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I'm sorry if I resemble a sparrow
With a fear of flight
When I shield my abdomen
With apologetic arms.

As if my trembling elbows
Could avert your glances
Long enough to distract you
From your examination of
The inadequacy
That lay beneath.

I'm sorry if my fingers stumble
Upon yours when you
Glide them across
Skin that's already been
Rewarded in stripes
And metal kisses.

I only say sorry
Because If I could,
I'd place my regret
In a envelope
Addressed to your eyes,
Entitled the parts of me you
Dare not see.

The parts that make me
Me.
 Apr 2016 Jeanette
Joshua Haines
The darkest fields, an interlude
to parallel sparkling, suspended
watching eye upon vermilion sky --
like a harbored god pretended.

Killing trees, roots eating deep,
my father mercilessly alluded:
branches high and branches wide
found the sky and intruded.
Quiet mind, immersed
in palest, warmest yellow.

Molecules within
find alignment
with infinity.

Silvery mercurial fluid
paints my bones
with gentle light.

You have come back.

Abundantly, warm salt
water envelopes me.

Even in this chair,
in this empty room.

On dry land.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
 Mar 2016 Jeanette
Em Glass
3x5
 Mar 2016 Jeanette
Em Glass
3x5
A student of mine wrote me a note
on the blank side of a 3x5
index card
and she hugged me goodbye.
Another went home and built a telescope,
and he sent me pictures
of the pieces along the way,
apart and together like an array
of Martian images coming in
from the Opportunity in a
pixelated panoramic display.
I told him about lenses
and the human eye,
about why stars will always look
pointed unless we get close enough
to really see them and he said-
I’ll try.
 Mar 2016 Jeanette
Em Glass
asthma
 Mar 2016 Jeanette
Em Glass
even in sleep you are aggressively alive,
recklessly optimistic.
you twitch and twist against me
and I don't know how your arm
hasn't fallen asleep beneath the back
of my neck like that.
your short-winded lungs slow down,
your breathing gets rough,
even in sleep you are fighting
for air

and you are getting it.
you snore though
 Feb 2016 Jeanette
Adam Mott
Paint me the way you remember me
In dreams and reality
Contrast light and dark
Asking yourself,
Where you placed my heart

Grow me a garden of roses
Pick every petal the same way
Grow less interested every day
Ignore it, scorn it
Act surprised when it defiantly grows beyond its confines

Stare up at the sky
Emulating my voice in your head
Seek out the seed which you planted
Paint the true story in my head
Let the sun set slowly
Echo every act, again and again

Nothing fits the frame
Alone, it appears inconsistent
The garden queries and the painting runs
Unsure of where to go
Not but a thirsty man, drinking his memories
Undauntingly trying to fly
Inspired by some POTF lyrics
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