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  Aug 11 am i ee
badwords
Beneath the red glow of the lanterned flame,
Two dancers meet and set their steps in line.
One keeps the beat as though it were the same
Since first the devil taught him how to shine.

His fire leaps high; the crowd can feel its heat,
Each practiced turn a well-remembered show.
Yet while the rhythm makes his work complete,
The steps have nowhere further left to go.

I move beside him, not to take his place,
But shift the tune to see what else might play.
The floor becomes a wider, stranger space;
We find new shapes in night as well as day.

He holds his ground with admirable grace,
Each pivot strong, each landing firm and true.
Yet I drift outward, testing empty space,
And find fresh patterns blazing into view.

The devil smiles to see such steps unfold,
For heat alone won’t keep his ballroom warm.
The dancer’s art is not just to be bold,
But bend the blaze into another form.

The crowd may cheer the skill they understand,
Applaud the lines they’ve learned to love before;
But some will watch the one who shifts the sand
And wonder what else waits beyond the floor.

When music dies, the truth is sharp and kind:
The dance that grows will outlast any round.
To keep the flame is art of one clear mind,
But greater still to change the shape it’s found.
  Aug 11 am i ee
Agnes de Lods
A warm wind touched my face.
I walked out into the open space,
I saw a blurry, fading horizon.
Somewhere, you are,
I am here, after a sleepless night,
Writing another reflection,
Tired like an empty battery.

I do not like the masks that shout.
The fight over who is right.
I do not want an analysis.
I touch the bark of the tree,
I hug the birch with my arms.
I see its white pages,
Written with irregular lines,
Torn, fluttering in the wind,
Which I cannot read.

Her eyes look straight into me,
They understand –
How well they understand me.
The rustle of leaves lessens the tension.
Autumn will come soon,
The summer wind whispers to me:
This country, this language,
These people, these doubts.

This is not blind luck,
This is your blessing,
Purple, rainy months, a fleshy heart,
Falling hair, joy when relief comes,
Crying into a pillow –
So as not to disturb another’s dreaming
About the so-called reality.

Bare feet touch the ground.
I tread carefully on the edge of worlds,
To be both here and there
With my integrity.
I am everything and nothing.
I am gestures, epilepsy,
The belief that I see human thoughts,
Inconsistent with what they say.

Blue, sun, and somewhere you.
How good that you stayed.
When everyone was saying:
She is different,
She talks to ghosts.
You stayed, showing me
Your true face.
am i ee Jul 28
4 ******* years
it has only gotten worse

fighting for the stars
the fireflies

the pollinators
the plants

what the **** ???

total exhaustion
sets in

kids coopting
the cause

for their own
gain

why not join us?

all of us
fighting for so long

hard enough when
the *******

refuse to
do right

i miss the night
dark sacred night....

tears fall...
humans- selfish greedy stupid
eventually you will pay the price
am i ee Jul 20
she met him at the lumber yard
he thought she worked there

she said she hated lights  
and got a little slutty when it was
dark after a beer or two

she said she loved trucks
and mother nature

he said jump In mine
I know a dark field

handing her an ice cold
six pack of Schmitz

~esk 20 July 2025
ooo wee, hot sultry humid summer nights!
am i ee Jun 29
Firelight
Candlelight

Matchlight
Lantern light

Star light
Moon light

These are the lights I love!

Soothing light,
warm light,

peaceful light,
Natural light.

Mother Nature
Designed by her,

Her grand plan
Utter perfection!
am i ee Jun 29
2;30 am

dark,
quiet.

gentle rain falls,

silent but for the drops.
blessed silence in the middle of the night in the modern suburban hell
am i ee Jun 29
dark nights

horrible lights

summer

sultry

beer

where do we go from here?


~am i ee


it's me!
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