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 Jan 2013 ck
Brandon Webb
The title comes back to me
and suddenly
at 1:38 in the morning
I have the urge to hear that old song
that she still tells me after listening to
(leaving a ;) that always confuses me)
since that was our song,
or rather,
my song when I could think of nothing but her
my song for two and a half years
my song for every second she avoided me

and then everything got better
and somehow, in some conversation
I mentioned this song
and it became ours,
or rather
hers for every broken heart
hers for every second spent alone
hers for every confused emotion that she harbored

and I helped sail away.

and at the end of every verse of this song
i smile and cringe simultaneously
as her name is said
and I wonder how she really feels
wonder if she's spent as many long nights as me;
lying awake
hoping somebody would come along
somebody perfect, who cares more than anyone ever has

wonder if she's ever thought my name
in a moment like that
wonder if she's ever thought my name
ever

I need to stop wondering
and ask
 Jan 2013 ck
PK Wakefield
Untitled
 Jan 2013 ck
PK Wakefield
You--


                           th--


             at--



                           im--


       elapse--




                                                dest­oryin--





                      gre--







                 ­               worms through loam fidgeting crisply
                                of fingers death

                                an inch of living

                                 crawled the pairing chilled livid night

                                 (to the moon)

                                    


                   ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­        unstoppin





--g





                                         ­                    whispers




                                                    ­                  

                                             ­                                          whispers






                                                  ­             whispers






                                                  ­                                        


                                                              ­                                       whispers
 Dec 2012 ck
Matt Roberts
She sees blindly, selectively.
She sees the man whos arms are the only place she feels safe, not the violent brute who beats her if she breathes to loudly.
She sees her friends who care about her more than anything, not the people who complain to her constantly, as if they've forgotten they have working ears.
She sees a job she loves where she gets to help people, not the one where her boss feels her up & tells her if she says or does anything, she's fired.
She sees the man in the elevator who says "good morning ma'am" every morning & "good night" every night, not the man who stares down the revealing shirts her boss makes her wear to keep her job.
She sees the man who helps her wash her car, not the man who spits at her window & calls her a ******* ***** because she accidentily cut him off.
She sees freedom & a way out, not the gun.
She sees blindly, selectively.
 Dec 2012 ck
PK Wakefield
Untitled
 Dec 2012 ck
PK Wakefield
.                                                                ­                  



                                           ­                                           small



             ­                                                                 ­        start




                                               ­                                         through





           ­                                                                 ­             musicome




                                                    ­                                      come through








                                                 ­                                            all tenor and hue








                                                     ­                                          1 note shining








                                                 ­                                              1 note silver








                                                  ­                                              1 note clear


                                                         ­                                                                 ­as


                                                            ­                                               like
                                            
                                                          
     ­                                             
                                                                ­              water

                          

                ­                        come



a fury of twinkling and sound
pushing aside hotsweetness
pierce by sturdy breath the night
and come easy of cheek velvet
(soft as                             neat as)

emerging from thy breast a spangle
(a sprig

                   raw
                                            
                                              in    heat)

which­, though sleeping, wants of
gushing lather (SPRING) to leap
the frailing prism of the human lips

               A song
               more frail
               more dying
               even than
 Nov 2012 ck
BB Tyler
Stuck everywhere are secrets you've heard before.

Sometimes the things i have to say
don't escape past the tips of my teeth
because the rigid parts of me
are afraid to tie knots
that can only be
undone
with a knife.

We;
the generation
that forgot the meaning of memorable,
so keen on trade
as a means to claim
or apply value,
that this,
only this,
is seldom enough.

I used to think that pain was the most motivational thing i could feel,
but as I was bound to be taught,
told in blessings by
teachers
i was trying to
train,
it's either a lesson in love
or a lesson in release.
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