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I'd like to believe that soulmates are forever.
That you can fall in love with someone
who is meant perfectly for you.
Someone whose body fits next to yours
like two pieces of a puzzle.
Who curves in all the right places
to fit in to the gaps between your heartstrings.

A soulmate isn't forever.

But
there is a kind of intimacy that comes with being a soulmate
and it's so much more than just ***
or skin on skin
with clothes on the floor
and the lights turned way down low
and tangled sheets and secret smiles.
It's an intimacy that comes with knowing
their hopes and dreams and secrets
and
having a deep connection that can't be replaced.

Soulmates aren't forever.
But oh, how I wish they were.
I'd really like feedback on this. I wrote this after reading many poems dealing with the idea of a soulmate and I don't really even know what a soulmate is or how to find one.
The urchin banging at the car
on rainy nights,
begging for a buy;

The old house down the road
making way for another
highrise where no one will live;

The cobbler at the corner store
smiling away toothless
awaiting  his death;

The mausoleum of the hero
of the past - rebellion glorified
is the new tradition;

The aquarium where
water dried up
and the fish, all died;

I am the city that you
don't  see dying,
obsessed with 'progress'.
The Movie You'll Never See

This poem
goes
(Stays)

Out to
(In for)

The people who
Will never read it

(Here I secretly
Wish I could write
In my sleep)

This is the movie-tie-in
Of the book
(The one I’ll never write)
(And the one you’ll never
See, or have
Already seen it
Multiplex times)

The Protagonist
(Amateurish at best)
Loves his girl

(What is love? Baby,
Don’t Hurt Me)

Loses the girl
(Yeah, right! Like
He ever had her –
And! She wasn’t even
Human!
She was an:
1. Alien-Cyborg-Shape
2. Shifting Vampire-
3. Lycan-synthetic
4. Proto-human)
5. All of the above

Plus! It has him…
Nearly magically…
Blowing a lot of crap up
With amazing pyrotechnics!
Cars with cleavage!
Bombs with *****!
(Or is it the udder
Way around?)

In the process of simply
Walking to the corner market
To buy a quart of milk.

After this senseless barrage
Of ****** carnage, He
Gets shot at, nearly
99% of which said bullets
Miss…may I help your
Aim?

Yet every single shot from his
Endless supply of hidden clips
Acts like its own rocket-propelled
Grenada launcher.

Yet one
Bullet, in a dramatic bit
Of lead-en acting,
Manages to manly-
Like shoulder-wound him,
Making him grimace, squint,
And grunt heroically,
Which also manages to
Make said woman’s
Blankety-blank go
Blank-blank
(Hence, the PG-13 rating)
And the F-Bomb is
Dropped
Right
About
(Fudge!)
(Oh, the mother-trumping
Effing Fudge!)

And there she is, having
Bitten the villain’s hands that
Beat her to a pulp
(Earlier)
(This is rather implied)
Yet the orange juice she’s
Wearing like makeup
Is, for all in tents and purr pusses,
(Pulp-free)
She looks like she’s not
EVEN IN A MOVIE
AT ALL,
And on some sound stage,
Where she just had an
Entire-body makeup appliqué
Applied, with
Perfectly coiffed hair,
Nails to nail guns, she’s
Effing Gorgeous!

Here Hero thinks he’s
Gotten His Good Girl
Back,
She’s sitting fit and pretty
In his Little Red Corvette…
And then she turns on him
Like a clunker doing a
U-Turn.

She does something silly here,
And grabs the cable from the
Dangling helicopter, saying
Something pithy and memorable
(It’s on the tag-line of the movie poster)

And he’s heartbroken to discover,
That:
Besides being shot in the
Shoulder,

(Cue the montage of years ago,
When they were wild, happy, free,
And still relatively human)
(The girl)

Bon-Jovi Breaks into the
Heretofore hyper-played
“Shot through the heart,
And you’re to blame,”

And then he clicks the heels
Of his boots,
Wakes up, and it wasn’t
All a dream…

That’s the movie tie-in to the
Movie you’ll never see,
From the book
You’ll never read,
By the person who
Probably won’t ever do
Either unless he stops
Fooling around with
Poetry.
Sleep Izzz
S
Sl
Sle
Slee
Sleep
Sleep is
Falling in
Love sleep
Pretending I’m
Dead tired, Recharge
Rechargeable batteries
Little boy inside protests;
“Mommy I’m not tired I’m
Not
ZZZ

