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 May 2018
Traveler
Shall we dine
On wine and flesh?
There seems to be
Plenty left!
So pass around
The possum pie
Wine made out
Of dandelions

Lazy days
Of summer sun
Sleeping in
Like we're still young
Falling free
Blue ocean skies
Let our hearts
Never die...
......
Traveler Tim
 Apr 2018
Akira Chinen
It was a trick of the light
and a play on words
and the curtain call came late
and the actors forgot their throats
and the dancers could not find their feet

the mad men were taken by sanity
and the poets came down
with respectful writing jobs
and the stage was still a world
but the audience was bored

the earth was skipping
on a broken turntable
but the wax was lost
with the death of the bee

the milk of human kindness
oddly enough
didn’t taste as good
when not stolen from the cow
and I guess that should be expected
from a species that hoarded
the trademark of kindness
and then locked it behind bars
of fear and mistrust

don’t believe what you see
and don’t talk to people who are strange
and most importantly
just do as you are told
until you are dumb and deaf and old

a quite cog and silent spring
won’t wake the dead
keep all your dreaming monsters
inside your head

its all just for show
hush that little voice
and enjoy the ride
it’s a simple fact of life
why resist when we’re all
just going to die

actors in cages
pretending to live free
reciting our lines
there’s no place like home

if home is where the heart is
why does it sound like
our hearts are beating
from the palm of the devils hand

It was just a trick of words
as they played with our lives
and slit our throats
and bound our feet
dead marionettes strutting like Romeos
waiting to die by the suicide of our Juliets

romance is only beautiful
in the humor and satire of tragedy
its irony without iron
a bullet without a gun
a trick of the light
as we play with our words
and forget about love
Kiss my thighs
Feed from
a
Queen
 Apr 2018
Seán Mac Falls
.
In youth, to myself I thought,
'Is true love bound in some faraway place?'
I flew off— picturing dreams to be had.
Ah, so much in books and on film I saw
And so I settled my gaze,
Westward to love.

And I met a girl who knew,
Trades of skin which came and quickly fell,
Of longings true it was not to be had.
Ah, so much in books and on film I saw,
So I left her one glad day,
For we did not love.

O love, so nebulous a thing,
Windings on wheels, windy fates command,
If I could but contain her starry light,
In a wrapped box of hopes, still, on reels,
Recorded in books, in films— fables,
Ah, such an album I would dream.

Then came my only, true one,
The coolest rains held in longest summer,
But soon even bliss in a shower ends
And words to eyes but stories— whims.
Ah, so many pictures I made,
In a camera without film.
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