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 Mar 2014 Chris T
anna
simple math
 Mar 2014 Chris T
anna
we live by a system of equations,
where
x plus y equals z, a zygote, baby boy.
and x plus x is also a zygote, a girl, indistinguishable from her brother
thus by these rules we simply must assume that x and y are equals.
for who are we to say that a does not equal a, that fifty does not equal fifty,
but rather, something less-than?
it's a system of equality, just as
it
should
be.
who are we to change this? who are we
to take that single cell of potential
and diminish it to something less-than
and who are we to judge a girl before she's born?
look at the sister, the brother, both beautiful in make and model
and dare to raise them as equals.
 Mar 2014 Chris T
Ann Beaver
I imagine the wave
of your hand
your hair
standing on end
at the sight of me
not the me I know
the me you somehow see
through a distorted glass vase
encase me in molasses love
slow my heart down from above
my face facing yours
it was the last time I took a breath
 Mar 2014 Chris T
Mike Hauser
Have you ever woken up startled
In the middle of the night

                   With the thought that your muse has left you
                   And cruelly turned out the lights

Leaving you afraid that in the morning
You'll wake up with no more rhyme

                    More often than not
                    These thoughts enter my head

Although I have often heard
Somethings are better left unsaid

                    I believe these thoughts I have
                    Would be better off dead

And these words that I now speak
Are they my muse or mine

                    And if the lights were turned off
                    Would that be that big a crime

When my muse tries to venture out
I believe the next time

                    I'll grab a hold, tie her up
                   And be the one to feed her the lines
 Mar 2014 Chris T
r
His dog died,
and that’s all there was to it.
Except it wasn’t.
Those words in between,
the missing of a friend,
the times relived;  companion
dog that did him in.  Joyful.
Bit his heart and made him write
such words so right,
that I went home
and kissed my dog
and played with her in the garden.
And we both lay down in the dirt,
and will again tonight, and every night.
Until she sleeps.  And I with Daisy.
All because his dog died.

r ~ 18Mar14
On Pablo Neruda's "A Dog Has Died", Poetry Magazine, February 1999.
 Mar 2014 Chris T
r
Gray permeates day\
   Bluebirds dancing in puddles
   with raindrops splashing.

r ~ 16Mar14
 Mar 2014 Chris T
marina
i am so shattered--
parts of me are
2159 miles away
and i am scared
they will never
come back
how has it only been one week
 Mar 2014 Chris T
Mike Hauser
We all carry a concealed weapon
All have since we've been young
Sharp as a knife, used a lot in life
The weapon is the tongue

It has the power to cut you down
Bring you to your knees
Also strong enough to lift you up
Both it does with ease

Yes, it can lift you up
Or it can cut you down
The latter is done far to often
Stabbing at the slightest sound

The problem with this weapon
Is the lack of self control
It comes out slicing and dicing
As if backed against a wall

We even turn it on ourselves
And carve like we're abstract art
Leaving not a mark upon the flesh
But wounding deep the heart

I've talked of using it as a knife
But it also doubles as a gun
Firing from long distances
Beware the weapon in use...The Tongue
 Mar 2014 Chris T
savanna lai
"it's nothing personal"
I don't wish to agree with that statement
but if you say it then it must be true.
it's nothing personal when you sing out my name.
it's nothing personal when I tell you I love you
and all you do is shake your head and laugh in response.
jesus, that's it. that's all the answer I'm ever getting from you.
I have prayed to all the gods in the books that one day you would say "I love you too"
but I become more of an atheist day by day.
some times you're beautiful and I want to paint a million pictures
and carve a thousand rocks
just to recall the way you carried yourself that particular day.
but other days it's like there are bees buzzing around my head
and no matter how far or fast I run
they just won't go home.
I will breathe till my lungs run out
just to see another one of your "okay" days.
my heart beats to the strength of your inner and outer beauty.
the more gorgeous you become, the weaker my poor lost soul gets.
your voice is the most intricate sound I've ever heard and it feeds my brain
and provides me with a reason to stay conscious.
you speak of love and lost heroes
of politics and current events
of your own life
and every other ***** secret you can get your hands on.
you're smarter than anyone I've ever known
but it doesn't show.
because sometimes you hate yourself too.
the way I see it, we've got a delicate balance going on.
this "relationship" is in a glass box.
a really thin glass box, a terribly built box, without proper sealants and structure.
looking at this small box now
I see that it's so full of you.
I see your blue eyes reflecting off the walls and hairs caught on sharp edges.
it's beautiful and I love you.
but I see there's hardly anything left of me.
I'm compact in my body and my soul is not free range like yours.
I don't like it much.
so nothing personal, I guess
but you know how I hate being chained down.
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