Sleep is practicing
Eternity without
God loves us
Infinitely
Sleep
ZZZ
ZZ
Z

Drugs
Caffeine, the
Enemy of Sleep
Nitrous oxide injection;
Heart rate motor revving
Wheels spinning directionally
Nowhere, driving my desk around
Curves and straightaways, skidding;
Waking the ADD child inside me
Dilated pupils and superhero
Fingers pirouetting, dancing
Across ASDF keyboards
As I translate the
Indescribably
Abstract
Ideas
Of
I

I’m Sleepy
Want to
Sleep!!
Sheep
Yawn
ZZZ
ZZ
Z
Jesus, another freaking
fifteen-mile road march,
why'd I have to lift weights,
put on this extra muscle!?

Oh sure, he's strong enough Sir,
he can handle it!

Give him the machine gun &
that 22 extra pounds of belted-ammo.

He's a tough guy,
gonna make a fine gunner.

And just think,
in a fire fight,
the enemy will
be gunning for him first!

Oh,  he's gonna be alright Sir,
with all that extra muscle,
he'll put up
one helluva fight!

Just my luck,
I wished I had stayed skinny,
those guys have loads of army-fun
just peeling potatoes.
Oh sweet darling,
I'm sending you my positive vibes.
So go ahead, it's safe now,
you can trace my thoughts
over your soft skin,
yes, let the
good times roll,
intimate fun begin.

Guide me to your secret treasures,
I'm all about giving you pleasures,
you can be open,
can you feel me,
can you feel me
twisting & turning here,
thinking about you there?

I am tangled up inside
your gorgeous hair
lying all around me
& the delicious-sounds
we make,
ooooohhhhhh,
they quake
my very soul!

Do you feel it,
my soul shaking
your core,
well doll,
do you?
::::   :::   :::

Don't falter now

!!

no no

--  --  --

Think!



Hold in your heart

Everything you can contain

••

The heavy hand

The heaving breast

no child!

Perhaps it's best to

Stay away

From what you know
Will

Let you down

||||

Your story!

---

Who the author?

What is --- the Page?

••

To join the madness or walk free -----  ?

(the decision you must make)



What is this world?

---

You must come to
Know

Soon enough you'll have to say
Do you feel your knee deep in the river of doubt

Where the current is swift and the piranhas hang out

If you don't know what I mean or what I'm talking about

Hang on to your wallet cause your soon to find out

This mean old world can be bitter at best

It'll grind you up, spit you out, then use you to clean up the mess

Believe we've been here before so don't expect any less

How much more can we take is anyone's guess

We have the lawyers, judges, politicians, with the jury still out

Telling us they know what's best for us and like it or not we're going to find out

Up to our necks now in that river of doubt

Anymore from anyone of them and I think that we'll drown

There is the group on the left and the group on the right

Thinking the other sides wrong and their willing to fight

One side brought guns and the other side knives

Was that Miss Liberty I just saw waving bye, bye

The sides are to steep on the riverbank we are in

We all just might drown cause we haven't learned how to swim

In the tank with the sharks, also known as the politicians

No one to lend us a hand with nothing more there to lend

That's the way it now is from beginning to end

Where we're soon to break cause we no longer can bend

Let's just throw them all out and start all over again

Before it's to late my friends and we do ourselves in
I saw a hunter by a country road,
In tandem with me he sailed as I drove.

His hoody-head set monkish to the soil
Conjured up music so soundful, sacred,
And I unmoving over a tired flesh—
Coloured vehicle felt naked and dead

For he so saintly robed and dressed to ****
In the colours of the sky prayed with wings,
My harrier, his eyes cleansed purity and gold
While mine unsightly piebald pale and blue.

But want of food dovetailed two craving
Creatures, yet— over fed I felt rusty
Below his steely hunger and what saving
Grace God might offer either mice or men.
Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
  .  .  .  Dawn is a poser.


Hello poetry  .  .  .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.


Here is Pantheon  .  .  .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
  .  .  .  What a hollow hall.
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