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dex Aug 2015
it
       can always
   hurt
               worse.


never think,
     not for a second,
that it's as bad as it can be.

Sweet angel, rest in peace.

RIP Kelly Forster.
June 24, 1996 - August 10, 2015
dex Jul 2015
The dragonflies do sing,
And their song won't fall asleep
And I have found in my collecting
That rest's no thing I keep.
To waltz beneath the moonlight
Through the cool of ancient mist,
Awareness is that for which you must fight,
With eyes and throat like iron fists.

Stay awake with me, I always yearn,
But I know that you must sleep
And day by day I continue to learn
Not all is mine to keep.

I can see the depth behind your eyes,
But you won't let me in.
My pleas reflect the ocean's sighs-
Rolling in again and again.
The tide won't wash away the stars
In our quiet desert nights
And kept in cracked and glowing jars
Are the steepest of our heights.

Broken hands stopped my knocking not long ago
But still, I wait outside for you
And I hope that one day you will know
You can find me always standing next to you.
  Jul 2015 dex
Jeremy R Frenette
My mentor spoke to me of two rivals,
Once, they had been friends in some distant past.
But the years have eaten their love and made grudges manifest.
|The two shattered into broken glass

To my wise master I asked only one,
One question... In all my range.
One question I asked:
“What changed?”

In the outskirts, at the home of my daughter
Where you can stare at the stars or passing cars
None more brighter than the other,
We share memories of my grandmother.
In the photographs, she looks so much younger.
Not frail, but a fighter, lover and saintly|

To me, she asks plainly,
One question, and one question only.
Sifting through the ages of years past:
“What Changed?”

At the kitchen table, feeling inadequate,
My lover screaming and frustrated,
I recall memories when we had been intimate.
Times when movement was made for desire and not duty
|A calendar of nights left in confused abstinence

I interrupt.
She delays rage.
I beg,
“What Changed?”

_

In the last few hours of night
The dawn reaches me at last.
I had locked moments-
Literal seconds of time as the truth.
But it was always changing
In flux and morphing.
Turning into something new
Just for a moment, and then on again
“What Changed?”
Everything.
Always.
dex Jul 2015
She took a little of me with her when she went
She took a little bit of December
She held enough me so I will never forget
This night I will always remember.
She was a special kind of wish
The kind that you never write down
And if nothing else, she'll be the one thing
That ties me to that town.
Her tread was velvet underground
Her eyes were paper flowers
Her soul was of lace and of the sound
I sing, the sound that was ours.
She was full of love and heart, you see
And fearless to a fault
And it was these two horribly beautiful things
That caused her beating heart to halt.
I watch for her now when the lightning strikes,
And sometimes I do see
Occasionally once, far less often twice
My fearless, dancing memory,
My bright-eyed, searching memory,
My gypsy, wild and free.
RIP Cappi.
dex Jun 2015
Sweet, sweet breeze, oh sing me to sleep-
The sun and the dust and the quiet we keep.
The secretive, beautiful, hot July Moon,
A forbidden, lonely, and quiet, dark room.
The place in the light, a village of sorts
A song and a fight, and pillow house forts
A dress and wind and a rain and the trees-
A wheel and a road and a sky and a please-
A fear and a love and a joy, oh, how free
To know that this time and this place is not me.
dex May 2015
in•tel•lect*
/'in(t)l, ekt/
noun
“the faculty of reasoning and understanding objectively, especially with regard to abstract or academic matters.”

the human mind
is such an utterly remarkable thing.
100 billion neurons
firing
inside your skull.
axons and dendrites,
azaleas and daisies
the tide, and the shore
and every breaking
wave
of
grey matter
that they'll ask you to share.
but if you keep it to yourself,
my God, you'll dissolve
into the nothingness of mist
and explode into a perfect array
of agony
and disappear, like
sparks
in the night.
“I know what it's like,” he said.
“What?” she whispered,
looking to him sharply
“I know what it's like,”
his haunted eyes glistened
in the darkness,
“to be afraid of your own mind.”

his word- intellect.
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