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 Sep 2016 Aztec Warrior
Ady
I'm waiting in the night
by the red of the light.
I've been left out
under the touch of the rain;
like a photograph
my memories are fading.
Colors dripping,
down the streets streaming;
washed out words are pouring,
down the sewer dripping.

I'm monochromatic,
blind to a world of sheep.
At a standstill,
open arms ready to accept
the sky or ground;
rejecting and forsaking
rejected and forsaken.
A fool in a journey of redemption.
might edit
 Sep 2016 Aztec Warrior
Ady
Move away with me,
a road trip;
never ending, always driving.
We'll make a home on the road
and watch the scenery through
rolled down windows.
Watch the world we left behind
as we continue beyond.

And, it's not running away, I promise you.
It is never closing our eyes as we make our way
forward through the blur of the life around us.

I'll watch over you as you rest through the dawn
in the backseat of my car.
Once the night descends over the horizon,
we can park on the edge of the earth and
observe as stars and city lights converge.
Undistinguishable; sky and earth a long awaited
reunion.
A metamorphosis of the divine and the sublime.

Baby, let's live our life on the roads;
let's be ahead of the time;
leaving young, living wild.
Hope everyone is doing well
 Sep 2016 Aztec Warrior
Lora Lee
Walking down
       Second Avenue
inside trips of
       electric pulse
my eyes peeled back
to take it all in
my senses full
       of whizzing
action as I
hold your hand
in innocent wonder
I still take a stand
asking questions,
sometimes shyly
observing how I might
want to be
                    or not
colorful people
some with kids
some with spiky hair
clothes of all kinds
progressive air
we turn the corners
(Dad, are those
two women kissing?)
my eyes wide
yes I must
must keep them open
to access what I'm missing
punk queens and their friends
people of every culture
faces of every shade
some friendly some bitter
from dark onyx
          to cool jade
then sophisticated
streets with window
jewel-toned
                     dazzle
to contrast the
nitty-grit
of Lower East Side
street art
        rough-edged
frazzle
West Side laid back
in its pre-hipster scene
now I am a soul-searching
adolescent, my hair dyed
a minty hue of green
vintage skirts and short-spiked hair
feeling anonymous and happy
loving the looks as I
kept my gaze steady
inside feeling my
budding womanhood
at work, making
                     me heady
and how I remember
as a kid
going to visit my grandpa
                                  at work
way up high
amazed by those Twin buildings
slicing clear blue sky
in an elevator that moved
from winds side to side
seeing the whole world
from the top
what a trip, what pride
Flashback to later
in a far-away land
all pregnant
my mouth dropping open
I watched them be ravaged
cityscape landmarks
sawed off in the middle
like a King Kong movie,
                  our eyes disbelieving
fire and brimstone
so much grieving
Trying to call dad and panicking
(***  is he supposed
go to the WTC branch today??)
Not believing how our
           belief in people
turned us into prey
My city I no longer live in your ribs
But you beat inside me
             today everyday
all months not only September
yet today tears do flow
as I vow
    to remember
I know this is long but it was hard to leave out certain things. New York City is a map of my life. I cannot only think of the events of September 11th without recalling the entire trip, and this is only the tip of the iceberg.
 Sep 2016 Aztec Warrior
Lora Lee
Night comes
r
     o l l i
               n g
                 down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
                sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
           sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
            sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
         loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
    I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
     of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
               into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
      to me,
letting them
rock the soul
          of my soul
the heart
      of the seed
of my heart
   and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
                      of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
        up unto
the winds
that ride,
     ever-tenderly,
the surface
    of
       the
    dawn
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