A turquoise fly battered on a red laptop
on whose twenty-inch pane glowed a green apple.
A poet, some distance away from the backdrop,
with the fly and the apple sought to grapple:
What stories? What parables would a laptop
offer Hermes - about an oozy apple
and a fly who understood not that the fruit
on the red laptop is only the image of a copy?

(c) LazharBouazzi

Hey gorgeous,
Whats going down?
Seems like you've fallen down,
Since the last I've been around
You speak not a sound
I can only feel your pain
when you push me down

Hey gorgeous,
Don't let them steal your thunder,
you're more than just a number
With them goddess eyes,
You give me butterflies
Others are quick to polarize your heart,
And tear your beautiful mind apart

Hey gorgeous,
I can only think back to when I felt your forehead
Cold to the touch,
I clutch on to you right hand
Holding it;
I felt hypnotized within a  depressed state.
No one was inside
You were just an empty case

Hey gorgeous,
You would think I have forgotten
The list we use to make
The reasons why we should live
And forgive ourselves for our mistakes

1. You can't control what others do
2. The world needs more beautiful people like you
3 you are in battle,
and a soldier may never surrender
4. The people you think don't care; 85% of them would **** for you
5.
Remember when we made those promises
on that cold winter day
I held your hand,
As the wind blew in your face
The sky was a cold dark gray
I said
"hey gorgeous!
Let's Make a Deal,
If I Stay Alive will you do the same?"

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor swimmer.

I get swirled around.
Like a little helpless fly
caught in a wineglass.
Unbeknownst to the drinker.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor thinker.

I allow my mind
to get swashed around...
Like a lone sock
in the washing machine.
Lost without its other.

I'm stuck in this eddy.
And I'm such a poor survivor.*

So I just submit
to the will of the currents.
Like an empty bottle.
Stuck head down at the neck,
in the bathroom floor trap.

Sink or float...
I can do neither.

If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.

My sweet angel I fear with the stones I shall remain,
I am doomed to repeat this unhappy existence,
Where my memory lives on when the vines and the leaves are gone,
And I become inhuman, merely an energy

My love the warmth of your skin and the melody of your song,
Will haunt my being while I haunt the living,
These brick walls, this concrete jungle, this manufactured light
From where I come I shall return

And I may never ascend in this lifetime
I may never leave the next one

My summer seraph who guards the one who wears the crown,
Who smiles at the trumpet Gabriel plays as she makes her way back home,
And gates open, pearly and golden, and to those trapped in this cycle unknown,
I shall be caught in a never ending story when my ability to speak has gone

My sweet angel, soft voices, feather hair, and love,
I only want to hear what is better left unsaid,
How can I know that when I die, my body, my blood
I will not become a ghost, still with desire to touch you?

And my memories live on imprinted in stones, and cobble walkways, and iron-wrought fences
When I wish nothing more than to be forgotten, and to forget
I may never ascend in this lifetime
I may never leave the next one

I've been saving up dreams
Throughout these busy years
Going to build me a boat
Make my way out of here

Collecting colorful sheets
That I'll mend into sails
To catch the nearest cool breeze  
Blowing the way that I feel

Pockets filled up with nails
To steady the planks
A fist full of charts
To explore the dream life

Where all that's ahead
Are whimsical days
The wind at my back
The past in my wake

The dreams that I've saved
Throughout these busy years
I'm putting into that boat
And sailing far off from here