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Some people die in Texas.
Some people die in Spain.
Some people die in their sleep.
Some people die in pain.

We were all in love with trauma.
We were all in love with the same
ideas we projected onto people
and disguised with their name.

I don't live in nine-eleven-land
and neither do my peers.
I've been monitored by other people's Gods
for twenty-two ******* years.
Coffee pots and cigarettes
stimulate my day
and keep the thoughts streaming,
that eventually fade away.

Some people die in Utah.
Some people die in Prague.
Some people never get married
or have the family dog.

We were all in love with status.
We were all in love with goals
that would make life poignant
and make ourselves whole.

I don't subscribe to the thought
that my thoughts necessarily matter.
If life is a horror movie,
then I'm the fake blood splatter.
Bible thumps and dead eyes,
are all part of my design,
and how I live and where I die
means to separate my mind.
You told me you
              Couldn't find your way
                                     In your darkest nights
So I left you a star
               A star in every poem
                               To find your way home
//On her//
Thank you all for loving this poem so much! It's such an honor to have a daily poem.
I wrote this for a special someone in my life.
touch my heart
the way the sun touches the clouds
at sunset, filling them with color,
with light.
touch my heart
like rain touches the earth,
softly,
breathing life in it,
making it bloom.
touch my heart,
touch my life,
touch my soul.
Oh,
Cold
Sharp, yet
Inconspicuous
Movements of
Death or even
Life... I call it
Quits when It
Hurts too good
I call it quits
When it burns
Well. But if it's
Too **** cold
There is really no point and will
Absolutely never be a true point
In feeling the point of
This inconspicuous
Death. Blades of
Regret and that
Remorse and the
Lethal nostalgia.
When you feel it,
When you feel
This you'll know
There's no place
Like home.
 Jul 2016 the Sandman
Keah Jones
I watched as loose skin, hung over bones so fragile they threatened to break, joints cursing at every bend, willing to stop working at any given moment. White porcelain filled with lukewarm bath water kisses her naked body ever so slowly as she allows me to help her lower her brittle body onto the harsh bottom of the tub. She looked up at me and smiled a half hearted smile filled with thousands of apologies that she could not find the words to utter. In that second my heart broke. Her eyes are glazed over with shame that she is incapacitated in this way.
I did not know skin could loosen in all of the places that it has, it’s as if it sags to cover every memory, good and bad, and make room for more. As we occupy the same bed she turns her back and forgets my presents, but as she rolls over and sees me she tucks me in as if to say, we will do this together.
 Jul 2016 the Sandman
Onoma
If life cannot be
seperated from
death, if it's
understood as
life-death, instead
of life and death.
That's a horse of
a different color.
If life-death cannot
be seperated from
that which has no
beginning or end...
it can as soon be
reversed to: death-life.
In that light, it would
appear--and it does
seamlessly...our
immortality.
A collaboration between SG Holter and Elisa Maria Argiro

Hesitating here, silent edge of this dark forest,
I look beyond me, warm in the white fog.
Seeing your heart, now residing deep within
the ancient wood, is to know it is blessed, loved.

Silver tongue resting now in golden silence.
Palms of soul upon moss and brittle bark.
Animal song; scent of beasts approaching unafraid.
Fierce peace. The opposite of a machine.

In the rising sap of silent trees around us,
our deeply beating pulses listen, dance,
smiling kisses at the shining stars, new planets.
Eyes open, anima and animus press tightly
And distance is no more.

"What language is Yours,"
I ask the still growing giants of
Green.
"Silence and its sister tongues
Such as leaves dancing with the
Breeze," they reply within the
Gap between soft sounds and
Softer ones.
So we speak through breaths
Exchanged, of nothing.
Two souls afloat upon the stream
Of Union with All.
What is Cosmos,
But "home"?
Never a visitor.
Never a stranger.
Nowhere has anyone ever been
Lost, or
Away.*

Humming your essence into my veins,
in tune with the wordless languages
of green lives and wind, listening
among delicate flowers, sleeping here
on the forest floor, wakeful and awaiting
the next sound of your voiceless voice,
wind words blowing
through my long, curling hair,
feeling the intention of your
untouched touch,
at home, just being.
Copyrighted by ©SG Holter and ©Elisa Maria Argiro
(as a collaborative poem)
 Jul 2016 the Sandman
Keah Jones
I want to touch the ink that covers your body
ask you your secrets
search your gooseflesh skin

I want to sink my teeth into your perfect lips

I want you to **** the nectar from my sweet spots
tangle our hair into one

I want you to hand me your soul in a cloud

I want your jumbled teeth
and your tell me everything smile
I shouldn't feel this way
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