The word escapes me
Hidden in the death and Carnage
Je veux pleuer pour Paris, Je suis Enraged
Shot Like Cattle at Slaughter, in a
Strange Night in Paris amid the Bistros
Voulez-vous etre mon amies Parisians
In the Night a Rose Cries Tears of Petals
Its Scent mingled with the smell of Gun Shells
And after all the feelings...the word escapes me


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Dead or alive?
Can I choose both sides, or sway
The fences darkened edge.
Do I have to be living
To end up dead
Or am I already a beat up ripe
Corpse?

Do I have to
Have my heart burst into pain
To be alive again?
No need to be alive when I'm already dead with my sweet
Though my sweet is a treat of the utmost beauty
Shes my captivator my Suzie.
My honey buns and cutie.
Rock and rolling I will jam for her
Because it's moving.
And a fine wine to end up the last part of the night
As we caress eachother off
To the room.
Door's shut!
No knocking please.

Remember when you told me you forgot your middle name.
And that you didn't remember if you even had one.
That your parents weren't particularly religious; that they forgot God.
And that you've been forgetful lately.
You couldn't
remember
the last time you picked flowers.
Or a president.
Or shot a gun.
Or put a flower in a gun.
And that Vietnam was like Iraq.
And France would bring WWIII.
"What's my middle name?"
You asked.
"Where's the Middle East?"

"Didn't the nukes dropped in the Nevada desert sand create glass?"

"How many windows does this room have? Can you see?"

"The eyes are the windows to the soul."

My eyes feel old
Is what my grandmother would say
when she was tired.
She would play solitaire.
After each game she would
shuffle the deck three ways.
I would always mix them up
scattered on the tabletop.
That's what I remember
from the sixties.

What do you write to the saddest girl in the world?
Do you write about the beauty in the moon
The way its reflection
Stains the waves white?

Do you write about the way the rain
Falls on the surface
Of the water
And how it looks from underneath
Dancing with the oxygen
You exhale


Do you write about the wind
Tearing
Caressing
Green
Red
Brown
Yellow
Non- existant leaves?

Do you tell her
About your cheeks stinging
When the sky is grey
And how it feels to have drizzle
Falling across your closed eyes?

Do you tell her about the little boys
Who pick flowers
Just to see her smile
Or the girls who spend minutes
Writing her name?

What do you tell the saddest girl in the world?

Do you tell her
That everything is infinite
Or that it is necessary
For all things great
To end?

Do you tell her
About the flowers
You see
And the smiles
You can no longer count

Or do you tell her about the flowers
That lose their petals when she
Forgets their beauty
And the people who fade away
When all she sees
Is grey
Grey
Grey
Emptiness

Do you tell her
When you miss her smile
Or do you kiss the tears
Off her cheeks
And dance with her
Slowly
Across the bed
With rumpled sheets
And lines
And lines
Of sunlight

Do you tell her
That you love her
Without her sadness
(God, I hope you do)
But with it too

Or will you
Never tell her
The way she never tells you
And will you keep
The receipt
That she had written
About never telling the person you love
The most

How much you love them.

Between two ruins I built a house,
between two treason I planted a belief,
between two chasms  I set a table with napkins
                                                            and salt shakers,
between mountains of corpses I saw a saffron
                                                             and I smiled at it.
That is how I lived.  Can you understand now?
                                          That is how I lived.

Maria Banus
*translated by Dan Dutescu

I bought a white rose today. Not for anyone, not even for anything. It's for me. I buy myself flowers; they make me happy. And I'll do whatever it takes to make myself happy.

All my life, I've been sacrificing everything—even myself—for people who couldn't even appreciate it.

And I think, I think now is time to love myself.

There's gotta be more than all this waiting
I know I'm being impatient
But I need this to be over
It's so frustrating
Not giving into the temptation
Where's my life been?
How did everything get this complicated?
I'm jaded and frustrated
Feels like my whole life is just wasted
I need to simplify,
I'm not obligated but I got this emotional need
To just breathe, take in the scenery
Before everything in my life
Finally escapes me

Nothing that I see
Could be as beautiful as thee
Even the sweet breeze between the trees as we sleep
It could never carry me as far as your kiss in the rain
I could never wake from this midnight dream
And if I did I would only speak your name
All of this waiting
Every patient moment another illuminating grain of
sand falls through the frame of an hour glass

                      And hours pass between goodbyes and hellos,
                       but it only feels like a second every time I get a dose

                                              Of you.

I spoke to the devil the other day
he said that people are all the same
he swore it wisent his fault that girls and boys sin
h asked why everything was blamed on him
I spoke to an angel last night
she looked at me as she cried
she spoke of God who she has never seen
She said the creation of man was obscene
the angel cried her brethren left her
is the devil wrong?
He was the only one who tried to make her feel better