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 Aug 2016 the Sandman
Aeerdna
There lies my heart in cold again
waiting in the darkest pain
it prays and prays by the skies to be heard
but skies they reach with nothing but a bolt.

The pavement's wet, my heart is bleeding
in tears I see it breathless leaving
the wings I built they hurt too deep
cause wings of lead can't fly but dig—

There lies my heart in cold again
and I in sorrow am once more falling,
my empty chest, my tears, my pain
in darkness I am hopelessly crawling.
https://youtu.be/tk0BOK0EDFE

"The story is old - I know
But it goes on"

.
I’ve been questioned on
my late night walks,
why do I do it?
the repetitive cracks
sing hedonist soliloquies
at every avoidance,
the streetlights eat away
at forfeiting darkness,
vomiting garbage cans
spew synthetic carrion
and winking storefronts
****** nightfallers,
trash kissing curbs
pushing away affection
cry out for help,
cigarette butts cloud
sandy sidewalks
and hug dragging soles,
passing cars and
mindless youth
spewing timeless
nothings out car windows,
cop cars and crisis topped
middle-agers stumbling their way
to fast food and
regretful forenoons,
I’ve been questioned
on where I’m walking to,
but never what I’m walking from,
no matter where I go,
I find myself
burning my throat
with coffee at 2am
Let me cry alone over you
Alone, without an audience
Let me cry in solitude over you
Out loud and ugly.

Let me scream out loud over you
Whimper from the pain your silence cause me
Let me trash my world in agony from
your razor snakes twisting in my gut.

Let me be rage out loud over you
Furious, fuming and boiling
Implode without spectators witnessing
my misserable decay of character

Crumbling over a man they didn't know existed
The invisible man who set my world on fire with words only.

You finally vanished for real and left open wounds never to be patched or stitched with anything but silence.
Silence, because I'm not allowed mourning you, not allowed missing you.

Not allowed crying alone over you leaving without  a simple goodbye...



...Silence really is a ****** band aid.
Even when you're gone you inspire me...
Fog
I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.


II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.
 Aug 2016 the Sandman
Lora Lee
Memories
of what I never had
lurk in the back rooms
of my mind
silver-tinged
with coolness,
their icy edges
     melting into tiny
colored fires
intensity of emotion
that becomes an endless,
                 lurching ocean  
                        with the ache
                       for the close,
                     rolling folds
of deep saline whispers
a merging of souls
without drowning
            a submerging
without getting
carried out
to raging sea
identity rescued
from certain
little death
          maintaining clarity
allowing for
the lasting wonder
of seeing through
each other's
eyes, hearts in
tune beating
                   strong
always keeping me
on the edge of
the most sumptuous,
delicious repast
that even in
the most heated
moments
will not burn us
to a mere crisp,
not destroy
yet also will not just fill
in limited surfaces
a cup half full,
a mind, half alive
Instead of shallow,
quickened afterglow
     I simply know
    what I  must have:
that deep, s lo w  d i v e
to the depths
of that aquatic
rhythmic wonder
the soft, liquid crystal
                       of reflection
that is in my core
and now,
as I send
        prayers to
           the winds
        of hope,
  yes, how
I bleed,
             for
               this heart
              needs
           so much
        more
It must be added to the title: "...but of what will one day be" because I believe it will come into being. No ifs, ands or buts. Period.
Not only that: It is clear that we need different things at different stages. It is not that "love" is never found in some form. But: Sometimes, as we get wiser, we know,crystal clear, exactly what it is that we need. :)

Worth a listen:
What Else Is There?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADBKdSCbmiM
 Aug 2016 the Sandman
b e mccomb
i can watch the
clock on your
dashboard
turning
backwards
the hands going
the wrong direction
it's rare to find a
analogue timepiece
in a car nowadays
even rarer to find one
that goes in retrograde.

and all i can think
about is that i'm not
happy but i'm more
settled inside

isn't it sad
to be living only
in hopes of your
expiration date?

yes
yes it is.

i'm missing last winter
just a little
how safe it felt to be
your shotgun rider
with that perfect and slightly
annoying thirty minute mashup

fifteen minutes there
fifteen minutes back
anxious to leave
anxious to get home
to get into another van
one that wasn't stifled

i was your
shotgun rider
for monday afternoons
and drives to craft fairs
the ball and our own
educational funeral.

(can we petition
to rename
graduations to
educational funerals?)


i miss the old days
when mondays were happy
not anxious
or empty

thinking back on it
we spent too much time
in the back corner booth
of the doughnut shop chain
up on the east hill outside of town
and the coffee wasn't even good

i wish we had just gone to the
grocery store and
got some of that perfect
creamline milk you never shake.

i don't remember
the day i looked
on the label of the
jug and read the date

and it very clearly
was stamped with an
expiration of next
september

but when i tasted it
it had all gone sour
and i wondered how
painful it could be
to throw milk
out early

so i'm leaving it
in the fridge
until autumn
rolls around

just thinking
about how sad
it is to be living
with the hope of dying

but don't people do
the exact same thing?
Copyright 7/1/16 by B. E. McComb
 Aug 2016 the Sandman
b e mccomb
i wish i could turn
you into a liquid
something
softer than water
stronger than coffee
sweeter than lemonade
more sincere
than blood

i would bathe in it
watch it stain my skin
and stick under my nails
as it washed away my fears

i would water all my
houseplants with it
they would grow to the ceiling
turning sunset colors

i would drink it
the same way i drink
the summer rain when
it blows onto the porch

i would use it as an
all-purpose cleaner
acidic as vinegar and so
much better at polishing counters

if only
i could turn you
into a liquid
maybe i wouldn't
be quite so
dehydrated this summer

or maybe i would
just be slowly
poisoning myself
from the inside out.
Copyright 7/2/16 by B. E. McComb
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