The visions blur like thick fog,
memories break into strobe-lit flashes.
The whole world exists in a flat line.
Troubled curiosity sits high in the throat
like a bad taste or a
hand around the neck.
You are ****** on the side of the road,
or the back of the bus on that
long ride home,
while the sunlight plays
judge/jury/executioner up on its
condescending throne, levying its light,
like punishment, upon you.

The world is a cruel place when
the late nights face the
early mornings eye to eye.

On the sidewalk you watch
cars pass, people pass,
the whole world moves in
that straight line forwards.
You bob your head in calm defeat.
On the bus the people don’t move,
but they appear to.
Mouths and lips and eyes and feet,
all containing no direction
except as the tires go.
You look at it all in quiet wonder.

There, with flash bang remembrance
and an intangible machine gun burst
drumming off your eyelids,
you lay on the pavement,
or against the window of the bus,
with memory a black din of noise and
half-formed images,
and wonder what it’s like to
be nothing at all.

~~
Where I stand
Hundreds of thousands of years,
I see
Among times, a time,
In the form of waves
repeatedly touch my feet on the shore

In one milliseconds
with the speed of light
I go to the back of time
response could kiss my ancestors forehead
Come back again
In front of you

I beg love to you
If you give
After a moment,
An angel carries me to Space
To learn the secrets of creation

I do not know where is the end of the road
not to return home
not even call you at all
But continuing with the dreams
Running from one end to the other end of the universe

Anywhere else in the thought
The outcome beyond what is love
Then Another bunch of waves
Seemed to push my feet again-
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Another drink;
spit in the sink shows
red against porcelain,
fleeting concern.

Another drink;
what is there ever
to worry about?
I could make an
argument for nothing
and everything both
alongside one another.

Another drink;
taste the iron alongside
the bitter burn of alcohol,
the body goes more often
than not before the mind does.
It is unfortunate to have it
the other way around.

Another drink;
spit red again,

I am fighting myself
to keep the pace.

I want to be a dog's growl:
  as rough as bark.
As I ruff and I bark
  until my throat bleeds,
down my tongue,
  and clots, choking me.
Strangling my anger.

  I want to bite God's hand
and taste the scars and lines.
  I want to run alongside
the downfall of man
  like I'm chasing cars.
Waiting to be run over.

I want to be castrated,
  neutered,
so I can fall in line,
  so I can conform,
so I can be me in a sea
  of nobody else.

I want to be beaten
  with a chain
attached to my neck.
  I want to be on t-v.
I want to be saved.
  I want to betray trust.

Generic. Generic.
  I want to be like this poem:
  generic, you martyr.
You genocidal ****.
  You deadbeat.
You racist.
  You sexist.
You intolerant ****.
  I want to chew off
my trapped leg.
  I want to be a dog's growl.

Scavenging for that once in a lifetime
Four leaf clover
Heads down
Eyes searching the earth
For one small piece of luck
That may never be found
These chins need to rise
People need to see the world
Stop looking for this luck
And realize how lucky they are
To be alive
To live in this beautiful world.

There was me-
The girl who listened
And watched,
The girl who never did,
But never told.
The box of secrets
I held inside
Bursting at the latch
Never tell what's not mine to tell
But never admit to my own endeavors
I am the girl who has seen it all
In my short life
Without saying a word
Without anything to prove
Without trying to be
Like everyone else.

Random dates.
Random times.
Useless words.
Stupid rhymes.

It's not cool being
less than you can be
so I urge you--
urge you--
to be happy.

Because there was a man
who was a clown
and he danced for the children
as they were being lead
to the gas chamber.
And it was 1943.
And it was
**** Controlled Germany.

The clown wept,
each time the lever
was pulled
and when the children
became silent.

To stop crying,
he told himself
that existence
is just random dates
and random times.
There was no meaning
in reason
and no order
in lines.

All he could do
was all he did know,
and that was to give
happiness
before they'd go.