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Ran out of hugs
Ran out of kisses
Ran out of loving

That's
the way it always goes
I am just led to superimpose

There is a way
that the sun
glows gold

There is a cup
that will overflow

There is a good moon
rising
just before the dawn

An owl that
doesn't give a Hoot
out on the lawn

A broken heart that
no amount of kintsugi
and gold
will fill the canyons
of cracks and
eliminate the epicanthic soul
.
epicanthic - a prolongation of the upper eyelid that partially blocks the inner corner eyesight .
Kintsugi - The Japanese healing power of laquering broken pieces of pottery together and painting the seams with gold or silver paint .
Of them I have a few and I will admit this only to you
they are not from here and they are very, very blue
These little one foot creatures are from outer space
they are well behaved and have the cutest face.
I named one Volcano because of his cyborg strength,  
though he talks in monosyllables he also talks at length !
Then there is Jukebox, he loves to sing at night
he can hit an octave but he isn't very bright.
Out of all my little friends my favorite one is Hue,  
he's a Venutian little chatterbox and he isn't all that blue
He smiles so much that it gives him gas,
but I like him cuz he always makes me laugh,
and knows just what to do.

Copyright © Mystic Rose 2024
~
"The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." — Vladimir Nabokov

Clockworks and Ferris wheels
mix time and laughter into their spin
and then comes twilight
and a vacant lot
of endless cycles:
hide and seek in a night-time labyrinth
and then the night walks begin
this fear of emptiness
—time is not a straight line

a warning to the curious:
don't ever trust the stars
to guide you
in the black hit of space
the warmth of our flare's lifespan
is a true testament to the skill and sorcery
found in every limb, larynx
and lovelorn heart
of this dimming voidance
~
You are
the river that runs
beneath this city.

You lend
the beautiful but empty
buildings a beating heart.

And the buildings were essential.

They were a part
of the lives unfolding
in their shadows.

Sometimes it
almost seems like
they are listening.

I'm sinking inside them.

Tell me a story
about an outgoing road,
the house where you grew up
near the Sea of Azov.

I think
I flew there once.

The birds
that perch inside my chest
sing loud, sing soft.

Maybe they
will sing again for us
tomorrow.

~
~
I.
Killing Mary Poppins
with a spoonful of sugar,
the sugar from the medicine
on the other side of town,
the town called Silent Hedges
And A Bit Of Fluff.


II.
Only a display model,
her name is Marmalade;
skin white like the moon,
she wears her ****** stranger dress;
one of her sisters is dying,
the other never lived;
God is a far off concept,
the fuchsia colored ball on
an overhead power grid
points her way to salvation.


III.
Morning became something else:
bright decline,
cold things start to burn,
tragic saxophone
among the beckoning,
everything's a symptom:
tax exiles, imperialists,
girls talking nitrous
--mouths full of soil,
Virginia Reel around the fountain
(do-si-do),
ready to buy up impossibles
as the dominoes fall.


IV.
Memory is a chemical
to the girl who cried champagne,
like ceiling stars
during the prodigal summer,
she played the game
on all fours,
and found a drawer
full of quarantine polaroids,
some with blood in her mouth,
others, of rain on her birthday.

~
such majesty

a nightjar call


eyes of a tragedy

after the fall


sprawling winter

baleful

gleaming


pale steps

hinter


ever redeeming


those before

swallowed whole


a horizon to go
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