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I could learn to love you,
but that’s not the point.
It should burst out of my ribcage
With flowers and knives
Beautiful and bleeding
Singing with joy and
The pain of bullet wounds.

If we learned anything from love,
Maybe we wouldn’t love at all.
 Jan 2015 Cecelia Francis
berry
i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.

- m.f.
 Jan 2015 Cecelia Francis
Sjr1000
Came to me in a dream,
The internet of the unconscious
the place
where dreamers flee.

As I lay down,
Eyelids shutter's close
deep dark night falls,
Into the interweave
we are delivered,
Into the collective unconscious
we go
coast to coast,
In synchronicity's archtype's flow
where all the
heroic demons and fears
dwell and go.

Awake?  A dream?
A Balinese on LSD.
The boundaries fall
as the currents of the interweave
take us all.

When we hear a voice
we look around
to
see if anyone hears it too
otherwise how are we
to know
if it's a dream or if it's true.

The interweave a current,
We only enter unconscious
or
is it
when we are fully being?

We don't know.

We are swept along
on the night riding songs,
Our voices sing in
colors vivid, strong,
Sparkling in the black sky
lightning of consciousness crackling
the thunder of life
echoes in our ears
ripping us asunder,
To emerge
on another side
in another way,
Not too different,
Not too the same,
Irreversibly changed.

Our hands we hold
as we plunge, plummet
into the white current in
the dark sky
broadcasted to
the tumbling
rotating
universe
the interweave
a transit to
anywhere
you might imagine,
Don't fear,
Courage is here.

The imagination
runs so wild
call it what we will,
When we make our return
from the interweave's
milky way,
All we will
really know
is
that
for those
deep dark nights
when the eyelids shutters' close
after connecting
to the interweave
I
with each other was
free.
This idea of the "interweave" did come to me in a dream. The internet we enter when we are all dreaming.
As I understand it, the Balinese teach that the dream world is as real as the awake world in a nightmare you can ask your pursuers for a gift.
there's something
dangerous
about the way you pause
ever so slightly before
pressing your lips
to mine

it's as if the space
between our lips is
begging you to
keep your distance

because if you were
to proceed, you'd find
yourself in a world of
contradiction

you see, i am the moon
and i find myself
lusting after
the city

instead
of
the
sea
.
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