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Kody dibble Apr 2015
Hello, salutations,
The Calcutta mayhem is,
Tangled in greedy disdain,

The boys from James town live,
In a villa so deviant and decadent,

She's moving the past behind,
The everlasting garble of Love,

They've seized the day and can only,
Wax the cold retreat,
From the corners of their outstretched minds

******,
Was defined by the black iron mace
And shimmering swords,
Words,
Confounded and confined in closets
Of wine
Strangers
  Apr 2015 Kody dibble
Sjr1000
Depersonalization
Derealization
Dissociation
Delusional
Hallucina­tions
Confabulation
Perseveration
persevered.

Clanging
Rhyming
E­cholalia
echolalia.

Paranoia
Ideas of reference
Thought blocking
Internal stimuli
Thought broadcasting
heard
every way
every day.

Mental disorders
or
poets extraordinary

The Paiute anthropologist
locked up on the
inpatient unit
with visions of the ancestors
dancing in his eyes
said
"See these folks
you have locked up,
In ancient days
from the desert hills
they came our way
delivered truths
in their special way.

"Once they had their say
On desert winds
they blew back
up to their hills
away
straight away. "
"Can you please
give me the keys.
I've said what
I had to say. "
  Apr 2015 Kody dibble
Mayank Ricky
The biggest coward is man who entail a women’s love

with no intention of Respecting  her .. !!

She had a summer Smile ..

which hid her winter frown ..

she had not moved from her place ..

Though she was burnt down ..

In her radiant glow ..

Dark was his face and ..

the darkness of her fear absorb the light of Love ..

She could hardly believe that she was alive ..

She hid her being low ..

His heart and soul were bent upon this all ..

She drew herself up as bravely as she could ..

She doesn’t want to ..

be destroyed yet again ..

All she wants to is break free from her pain ..

But to do so ..

She needs to get rid of her fear ..

“Come,” said the Man, “give me your hand, I will lead you to the world of Trust.

The Respect you deserve.”
  Apr 2015 Kody dibble
Dawn King
it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference
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