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 Oct 2014 CP Walker
Tom Leveille
do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me
 Oct 2014 CP Walker
Summer Lee
From the ***** of a saint ,
And the womb of a sinner
Comes a natural born winner .
Full of unrelenting hate
For these pawns that surround her
Drown her
Leaning her to ask is it
Abnormality or insanity ?
That plagues her mind
Cyanide dripped vanity
Trying to hide her hate for humanity
Ink screaming ,
"DONT TALK TO ME !"
Blood singing for like minded beings ,
Loneliness doesn't even have a meaning . ™
 Oct 2014 CP Walker
Summer Lee
If I didn't love my truck so much ,
I'd drive it off a cliff .
Do you know how maddening it is to go a whole day
Twenty ******* four hours
Without a single concious thought .
Except as when I drive home
And they rush me
Collecting their stamps on the first Tuesday of the month between my ears and
I switch on the radio
So I don't pull over and kick over that bird bath in that yard .
I love mine .
I sit on my hands so I don't serve myself to the belly of that semi.
I want to get a ***** tattoo .
I got to finish my hip .
What if I cover myself too much and I have no room left and I want more things to stop the aching ?
I'm 20 .
Two decades old .
I live with my parents again .
I have never gone downtown drinking .
Or finished enrolling in college .
Why do I chicken out of every ****** appointment ?
I don't want medicine .
I could go for a slushie .
Am I real person ?
I toy with my floor mat , because it makes me place my feet weird .
It's not because I'm awkward .
I wish I had a joint .
Wait .
I can't smoke **** anymore ,
It stops my heart .
Well ... ****** .™
Ya gotta be proud of ya country
When ya wear it around on ya sleeve,
Ya gotta be proud of ya people
When they really know how to believe,
Ya gotta feel pride in ya product
when ya fashion & craft it with care
..and ya gotta repulse all the *******
when the rest of the world won’t share.

For man, as a species is poisonous
and God threw the towel in for sure,
When adam  & Eve ate the apple
and threw up all over the floor.
They broke all the rules at the outset
they muddied the waters so bad,
that confusion and greed ran in tandem
and mankind was fast going mad.

Eruptions of steel fly in carbombs
in the streets of Iraq every day,
Ethiopian babies are buried
before they are graced with a name,
and the great wheel of life turns in circles
and the rich play golf with the brave
and who gives a ****
that we’re stuck in the muck
Just so long as that mortgage is paid.

The Parlimentarian’s lying
The coppers are taking the graft,
the oilmen are creaming us all now
and the banks are so rich..they just laugh!
Society’s falling asunder
and we all stand around ******* beer,
can our kids now be blamed
when they all get inflamed
and inhale and inject and turn queer.

Our taxman’s making a killing
he’s fleecing the populace bare,
the small businesman’s plunged
cos he’s chucked in the sponge
and there’s nothing but vacuum left there.

There’s the segment that run high and lofty
their ideals are as white as the snow
for abortion’s as black & the **** is as slack
and GE and PC are go
The fingers are pointed at others,
the hands, lily white, seek refrain
sanctimonious soul seeks  unseekable goal
and the whole lot gets flushed down the drain.

Our PM is staunchly unchallenged
she adjusts her adjustments just so’
her manouvers adroit ‘
the election’s in site
and Labour is flush with the dough.
Minorities step up beside her,
the lesbians snap to their feet
and the marraigeless mothers
and **** ups and others
all cluster to be so discreet.

But the weather is turning up roses
the exchange is bullish so far
and the girls are as pretty
as the **** in the city
and the door to the future’s ajar.
Perhaps there’s some system to it.
Maybe I’ve missed the great plan
for religion has zeal and Christ made a meal
of repairing his mess with elan.

So you see I’m reconciled to it.
I’l glide along for the ride
It’s futile to fight the humungous great might
in it’s institutional slide.
So I wrap myself in my solace
embalm myself with my pride
for in my little world
this old flag is unfurled
.. and Kiwi I’l stand by your side.

Marshalg /Mangere Bridge /Christmas 2005
Reposted old chestnut which reminds me that, in the interim, things haven't changed at all.
 Oct 2014 CP Walker
Awesome Annie
Long crossed paths that leave life in a tangled mess. Which road to pick will right my wrongs, I don't know I must confess.

I grow exhausted from my journey, and decided to seek refuge under this old oak tree. As I sat and ponder direction, it wrapped its branches around me.

Comfort came and tamed my rage, quieted the voices inside my head. When sleep overshadowed thought, it provided a humble bed.

As I woke the mighty oak whispered through the breeze. Letting me know I must go, and choose the path I please.

Reluctant I stand strong and make my way, looking back only to find. That my tree of comfort and refuge was gone, it was a figment of my mind.
 Oct 2014 CP Walker
Mohd Arshad
Think,
if the sun stops rising
and the moon shimmering.
who can give them life?
think,
if the whole world
push the mountain but in vain.
who can bring the biggest crane?
and you still say
I want to know
who is there above?
is this not enough?
Notes (optional)
It starts
in the quiet
itching in the fingers
like new skin knitting under blistered burns.

I have always written.
Before I had my letters
(before the lessons
with stubby pencils
curving sense out of the air)
I would scrawl nonsense waves
folding and boiling
in a crash of senseless surf
onto pages meant for pictures

I scribbled a whole Atlantic
before sense and sound
delivered the waves to reason.

I still find it hard,
when writing,
not to let the rolling sea
scatter into fragment waves
that whisper into the breeze of my fingers.

I have tried many addictions,
I have spent people like money.
I have tied my hands
to stop from fussing at the leaves.
If I ever loved I left it still spinning,
but I have never lost the itch

a pen to scratch its bleed of ink
into a sweet clean ****** page.
To scrawl my feint history
in every broken harbour
of her yielding skin.
during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.
my secrets sharpen their teeth as i'm sound asleep

and i still wonder why i wake with sapling scars
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