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 Nov 2012 Brandon
Anon C
If I did not need
Food for fuel
Drink to quench thirst
Sleep for my mind
Love for my soul
I would endlessly walk
With this song on repeat
Through
Majestic mountains
Scorching desert
Freezing rain
Singing trees
Forever basking in the Earth's eternal beauty
 Nov 2012 Brandon
Anon C
Sacred as the moon
Deep as the night
Nothing to me
Ever so yearned for
As your presence
 Nov 2012 Brandon
Anon C
Saved
 Nov 2012 Brandon
Anon C
For many years
hath I dwelt within a forsaken cavern
seldom light touched mine eyes
vision dimmed, hopes forgotten
passionate love long forsworn

Then what should happen
a most unexpected occurrence
loves hand ventured within my recess
entangled and lost in its own way
seeking his own revelation

Emotions so profound
at last reciprocated
abysmal cavern naught but a memory
as passion at last indulged in
lost eternally in the ardor of virtuous love
 Nov 2012 Brandon
mûre
makes me grumpy,
no, not because I don't delight
in strings of coloured bulbs
and the flavor of lip chap and hot chocolate sticky,
and the bright eyes of young magickers
but because it seems that whatever the occasion,
any revelry that involves thousands of people
destroys the city, belches post-apocalyptic refuse,
and shoulder-shoves old men, knees small children.
The reason I don't like the Santa Claus Parade
is that once it's over
everything that happened
within the anonymity drug affect of invisible hordes
and the ambulances pulling away
is nobody's fault.
Merry Christmas.
 Nov 2012 Brandon
mûre
Blurry Love
 Nov 2012 Brandon
mûre
With my heart I picture you in polaroids
tinted blue by my eyes, surrounded by crushed leaves.
In the skipping track of my inner eye
your mouth, the way it moves when you focus
the open-palmed reaching of marimba chorale
and softening of your brow from the vines
of midnight-colour hair.
From many perspectives, again and again,
in the skipping track of my inner eye,
photographs shot with love.
 Nov 2012 Brandon
mûre
Dear Dog,
 Nov 2012 Brandon
mûre
I am in the coffee shop.
You wish you were.
Your snouty head is one great flappy nostril.
Your belly is huffing and I know if I could hear you
You'd be whining.
Your eyebrows are raised in a way
that defies (or proves) evolution theories.
Your pinkly jowls dripping with the mixed
urban aroma of cars, pigeons, and
smelly bipedal mammals.
An olfactory carnival.
You sit on the pavement red-leashed to a bike,
a statue of solemn dignity as passerby
pause to scritch your ****.
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