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Mar 2017 · 285
Actionwood
Chris Cowan Mar 2017
out of the hearth of hearts
emotion has been fletched,
malleable redhot soul sprite sparks
and sings with the strike of the beat,
meaning nothing more than touch but
collisions bring us closer,
I guess we’re just
impactful :
two flights defeathered
combined by common ground,
given wings entwined-
two ores in bated bind,
love alligned and nocked
the very fingertips that made us
holds the rest of our destiny cocked
Mar 2017 · 248
Ugh
Chris Cowan Mar 2017
Ugh
I learned words when I was young
when I was young, each was infinite,
when I was young I thought each word
knew what it meant to be human,
each word trying to explain,
I was trying to explain
that we could explain it,
when I was young, each human
could be a word,
each could be infinite-
I learned words were old
when I grew older
older than my explanations,
humans tried to explain
but human words,
each word
was finite,
selfcontained-
each human limited;
each feeling
halfconveyed
Mar 2017 · 298
Adage
Chris Cowan Mar 2017
a whimper in the meadow
saying love like life is natural,
under trickling willows, everybody knows
that only the wind can stir this arbor
and gepetto was an outlier-
if it’s breeze that moves the world
and the still stays still til stirred,
you must be the swaying air
and this love, these words, are yours
Mar 2017 · 270
Arriere-Pensee
Chris Cowan Mar 2017
at night landbreeze heads back to seas
and seeds of dreams do blow
roots dig deep in buoyancy
with memories in tow

anything not anchored down by
earthclung facts and doubt,
unsound thoughts get swept and bound by
hopeful tumult’s spout

awash inside an ocean
tumbl’d bumbling, all blues,
emotion in implosion
under pressure becomes truths

those clouds aloft in springtime brew
do breach the moon and glow
but nothing which perspires dew
does last the dawn, I know
Mar 2017 · 194
Prescription
Chris Cowan Mar 2017
you were amber
you were ember
you were my preservative
I needed to be stuck in time
I needed to be blown to life
I needed curative
Feb 2017 · 210
Untitled
Chris Cowan Feb 2017
apprently I am not alone
but sometimes
   in the middle of the night
  when my foot kicks of the covers
and the fan above me circles around
  spraying cold air on curled toetips
and I cannot sleep
I can't find someone to talk to
sometimes
   when its not quite what I said
  but I can't quite say what I mean
      because I'm afraid of what that means
     and maybe it'll go away
                            anyways
I feel alone
sometimes
     though they love me
   and they kiss me on the lips
    the cheek
      closed eyelids (my favorite,
                        almost itself a dream)
     though they tell me
          and I feel it
I get in my own head about it
sometimes
       it hurts me in the longrun
     because sometimes it never goes away
   and though they kiss me (my favorite)

it's the inside of eyelids
    that keep me up

— The End —