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Mar 2020 · 494
a simple haiku
Spier Mar 2020
i am going nuts
counting syllables on my
fingers writing this
Jul 2019 · 287
hiding
Spier Jul 2019
the evil eye rests
as clouds churn and churches sing.
i think of you then.
a haiku for two people at once. which makes me a player. enjoy. my next haiku will be another version of this one.
Mar 2019 · 114
he set me on fire!
Spier Mar 2019
look me in the eye.
tell me that so far,
five weeks,
eight days,
seven hours,
you don’t miss me.
tell me you don’t see me.
tell me you don’t think of me.

whisper to me through the phone.
several thousand miles,
three continents,
thus many seas.
tell me how you feel.
tell me what i don’t know.

yell at me.
kiss me.
burn my tree.
anything at all.
just tell me what we are.
written for someone i can’t see
Jan 2018 · 805
u make my name pretty
Spier Jan 2018
my doorway is gold
stained by your lovely voice
say my name again
i am aware this isn’t actually a haiku because the second line has six syllables. let’s just say breaking rules is my forte
Jan 2018 · 250
1981
Spier Jan 2018
nineteen eighty-one
her hair is like the sun’s voice
i am blind for her
Aug 2017 · 595
fake happy
Spier Aug 2017
happiness is the
best medicine.

i take medicine
for happiness.
Aug 2017 · 432
the imagery of souls
Spier Aug 2017
p  o  p  !
goes the
eyes   of
a
goddess
when   in
her hand
laid    the
mirror.

no    such
reflection
she    had
looked­ at,
like a still
before her

where  is
the pearl
complex-
ion she'd
smooth-
ened out
f     o     r
herself  ?
where  is
the   eyes
she    had
s   e   e  n
herself th
rough for
the    past
century  ?


"what is
t   h  i  s
malfun-
ction ? "

s  h  e
asked.


"it  is  the
i m a g e
of  souls,
d  e  a  r
goddess.
it  shows
n  o  n  e
but    the
t r u t h,"

said   the
y o u n g
daedalus.


the    dear
goddess
laughed.
a       mere
m o r t a l,
pondered
the  immo-
rtal,    who
d  a  r  e  s
tell        me
who i am ?

she  took  an
other     look
at   her   own
i   m   a   g   e

the   too   pale
skin   and   it's
monotonous
effect   on   her
bland         face

and           then,
she     smashed
the       imagery
of      her    own

s                            l.
   o          u
Aug 2017 · 521
i am toxic
Spier Aug 2017
one.
she tells me words i never
want to recite again. i don't
start sentences.
i become sentences.

two.
the nights pull me in.
it's fulfilling.
they tell me to wipe up the
poison and bury the cloth.

three.
a tree grows from the cloth.
it's leaves are sickeningly green.
something inside me wants
to cuts it down.

four.
i bite into the fruit it bears.
it tastes like warm pie.
it heals my wounds
as i live in fear.

five.
my hours become smiles.
i lumber deeper into the trunk.
fires don't die in there.

six.
i fall for a forest nymph.
she bathes in a river eight
acres away. the river i
bathe in is only an acre away.

seven.
a human is no a match for
a creature woven by nature.
the forest and the river blends.
i cut down the tree while
it's spirit converges.

eight.
my hands are stained with poison.
i flush it down a void. the darkness
replaces what has hitherto been empty.
something about pain
Aug 2017 · 898
dots
Spier Aug 2017
the truth is missing.

a whole town looks

for traces of your

orange red brown hair

after you vanished into

another plane.




the truth is questionable.

you don't know where you are

or how you breathe

or where your flesh and muscle and bones

and wounds have washed away.

was it the other side

or this side?




the truth is stuck.

you push every wall of thin air

and you find that it

is endless.

you shouldn't want to leave.

you can't.
about a book i wrote.
Aug 2017 · 634
use your heart
Spier Aug 2017
a wizard once said
that words in the head
were spoken underwater
like the empty part of a letter.

a man once said
that words in the head
are the words we say,
the attention we pay.

you once said
that words spoken in the head
is a country of their own.
those we say are of an inside town.

so let's forget about the head,
dont think of our problems ahead.
words spoken by the heart
are words spoken to be art.

— The End —