congealed lenses, blushing crimson worries

I forgot what I was meant to be told
I lost the talismans given me
Pupils leave glass classrooms
And can't be hoped for any more
Than in the grim mission they're handed, but we're not human

For we aren't sorry, not grieving the passing off of pleases
And the absence of grace
No churches, ties or classrooms push us forth no more
We're no longer human
For we forgot how to spell that word
With every ounce of our body
Sombro Jun 2017
It moved before my eyes
Expression bent into exposure
Angle stretched as if to lean in and
Thank me for creating it
Chalked hair ghostly in the wind
Pencilled grin pushing charcoal cheeks to the sky
Wry and simple, cleaning my image
As if I were so like that, so obvious
To it, but I was
It moved, I saw
And all this work was warranted
Justification
Sombro Jun 2017
If
I cannot tell you
What dark flowers grow in the shade
I can only say
What their perfume smells like
What nectar they sweat
When brought out to the light
Unable to bear
Exposure, steep reliance and responsiveness

I cannot tell you
What creatures lurk at night
Were I a child I would say
They surely bear great fangs and
**** the blood of innocents
Were I an adult I could tell you
They bore faces I knew
And hissed like air escaping
The dying kiss of goodbye
But I am not, so I cannot say
What desires take form from light of day

Were  I like you
I could say
What breadths the world asks of us
When we seek to cross it to see one we miss
I could make a guess at
What the ocean sounds like as it sputters in protest
With inconvenient waves slapping sense into our journey
But I'm not
Nor are you
If I were really focused
Perhaps I could ask
Why
But I'm not
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