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In these notes
Are countless tales
Of memories, tried & true

But not a word
From endless books
Compares to me & you.

The turn of phrase,
Or so it goes,
Says all begins anew

I’ll be right here
’Til your last page
And in the next one, too.
There’s you,
coming up to breathe
for but a few heartbeats
before returning to the
deep, where there’s none
other than those who

Oh, what a marvelous space,
inverted space to be exact,
to live and float while
still retaining our right to
drift, kick and scream
to noone else but us.

At several leagues I
heard a sound that gave
my neck a chill, but not
the kind that makes one small,
instead the kind that feeds
gigantism in the icy north’s
hadal spheres.

From there, the rest seem lightyears off,
and closely similar in kind and way,
but as you rise at speeds that would
give a man the bends, those waves
will wash away the frightened guppy
until only the brave and strong remain.

It’s a long way down for sure, to
those who couldn’t sense or feel
that rush of bubbling need for fresh
and clean sky in the lungs,
so now theirs hold about a
half dozen wet litres each,
the poor fools.

But what a sight it was to see,
to watch the whitecap gleam
above a newly capsized crew,
and presently neath the sun and
moon and stars at same time;
to hear the truest form of life
that came from both high and low;
now that was worth a second look,
or a third.

And there was I,
wading with my
smallest green lure
and bishaded buoy,
and nothing else was.
Neptunian musings.
is where it doesn’t
feel intrusive
day or night

Someone loved will
come along to
lock the doors
and close the light

That simple laugh
from out the porch
will set me down
to listen right

And on arrival
you’ll be there
to touch my lips
with pearly whites
Honey, I'm home.
It’s been some years that we have grown
To think of all that made our home
The nights are worst, or so it goes

Our ‘spring would be fifteen and nine
If we had let them both survive
The dogs would live with love divine
We could’ve swam with massive fry

Or sang again while we’re alone
At home or through the telephone
Basked beneath the wild skies
To give a laugh and take surprise

A hundred hearts, one day each year
And two to hold our loved ones near
Who knows what else would be, my dear
Or might’ve been in place of fear

And now I wait for something more
Til death doth part our lives before
The time is up, whence we’ll be sure
It wasn’t worth a life less pure
Dear, oh, dear.
Don Juan loco, hablas del amor, pero no es puro
Don Juan Loco, el fuego de tu mirada revela tu traición

Ayúdame! Estoy muriendo, el sentimiento es abrumador
Cuanto mas te amo, mi sed de tu locura se hace mayor

Dime la verdad y me quedare y luchare por ti
pero dime mas mentiras y no voy a seguir

Don Juan Loco, perdida en tu solitario corazón
se encuentra la esperanza que solo tú debes hallar.
Lyrics to a Spanish flamenco song; translated by Carolina Herrera Villazon.
there won't be many shrouded gowns
or tears or tales to tell
above a bed with tiny frowns
to watch my carcass swell

perhaps a friend or cousin
no colleagues from past tense
i'd be shocked to see a dozen
if i don't outlast the 'rents

don't go too far out of way
or bring a spot of gin
just to watch my bones decay
and sorrow o'er my skin

kiss my head or curse or bawl
i won't know whose farewell
staring at a furnace wall
while looking up from hell

for now i'm lying here to show her
i can’t bear without your face
who knows if you'll need closure
i'll be dressed for just in case

i’d have lived for you but only
let's not talk about regrets
i'll wish you'd never known me
but hate to think you might forget
--The End--
why you did it
still escapes me
but nothing else matters

all that savings
for better lives,
vows and memories
don’t make it any

some kind of relief
or reassurance
would be great,
but i know there’s
nothing you could say
or do to fully
convince me

i hope It has
my nose or eyes,
but surely It has
your voice

… guess we’ll see
for T.W. & L.W.
the ones that teach you,
who lift you up over
their heads
in good faith,
these are their stories.
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