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 Feb 2015 Derek Keck
Conor Oberst
Well morning came and it dressed the sky
in a lovely yellow gown.
Now the shops, they are all opening
in that narrow hallway of downtown;
filled with people who are shopping for
their lovers and their friends
so they won't ever be lonely again.

Well, a forrest bench becomes backyards,
like songs are born from sound.
And the apple fell and it taught us all
that we are chained here to the ground.
So here we go, but there ain't no escape.
Yeah, these streets are just dead ends
so I will never be happy again.

Well it seems you too see a painful blue
when you stare at the sky.
You could never understand
the motion of a hand waving you goodbye.
"Bye bye."
But as the story goes, or it is often told,
a new day will arise and all the dance halls
will be full of skeletons.
They are coming back to life and on a grassy hill.
The lion will lay down with the lamb
and I won't ever be lonely again.

But until that time I think had better find
some disbelief to suspend,
because I don't want to feel like this again.
 Feb 2015 Derek Keck
Conor Oberst
It was in the March of the winter I turned seventeen
that I bought those pills I thought I would need.
And I wrote a letter to my family.
Said, "It's not your fault and you've been good to me.
Just lately I've been feeling like I don't belong;
like the ground's not mine to walk upon."

And I've heard that music echo through the house
where my grandmother drank by herself.
And I sat watching a flower as it was withering.
I was embarrassed by its honesty.
So I'd prefer to be remembered as a smiling face,
not this ******* wreck that's taken its place.

So please forgive what I have done.
No, you can't stay mad at the setting sun,
because we all get tired, I mean eventually.
There is nothing left to do but sleep.

But spring came bearing sunlight;
those persuasive rays.
So I gave myself a few more days.
My salvation, it came quite suddenly
when Justin spoke very plainly.

He said, "Of course, its your decision,
but just so you know,
if you decide to leave, I soon will follow."

I wrote this for a baby that has yet to be born.
My brother's first child.
I hope that womb's not too warm,
because it's cold out here
and it'll be quite a shock
to breathe this air,
to discover loss.

So I'd like to make some changes
before you arrive,
so when your new eyes meet mine
they'll see no lies.
Just love.

I will be pure.
I know I will be pure.
Like snow.
Like gold.
 Aug 2014 Derek Keck
anne collins
Envelopes and elevator music can explain
Why we clutch our horror and flee our name
A watchtower and alarm clock sang their lament
Across the concrete we rejoice and the paradise we repent
And as we signed
we denounced allies
In favor of the forbidden
what artificial blood and absinthe love
could deduce the lies we've hidden?


Mistletoe in the greenery of late july
and honor's punch drunk alibi
Reinvent the wheel that streets had broken
but its all another poker deal
a bet from the same token
Why do we abhor the delight to adore
what is written across the table?
If we read it as love we read it as a fable
and who still gives a **** about Cain and Abel?

Forgive my verse I tend to curse and my pentameter could benefit from consistency
But pardon your barometer I never intended to study calculus or chemistry
The commodity of obscenity and the gardens of Versailles
It's not a question then of who or when but rather a matter of how and why?
We buy and slash with words and cash all of those we enable
Why not, my love, give whiskey and drugs it's honestly more stable

The aftertaste of lust and lace
Grim fairy tales and telephone sales
The absence of the rhythm
That transforms mere words to singing
but format this or format that that isn't a life worth living
The morning connives with sidewalks and vines
while dark eyes sit and stare we are but wine and air
What is this routine we have fought to acquire?
No sweet perfume can sweeten the flame of fire

so kiss you reflection and hold close to the glass or the mirror
Objects that appear far away
they may in fact be nearer
it is funny, you will be dead some day.
By you the mouth hair eyes,and i mean
the unique and nervously obscene

need;it’s funny.  They will all be dead

knead of lustfulhunched deeplytoplay
lips and stare the gross fuzzy-pash
—dead—and the dark gold delicately smash….
grass,and the stars,of my shoulder in stead.

It is a funny,thing.  And you will be

and i and all the days and nights that matter
knocked by sun moon jabbed ****** with ecstasy
….tremble (not knowing how much better

than me will you like the rain’s face and

the rich improbable hands of the Wind)
if I should sleep with a lady called death
get another man with firmer lips
to take your new mouth in his teeth
(hips pumping pleasure into hips).

Seeing how the limp huddling string
of your smile over his body squirms
kissingly, I will bring you  every spring
handfuls of little normal worms.

Dress deftly your flesh in stupid stuffs,
phrase the immense weapon of your hair.
Understanding why his eye laughs,
I will bring you every year

something which is worth the whole,
an inch of nothing for your soul.

— The End —