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 Sep 2015 Aseh
Corlene Beukes
You're riding in a car
with a strange boy.
His hands are on the wheel
while yours are shaking.

You're driving through time
with your heart right next to you.
His eyes are the bluest blue
and they mirror your thoughts.

You're sleeping with eyes wide-open;
your dreams become reality.
His hair halos in the sun; makes you wonder
what could possibly come from this.

I was driving in a car with a strange boy;
with my heart by my side;
in a sleepless dream;
wondering what could be,
but it was clear
that you were not made for me.
There is something
about your
fleeting fingertips
and the way
your mouth curls
how i
curl myself around

and your hands that
Are full
of doubt and
****** dreams

There's something
about the way
Your smile
makes me feel

And the
way you hold
your cigarettes
to your lips
that reminds me
of how
 Aug 2015 Aseh
strawberry fields
the artist is most depressed; tortured while singing in light.
 Aug 2015 Aseh
mrs kite
 Aug 2015 Aseh
mrs kite
i wish I could be beautifully sad like you
a dark velvet blue
suffocating all who try to get close

maybe my depression is only of
my own fabrication, a desperate attempt
to have something in common
with you.
 Mar 2015 Aseh
Joshua Haines
 Mar 2015 Aseh
Joshua Haines
Everyone sat
in our hearts.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?

I try hard to sound
when I write *******
there are bodies
reading this *******.

And bodies grow and wither.
They thrive and survive.
They get married
and die alone.
They die.

To become dead.

Perfume is made
with dead things, right?
 Mar 2015 Aseh
Sarah Michelle
Drop the rocks
Full-grown pop in the jaw
Bleeding gold
Won't save your soul
Moving again and again and again and again
Until the pacific
Closes behind your back
because criticism smacks
kids out of whack
Morphemes-phonemes again
and again
Given the knowledge
of a recycling bin of

Use them again and again
Won't save your soul
Atom smash logic replaying
and playing before your eyes
Some days it's too much
coal to mine
Mouth covered when you
step in time
Won't make your life
I'm a goner if I can't
stand on the rocks
and if the laundry doesn't burn
If the grim reaper doesn't speak
nonsense words from one
state of consciousness
to the other

Drop the bomb
Call the mob
Stock our shelves
Grow the letters
Feed all those starving

Let me tell you a story
Once the grim reaper
dressed like an old woman
and bought denture cream
just to know how it feels to
grow old
A human is an animal
Some think an olive is a fruit
A dog is a wolf on the inside
Begging to learn the trick

Next in line most wait
for straight prose
pinch their noses misguided
Want blood to bleed red
Don't want ideas to smash
their bread
Won't save their minds
from a punch in the gut
Mine closing in their faces
and their Atlantic drowns
shattered glass
encasing words upon words
owned by streams of

Consciousness running
all around
Those nonsense words
running aground
can't swim though all
the world's frowns.
Kind of proud of this one, because I've never been so liberated before I wrote this. The anecdote: After listening to a TON of 90s-nonsense-Beck, Odelay in particular, I realized that I really really really needed to write a poem but didn't have a solid idea. So in AP world history, instead of learning about patriarchy/autonomy/etc. I started jotting nonsense, because listening to Odelay made it seem like a good idea. It was an awesome idea. It felt cool and radical. I think I understand Beck a little more now. Thank you Beck.
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