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Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers
Hidden star against the dark backdrop of night.
Not seen...
Not heard...
Struggling to assert existence with waning light.

Stifled are the stories dying to be told.
Eclipsed are the emotions
within collapses and folds.
Cloaked is the voice
that screams in silent anguish.
Disenchanted is the will
that once spoke of flourish.

I see you black star...
Know that...
You're nearer than far.
Dig deep...              
Past the charred, crumbling skin.
Dig deep...          
Into the beating heart within.

Know that...
You're better than any of them.
Any of us.
Time will only reveal,
what the sky sought to despicably conceal.
Your true calling.
Not as the quiet sentinel
that no one sees...
but a cosmic gem.
.
For those who are constantly being overlooked, misjudged and wronged in any way.

I see you...
.
Inspired by Radiohead's "Black Star".
Her ribs crackled, in the skeleton night.
And I remember my mouth on hers,
where atomic fish hooks attached our lips.
Where there was nothing like kissing
like our God wasn't dead.

She was accused of killing a taxi driver
in the Brazilian underbelly.
Smoking a cigarette, she dropped it on the ground,
spat on it, and crushed it with her bare foot,
saying she fell in love with the way
his sleep-drenched body lay.

And I told her to stay home.
And I told her that they'd find her.
But she didn't stay home.
And they did find her.

Chasing her through the Babylon brush,
insults were thrown and so were balloons of gasoline.
Each pink, yellow, and green vessel floated in the air, as an internal opera heightened.
And sour splashes spread across her body,
as she fled from the vigilante mob.

The children danced along the panoramic horizon she ran beside,
laughing, pointing, singing.
The slumbering sorrow of the situation became evident,
and she started to feel the calm of fleeting life.

Her dreams aborted and her ideals became fallacies,
and with the sound of fuzzy motors in the background, her heart leapt and her feet slipped.

Rope ate into her, wrapping her like the orphaned recklessness of each set of eyes that painted her.
She squirmed amongst the cheers.
She cried with every thrown beer and balloon.
The empty-eyed males gang ***** her.
The women covered the children's eyes,
and the children tried to move their mothers' hands.

And I pushed my way through the crowd.
And I saw her smothered in blood, beer, and gasoline.
I wanted to halt the hurricane that destroyed morality.
But I am a coward.
Frozen by my fear, I, too, am a murderer.
And a murderer I'll always be,
for the burning of all that was good.

Sudden flames soared towards the sky.
Laughter escaped as molotov cocktails exploded onto her body.
Her head turned towards the crowd,
as flames scampered across her face.
I saw in her, what I never saw before,
which was the human race.
2nd to rise, she enquires
you ready for coffee?

it's only 6:22am

if you're having, I'm having...

she quiet disappears

thinking coffee's coming,
when to this layabout,
it occurs,
she's making
coffee in the ****?

get up, make myself presentable,
track her,
the coffee aroma pulsating,
radar signal emitting

sure enough,
coffee in the ****,
grinding, dripping...percolating

but what I see is
contrast and
definition

appliance white
stainless
steel chrome gleaming,
walnut wood cabinetry warming in
Vermeer sunlight window in-streaming,
a Chagall and Botticelli duet,
freshly filtered
thru a Manhattan sky
and flesh,
freshly filtered

flesh
is not a Crayola color,
or
if it is,
it's more a spectrum,
than a single shade

but this moment morning
flesh is more realized,
as if recognized for the first time,
by a newborn old timer,
who senses the
comprehension tension of circumspection
circumcised differentiation,
flesh knowledge gradation gained

this poem,
a first attempt at
painting a ****
in words

appreciating  task enormity,
for there are currently
insufficient words,
too many striations,
all cannot be straitjacketed to the
vocabulary palette

this then,
but my first definition of many,
of
flesh

so many canvasses,
so many undiscovered shadings
awaiting
****** recognition definition,
composition
July 22, 2015 7:26am
my eyes don't bat
with your heels on my back
i keep a straight face
when blades take ribs' place
walk over and on
i've heard a similar song
I’m a graced angel in flight;
Strawberry blonde hair cascading down my back.
I’m being devoured by the Parisian night.

Racing past the library a thief in sight,
Henry à la Pensée envelope chemise, André Perugia shoes.
I’m a graced angel in flight.

My heart kidnapped, I’ve lost the fight.
Black streaks of mascara running down my cheek,
I’m being devoured by the Parisian night.

Happiness quashed, dreaming of the afterlife-
Now the games are about to begin!
I’m a graced angel in flight.

I’m looking up at the moon shining so bright,
Sedated by drink I’m waiting it out.
I’m being devoured by the Parisian night.

With dancing feet I’m kicking off the last shoe
And stumbling to the edge, I fall.
I’m a graced angel in flight.
I’m being devoured by the Parisian night.

© Sia Jane
I miss reading here and I really hope I can do some catching up <3 Much love always guys <3
Shall I bind you with cords of kinship,
Instead of ties of flagrant love?
Shall I catch you with family kindness,
Instead of arrows from above?
Am I a coward,
or a faithful friend,
who longs to keep you to the end,
A fool
a liar
a lover unrequite
dangerously chaining you
to a rose I claim is white?
There is someone who I love very much,  but I can't figure out if I'm falling in love with him romantically or in a sisterly way. I want my family to adopt him, but I don't want to do anything rash or stupid, like prematurely permanently put him in the bro-zone.
He told me my scars weren't beautiful
And I told him that no one could ever really admire a masterpiece
Without taking a few steps back
Your scars make you who you are and no matter what you are beautiful
In Loving Memory
Joseph Wulf
R.I.P.
  8-31-2015  
☆●♡●☆

Tonight my friend could not
breathe. Lungs ravaged from
long ago. Served our country as a
young man. Shoulders, hip n' leg
bones broke by the jungles below.

A Harley Man through
and through.
JFD's became his Corps.
Never wavered in his allegiance
to his country or his force.

One of the smartest men
I have ever known.
Could recite passages from
long ago. Abreast of topics
from far and wide
a history buff so knowlegable.

A brother to many, a father to one.
Devoted to all he loved.
A truer friend could not be had
So very popular he was!!

Joe was my protector,
as I was a wild young thing.
Was my confidant and
chaperone starting at just 17.

Accompanied first date with
my husband 30 years ago.
Gave his blessings that first night~
To my children he was Uncle Joe.

The older brother I never had.
Blessed to love him 40 years.
My whole being trembles at the
thought of losing him.
I weave Love between these tears.

☆●♡●♡●☆
~Christi Michaels~April 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.

☆●♡●☆  Ode to Joe  ☆●♡●☆
This poem was written upon Joe
entering Hospice in April 2015.
His sisters provided
Constant Vigil and Loving Care.
Joe passed on 8-15-2015
This was read at Joes Military Burial
Fort Snelling National Cemetery
Fort Snelling, Minnesota
8-31-2015
Poem for My Joe
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