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Anne M Mar 2013
Two states
pursuing rebellion,
they saw only love
in war.

Cymbals crashed!
Trumpets blared!

But in silence,
they sang
the refrain of peace.
Working on it...
Anne M Mar 2013
Here’s to the days
when getting out of bed
is a game of Russian roulette.
When the you that exists
above the sink
seems the more realistic
of the two.

When your pen is filled
with disappearing ink and
your face is covered
in quick-drying lead paint.
When the salt that shakes
from every orifice
coats your failing tongue,  
and you’re more likely
to bust your ***
than a move.

Here’s to those days—
let them be few and far between!
But if you crack that paint
and see the words before they fade,
you find all your possibilities.

Here’s to those self-same days
when you discover yourself.
Anne M Mar 2013
Climb into novels
From the nook you’ve built.
Forget glasses on your head
And tickets in your pocket.

Make getting up
A game of Russian roulette,
Beat the clock back by hoping,
And stare down your own reflection.

Diagnose yourself with madness,
With sadness or fear,
And find the medication
That soothes you.

Break the silence
That encases emergency
With the syllables that
Comprise your name.

Be a mantra
If you dare.
Create an OM
Out of static.

Listen intently to radio silence
For a message that hasn’t come.
Chinese finger trap yourself today.
It’s okay to be alone.
Working on it...
Anne M Mar 2013
I'm a coffee ***;
you're in the mood for tea.
Anne M Mar 2013
We’re peripheral.
Bystanders rubbernecking
as our bodies commit
high treason.

Too caught in the frenzy we've created
to count the mounting casualties,
we remain unconvinced
of our burgeoning criminality.

We accelerate to keep ourselves from breaking,
shift gears and clutch
to these moments
just to feel the release.

But when the collisions cease,
we’re pried apart,
torn free by the jaws
of daily life.

As our eyes clear,
the sirens sound
and the wreckage
overwhelms us.
Anne M Mar 2013
They were two minds
in contention.
Spinning--always slightly
out of sync.

But they freed themselves
from the constant clashing.
Orbiting at each's own volition.  

As they explored
these different frequencies,
their thoughts became gusts
of unrelenting wind,
spanning silently
the chasm
of their own creation.

So,
without touching
or even knowing,
each shaped the other.
Eroding and weathering
until all that was left
were two hopes coursing
in near harmony.
Anne M Feb 2013
She took
and he let her,
because he was whole
in the pieces she “borrowed”.
His hopes and fears dripped
into her cupped hands
and she drank him down thirstily.

They took
and he let them,
because it was better
than knowing alone.
They gathered up
his brief infinities
and patched him into their souls.

He took
and she let him.
The circle remained unbroken
as her optimism shined
in his eyes.
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