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 Sep 2015 Amelia Morgan
jermaine
We live to die, be born, die, and live again

Each an expanding and contracting galaxy, racing from and toward Love

No freedom except in Love
All drawn of creation
All design of evolution

One,
or nothing at all.
 Sep 2015 Amelia Morgan
jermaine
408
 Sep 2015 Amelia Morgan
jermaine
408
I'm awake,
but not quite
Bewitching hour again
Crowded at the ends
nothing in between
Void inside
Dark in my eyes
Sweat chills my skin
Still Trembling still
Awake, I began to ponder
seek the witch and her master
Flick the light switch on
Reach for my dog sleeping at my feet
Turn to touch the snoring woman beside me
Look around again
I am the witch and devil's master
I see
I recognize
But never learn
To sleep or to wake
Such is my self ordered fate
Up again at 4:08
Bring out the pottery boy
Mr A said
bring it out front
so the other boys can see

your work
I took out my clay pottery
attempt to the front of class
and stood there

holding the pottery
on a wooden tray
Mr A gazed at me
through his black framed

Beatnik glasses
his eyes like huge marbles
what you call this
huh boy?

I looked at the hand rolled
clay ***
haven't called it
anything yet

I said
thinking of a name
he went stern eyed at me
are we attempting wit

as well as pottery?
He said
a mild titter
from some boys

in the class
here
he said
in a raised voice

like a failed actor
here we have
an example how not
and I repeat NOT

to make a ***
the classroom went quiet
I stared at my ***
lopsided and brown

like a rushed ****
what were you attempting?
Mr A asked
whatever it was

it most certainly was not
a ***
I said nothing
I gazed at him

in his snot green jumper
and Beatnik beard
and brown
corduroy trousers

and sandals
I don't know
why I bother
with pupils like you boy

he said
waste of my time
I stood looking
passed him at Danny

who was boss eyed
and pulling a face
I suppressed a smile
and looked dull

go back to your place
and spare me
the sad boy look
so I returned to my desk

with my ***
leaning further east
and placed it down gently
as if it were some work

of modern art
Mr A then poked
Eddie in the back
and held up his ***

which went in and out
like armless model
of Greek design
worse

Mr A said
than mine.
BOY IN A POTTERY CLASS IN 1959.
 Sep 2015 Amelia Morgan
Mikayla
As I light this cigarette in my mouth,

I inhale the smoke,

like it’s the thing that keeps me alive.

I've gotten worse;

Since you’ve left me standing in the rain.

My scars were reopened.

My lungs were seared with smoke again.

My pillows were blackened from,

the mascara that ran down my face.

he’s just a boy they say.

No,

you don’t ******* understand.

He was the air I breathed.

He was words that I conveyed into poems.

You’ll be okay;

No;

He was the brown eyed boy,

of my dreams.
Our eyes meet
And yours
Pierce my heart
And for one moment
I lack air
My heart stops
And I'm lost
Somewhere
Deep in those brown eyes
I need your help
To find a way out
And then
When before I ask
For the escape route
You break the look
And leave me
Both breathless
And with
An increase heart rate
This heart
Also knows now
That I love you
Brown eyed boy
I can sleep now
Knowing you
And your
Sparkling eyes
Exist.

— The End —