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 Feb 2016
betterdays
i sit and watch,
the dust motes dance
in the stream of sunlight

the computer hums and burbles
like and old friend, intent on
sharing the latest gossip

last years detrius of papers
and unfinished lists, new job lists
teeter in the corner....

my backside has again grown
a size too ample,
for my ergonomic  chair

my brain is lax and lazy
slow to grind into gear....

this is the awkward,
i don't want to be here
start to the years marathon

it is the organizing of details
the preparation of the course

it is meetings and more meetings
dull, dry, academic, with others who
are in the same boat, those who want to
change course midstream, those who want to
tread water and those who are new to the game
rowing in circles with much enthusiasm, but little boatcraft


i, at present am resting oars, knowing this is the first
of many races, knowing the course, tho set, will change
when the students arrive, it is then the rapids come into play
and it is then, my energy, is required.

til then i cruise
and drink copious amounts of caffiene
in my air conditioned office....
watching the air, take dust motes,
for a ride.
 Feb 2016
irinia
ends so ― spiralling after
egg (that other half of our
chains) & setting gills

in gristled knot that buds
legs as tadpoles do & blow-
hole ears halfway down

the back & low-set eye
alien as featherless chick ―
ah we have peered into

that shared **** whose
blasto-flesh runs its gauntlet
of fowl & fish so fused at

the tail nothing can be told
apart ― is this why when i am
late i find in upstairs dark

you ― on placenta duvet &
hunched round self as wom-
bed ones are? ― as though

i had just returned from
all eternity to catch you
naked out sleepwalking

space without even
navel-twisted purpled
rope to hold you

Mario Petrucci, from *i tulips
 Feb 2016
betterdays
the curve of the beach
is outlined in a murky red today
the kelp has turned in the heat

on the sand the little *****
make little spheres and bubbles


where the damp meets dry
a sandcastle slowly loses form
as the wind takes it away
grain by grain


on the rocks three kids clamber
shouting and pointing poking sticks
into the pooled worlds

up on the grass, sit two old gents
and the clamour of seagulls that
are being fed skerricks of fat golden chips

i stand admist all this feet in the water
work pants rolled up, shirt tails out
breathing in the saltspray
looking to the horizon
as it begins to colour  the evening sky

at my feet swirl ribbons of red brown kelp


it has been an unseasonably hot summer
made a detour on the way home.....first day back to work.......
 Jan 2016
r
She stopped at the light
outside the Double Drop D in Cortez
and looked me over

I was day dreaming about a girl
with finger cymbals
between shows

Her top was down
and I could hear Neil Young
singing Cinnamon Girl
on the radio

...*i could be happy
the rest of my life..
An old one from a long gone account. RIP Creeker. :)

Neil Young: Cinnamon Girl/Everybody Knows This is Nowhere/1969
#doubledropd
 Jan 2016
CA Guilfoyle
Back where I used to roam
beyond the mulberry hills
running from sudden black storms,
torrential August monsoons
soaked thoroughly through

Oh, to be a motherless child of the hills, again
quick to dance away the depths of lonely
always looking to the sea for distraction
and possibility

After a storm, I listened for life
how the hilly flowers shined, alive with bees
the birds and buzz all about the field
in a world, that was everything real to me
and made all the difference, in knowing
what it was to be free

While glints of gold skimmed the horizon
I'd dry my shoes in the last hour of the sun
dreaming to live right there, where I belonged
dreading the long dragging back home
 Jan 2016
Earl Jane


I will grasp it all,
All everything,
I will conquer it all,
All everything,
All throes and persecution,
I will grasp them all,
Oh yes, I WILL!
As long as in my triumph,
YOU  will be my divine prize.



with love <3

© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
For Brandon <3 <3 <3

i love you so much my kingg!! ssoo muuucchhh
 Jan 2016
betterdays
it is a small thing
like sand in my shoe
this grief that wears
away my soul

but it is there always
in small moments
of wanting
in words lost to the
unhearing ear
in laughter that echos
thin in empty air

i still see you everywhere
but you are a year gone
from here...

your scent fades upon
your clothes....
your voice dims within
my mind.....
but your kindness remains
forever stitched within
my heart...
and your smile, before
my eyes,

it is a small thing
this grief within
my soul...
like sand in my shoes
both pleasant and wearing
 Jan 2016
betterdays
words and worlds  of ink await
at the horizon....mirages
hovering , everthere

and yet,

I walk this barren waste
of ordered sensibility

i wait in queues
I pay my dues
twice and once more
for measured, measure
I scrawl and crawl
and stand upright

each day I rise
each day
i imagine flight
but to this ground
i am pegged

my heart begs, for freedom

my soul suffers, for joy

my head pounds, in rythm
to the syncopathic beat

of the rats running marathons
up and down this street.

my measure is paid.

my tightrope is strung

must be careful,
how i step,
mindful the gap,

otherwise

i will end up.... hung...

wrapped about, in rubber bands.
playing to the crowd
as they throw silver coins
and laugh and gape and roar  
and the words that tumble
from their slackened jaws
stripe my back,
claw my pride
...until
i am no more...
 Jan 2016
wordvango
nor very cool to feel for every ***** or beggar or
low-life
there are just a multitude of them to cry over

it doesn't pay me a ******* cent
walking to town to watch the whorish
wave down traffic

angry is a bit of what I gnaw on
the gum of **** that makes me gag
almost or puke or wanna ****

any mother who allows their child,
yes we all, even the low cast out **** bottom
basement ******* for a dime ****** ***** got one

lets her child become this , **** her  **** yes
******* the *******,
******* the dripping *****

that walked away tucking their ***** of brains
back into their shorts onto the streets , oh what hustlers what
cruel ******* idiots

even them, even those ***** donor dead souls,
it is too much to feel for,
etc....
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