We run our course
We go the extra mile
We stay up sustaining immortality
Our deaths turned round
Projects on behalf of Eros
When we usually preach Agape
We enact sequential art performed with grace
Luna tunes colored water splashable you
In person honey with unlimited shelf life
We mate across spanned labyrinths a maze
Combs ensconced with nectar leading back to queen
Our hive stops the minute drones bring home virus
Reconstructed renewability narrative needing update
Horton hears who made the sky say so much
Way past expiration date skids our frictional kiss
We could almost imagine eternity naming the date
Mutual assured destruction averted by forming pact
Loosens the chain reaction fused by fission escalated
To the max man’s post-apocalyptic grocery store tale
Sells e-foods gold light fear energy time bubble Dimension X
Dash between dates tombstoned selfie virtual cemetery
Tandem lovers pass together clasping each last breath alone
Little deaths punctuate like piano keys pluck cat gut strums
Enameled amber encased in static slabs conjoined by fringe elements

I have this friend across the pond
As bright as clear-night stars
Intelligent and talented
And faster than souped up cars

But she has her flaws, alas
As all the best poets do
I know this to be a fact, of course
Who hasn't got one or two?

After all, it has to be said
Perfection is lack of character to me
So I'm keeping my eye on my talented friend
And watch as her mind flies free

                                                By Phil Roberts

I woke up today and I realized I owned a street.
One which you have walked past, through and on two many times.
How many times did you drive by those network of veins and arteries?
How many times did your words sweep clean the surface of my street?
How many times did you put a dent in my walls and crumble
the dreams that stood like houses
on opposite sides of my heart?
How many portholes have your speeding made on that street I call heart?

You don't even read my heart signs.
Like a traffic offender you drive past
oblivious to the red, orange or green signs.
But someday you'll knock on my door
and it won't open.
Someday, you'll walk past a heavily pregnant me
and wonder if that little bulb of life would have been yours.
Someday you'll reach out for me on a bed and not find me
because you never put a ring on it.

But before then my street is empty.
My dreams still are standing
and I am doing the best I can
to be a good wife and mother.
Before then, I'm still building this street
every hurt, disappointment and cruel word
I'll use to build this heart.
This street shall be called lovely
hope and forgiveness.
until then, keep driving by.
My gates are still open.