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Story books
Grandma belongs to the story book!!
My face is not being painted
Handsome dads does not get angry
And when will my small ******* grow?
I didn't know
Dad may not talk about the way
he kissed my mom's lips.
Who was Jasmine?!
Where is my Nastaran?
How can I convince these people
that I'm mad
That there are many colorful
skies behind the moon!!
And I'm not that beautiful six year old girl
With the brunette skin
Skinny body
Black hair
Sloe-eyes
Looking for the thousands of rainbows
Are the girl's names pretty?!
The notebooks are not being painted...
A balloon was crying in my eyes
from every roof at summer.
I always have dreams with no flying
In this city the thousands of balloons,
fathers and mothers turn to giants
Eating the moon
Eating the wolf
Ignoring us
Fathers and mothers grow up
A man who sat on big switch in the city...
The actor got sick so soon
And the poet doesn't know when he has been chocked

کتاب های قصه
!! مادربزرگ مال کتاب قصه است
صورت من نقاشی نمی شود
پدرهای زیبا ناراحت نمی شوند
و من نمی دانستم سینه های کوچکم کی رشد خواهند کرد
پدر شاید نمی گوید لب های مادرم را چگونه می بوسید
یاسمن که بود!؟
نسترن من کجاست!؟
من چگونه باید به این مردم بفهمانم که دیوانه ام
!! که پشت ماه آسمان های رنگارنگ هست
و من دیگر آن دختر شش ساله ی زیبا نیستم
با پوستی سبزه
اندامی لاغر
موهای مشکی
چشم های بادامی
که به دنبال هزاران رنگین کمان می گشت
آیا نام دختران زیباست!؟
...دفترها نقاشی نمی شوند
از هر پشت بام
بادبادکی
در چشمانم
در تابستان
...گریه می کرد
من همیشه رویاهای بی پرواز دارم
در همین شهر با هزار بادبادک
پدرها و مادرها غول می شوند
ماه را می خورند
گرگ را می خورند
ما را نمی بینند
پدرها و مادرها بزرگ می شوند
مردی که در شهر تاب های بزرگ سوار بود
بازیگر زود مریض می شود
و شاعر نمی داند کی خفه شده است
I wrote this when I saw injustice...
His last piece of work I touch everyday
and feel not the water but sadness
flowing from the faucet.

From the sound of the sink
I hear him say
didn't I do a good job?
not once broke down
but think of her
she's broken down
the faucet has withstood
she hasn't
there I did a bad job
letting water flow down
the broken valves of her heart.
 May 2018
L B
Do I love you?
Do I,
Love...?

The words have stopped
doubled over on themselves
in pain
unrecognized

In truth
I wouldn't know--
you, Love?
But maybe from a picture
thinking--
"This is from where the poems come?"

Having never searched your eyes
with mine
nor heard your voice
invoke me

Known your thinking
in any given moment
Nor you, mine

Nor watched your hands
for hints
endear
affection
in expressions

Could you forgive my mess of moments?
the lame that years have left
so slow circles
the lonely artless?

socially inept

I fear
you could not forgive the fear
for so long
left behind

How can you say
you love me?

By what assurance do you

Speak into my void
 May 2018
r
I know I'm not easy
to love
I never was

It doesn't take much
to please me

And when you smile it does

I know some day
you'll leave me

That's just the way it goes
like when a gentle
summer breeze blows

But when you do go
go knowing that I'll know
you were the closest one

Take my heart and run
baby, take it on home

Take my heart and beat it
women, I won't need it
where I'm going.
 May 2018
Tyler King
The summer of 2014, tattoo ink dripping blood to hardwood floor,
I step into the ghost of a boy racing chemicals all the way to sunset, and come out the other side screaming like hell,
All black, car crash, funeral heart beating reverie, strung out valentines on parade,
Satan speeds up on the turnpike, god is a railway car bound full tilt to supernova,
Any moment the scales can tip, delicate balance shift, dialectical relationships unwound over radio static elegies,
They started lacing the **** and by March the death became a riot, a language of communion and massacre, we’re out here unlearning existing, violence as a door swinging off its hinges, step over the threshold, into unending longing

Moments of silence, calm repose and anticipation, breaking down by numbers,

Playing phantoms in the vampire castle, communing with the dead, shamans of infinite space and void, through the sunroof my disintegrating acid eyes observe the fire of heaven, heavenly bodies falling, I remember saying something like, the trajectory has come, we might as well draw futures from the ashes,

I’m getting ****** up off memory, the fragility of experience, it has been one Armageddon after another since we split the atom in our stuttering tongues,
Like the gleaming teeth of empires, like the dope sick fever state,
Weaponize history, and learn to get higher with less
 Apr 2018
Dark n Beautiful
This ***** ******:

They say that beauty is in the eyes of the
Beholder, so does this ***** have eyes?
the power of evil and bad,

Today we see what it can do
Many a nation have gone to war,
Because of this ugly beauty,
many family units has been tread apart
Because of its evil doings,

The seven hundred wives of
King Solomon and his three
Hundred concubines was
a great example of what
the ugly beauty can do:

Infidelity is on the rise,
so many lies: so many shortcoming,
Lucy ****** is an embarrassing subject
why men lie and killed for it?

this remarkable commodity: with
****** is like a Van Gogh painting,
It gets lot of attention: the baseline dimensions
is still a mystery: A weapon so powerful

It can break a man down to his lowest
It has a language of its own.
silly words like sup, sup, sup.
the same sound effects of a cold beer going down
the gullets: the smoother, the  esophagus: pleasers

The ****** and a beer have so much in common
they both get their men all the time,
a smooth transportation, in addition, the lamentation,

****** you are surely blissful:
Men incredible dreams
who wouldn’t want to own the team?
No matter how destructive or fulfilling:

* Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,
more perfect than all that a man can invent.”
― Roman Payne
* Quote
 Apr 2018
Jeff Stier
I’m a friend of darkness
lock lips with it
in a lover’s embrace

I mourn the dawn
beg favors from the twilight
hold every hope
in my uncertain hand
for a day when the sun won’t shine

And I know
by my wayward feet
by the tremors in my hand
that darkness creeps silently
up to my borders
crosses every line
and will someday defeat
my meager defenses

I have prepared my retreat
a forced march
to the grey Pacific
where everything in my life
ends
and begins

The solemn swell of the waves
a fitting harmony
to that last sweet song.
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