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I never got to hear your voice
Remaining silent with anticipation
I thought of you, what you may hide within
a pillow, or a slab of clay
How your expression lingered, prepared
blank and austere yet flush
Would I feel thawing satin
beneath, your thighs
slowly unspanning, your flesh
ready for attention

You hear me come
Inside some walls
And gather heat toward yourself
Your eyes engage my willingness
an empty naive gesture
"Is this the place?" I wonder, in my head

No one is really speaking here
the person I perceived you were
rises from a fluffy polyester comforter
Clumsy and ensnared
By a memory of something I can only dream

If I gave you just one word
we would fall together
Like two dobs of marshmallow puff
melting into the dark wood floor
Sticky and diffuse

But it's too easy in this moment
to let it slip away
Sighing, I imagine
one day you'll say
"this is the place"
and then tell me your name
I never want to feel
my **** rubbing through a pile of broken tree branches
or the thought of dead leaves
piling up on my abdomen
only you can tell me
how it really is, to be covered in moss
to be covered in death
sprouting mushrooms from your molars
I want to hold something
feel it grow inside me, nurture it and spill
out into the wide expanse of nothingness
a false sea
a lonely planet
a fading ghost
and scream into the laughing pit
the empty chasm of anger and self-loathing
baaing in insignificance and hollow
with my chest nearly exploding
I find the words:

I am here and I will die and nothing matters and it is terrifying
just send me a W-2
let's do it all again, next year
Everything is lying in me
Decays between twilight and being dead
All that can not be true
But it damages my head
With plausibility and anger
I don't let myself loose
Being free is insanity
Here, on this earth,
I lie alone at the moment and forever
Strengthen myself
To come clear
with myself
My consciousness lies
On a pillow nearby in the shadow
Without passion I shiver
and freeze
blows the wind in my eyes
and I look past
Well, a tear whispers
or do I only ask myself why not?
The most miserable contentment
Everything hangs near and is missed by me

Alles lügnet in mir
verfällt zwischen Zwielicht und Totsein
Das alles kann nicht wahr sein
Aber schädet mein Kopf
Mit Plausibilität und Ärger
ich lass mich selber nicht los
Freisein ist Wahnsinn
Hier, auf dieser Erde,
Liege ich plötzlich allein und für immer
Bekräftige mich
Um klar zu kommen
Mit mir
Liegt mir das Bewusstsein
Am Kissen nebenbei im Schatten
Ohne Wollust zittere ich
Und friere
blässt der Wind in meinen Augen
Und schau' ich vorbei
Na, flüstert eine Träne
Oder frage ich mir nur wieso sonst?
Erbärmlichsten Behagen
Alles hängt nah und fehlt mir
I like to jot down thoughts in my somewhat limited German vocabulary and see where they lead. It allows me to shut off that nagging doubt about clarity and just get my words out before i immediately start revising and covering my tracks.
I like free-association and building on the first word that comes to mind.
Usually translating them seems to approach the general idea I was going for and seeing the difference between english and german amuses me.
hopefully you enjoyed reading this and taking a tour into my creative process.
I am an art of human
A seed unto the world cast loose
Holding what's unfurled
Beneath, a lonesome seeker of truth
It is undue to suffer
Through a seemly, caustic night
Unbidden, untoward, unwellitude
And unbright
But in the hull solemnitude
And unkind
We find ourselves in solitude
Inside a well, unlit
art being double-meaning for in german Art is type, like species, and has a generally positive connotation in english as comparing oneself to a work of art
don't really know how to make it a clear distinction in the poem without making it pedantic and weird but it seems not to fit with the seed metaphor and really i lost the thread at the end there... the ship is in a well? idk it's an old poem i found in my email and i can't pick up where i left off

always compulsively edit your poems before you lose your train of thought, kids, you will not make heads or tails of it later
 Mar 2018 Del Maximo
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
 Apr 2017 Del Maximo
So many lines and laments
scribed in ink and feeling,
for the girl who is the ocean

but she is a swell and surge
too dauntless and wild,
for a lover whose bones crave the shore.

She craves the squalls and gusts,
and cast iron skies,
a worldly drift to sate the salt in her skin,
the deep pull of currents in her blood.

She is chaotic but not reckless,
she is fickle, but not feckless.
Love her boldly or not at all
her bones belong to the sea
but she will always return to the shore.
Wow thankyou for the kind words everyone. Feels really good to know people enjoy my words, and my first Sun too!
 Apr 2017 Del Maximo
Rob Rutledge
We were poets,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.  
Glades decay,  
Fade to grey.

We become poets once more.
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