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 Jul 2017 Sid Lollan
moondust
you're not doing well
with skin like bed sheets
ebbing tides in your forehead
and the malady that keeps your mind guessing,

these next six nights
of not having to feel
so alone will make you
fall back into sleep
to grow roots.

i'll cut holes in the ozone
to put your heartache in

i'll walk you to the hospital,
i'll wait in a white room,
place your sad eyes in my drawers
until my hand breaks

the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and 'you are so important to me'
is easier to digest than
skipping heart beats

i miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47,
and
i've fallen in love

you're the only one that made that idea
less devastating.
cut-out poetry i made for a project back in november 2016. i used lucas regazzi's poems called small and bedside table.

EDIT 170829: none of the lines used here are mine!! they're all taken from the poems mentioned above :)
=====================================
Silence broke into tears
But cried with authority of a heavy rain
With a prescription of a rule of the land
How many still write,
in autumn bells ?
when gentle dew sickles the nerves of my brain
tighten the bronchial tree of my chest
when your wings will broom the dust of the wound
behind the door of my aging heart ?

When the day will increase fresh greenery
Around the tiring garden of long passing life
And protect all the wedding stories
And save them for next generations and
Not allowing them to die
In a flooded storm of worldly intelligentsia ?

The dry leaves will remain burning
In the high temperature of June of My country
the serene calm river of wisdom will invite me drown
In Her depth up to the pebbles and sand
settled loosely in her breast flowing with deep water, but
The winter of coming life will try to frost my fertile brain
but the sacred heart reminds me to reach
the Ocean of the colored horizon

So I should be baptized or Initiated by the Guru
To follow the word of God or name of God
To know, realize and experience the hell or heaven of emotions
But, Some are so mature to become their own teacher
to write with their own pen on their own paper

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
 Jul 2017 Sid Lollan
Bor ehgit
There's no sleep for the traveling heart, as the mind is always ticking. Unable to keep steady enough hands, to ever hold another's properly. Her face stays tucked away for nights, when the alcohol brings her to the surface. In my head she's dancing through the streets of a foreign city, the rain falls as her hair curls and sticks together. She's smiling as the mascara runs from her eyelashes, and just as she runs her fingers across her head, she disappears within the mist.
 Jul 2017 Sid Lollan
Wordfreak
I write
About all unholy things.
Twisting shadows,
Making peace with Demons,
And dancing with The Devil.
I admit,
I've made my fair share of mistakes,
But what did you expect?
Surely you should be wary of
A Wolf with a tongue of silver?
A boy who plays with shadows,
And hides from the whispers in his head,
Regardless,
I've missed this.
I've missed the outpouring.
I've held everything in for too long.
Love and hate have torn me apart,
So now I take time to heal.
I welcome anyone,
Old Friends and enemies,
New adversaries and acquaintances,
If you have something you want to speak about,
Something to set straight,
Or just want to catch up,
You know where to find me.
I've missed you all.
My mind is awake.
Life is pointless.
So please,
Give me something to write for.
-Mike
[untitled]

I vandalize the outside of a church in a city designed by men with bad teeth and there I mistake a drop of blood for a penny and begin to last forever

~

[abuse errata]

this mannequin
that we now
deliver
to the oral
loneliness
of circles
died
left-handed

~

[the quiet that comes after a two car accident on a country road]

could strangle
an owl
cast
perhaps
as a mole
listening
to the belly
of a stopped
deer

~

[the men of left field]    

I think / in a past / life / my sense / of touch / was yours

-

mother / ain’t once / lost / while pregnant / a baseball / in the sun

-

thunder / is lightning’s / empty stomach

~

[I see in your newer work]

the propping up of rootless boys and the past changing only what was. your father the spinner of flea market globes. a bat in the barn with the head of a chicken. your mother returning to god the ghost you painted for death. your son wetting the bed. right of owl, left of crow.

~

[annotations for son]

a small creature was shot
stumbled
and became
my handwriting.

two of my legs
need god.

~

[sculptural]

a moth attacking the ear of a white horse

[on a family farm
littered
with oar-beaten
scarecrows]

-

baby talk
in a suicide note  

-

sign language, mosh pit, 1991
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.

No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .

I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.

My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.

The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.  

The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.

In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing,
it was merely another Robot call,
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Imagine if you can some man made device or solar flare
knocking out all the satellites in space and computers on
earth, then this nightmare is not so far-fetched.
I actually did have this unsettling dream. The possibility
of this reality does indeed exist.
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