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i am sitting here. blank face.
counting the ripples on the pool.

one.... two.... ok, enough.

the hairs on my arm?
too many.
too blonde.

practice minor pentatonic scales?
if only i knew what they were good for.
blues scales?
ok.
root, flat third, fourth, sharp fourth, flat seventh, eighth.
[**** i'll be proud if that's right.]

overthink everything.
write way too many poems,
save them all as drafts.
wonder if you'd even respond.
think of calling you.
decide not to.
"your unwanted calls"...
or something that you wrote forever ago,
keeps me away.
you keep me away.
[if only you handled this by saying
maybe in the long run we'll actually get to know each other...
this is for the best.
wouldn't that be grand?
wouldn't that be way better
than some short term relationship
that would just end in this hatred for me anyway?]

i pout,
look out the window,
notice the blue sky.
i wonder why you can't be happy.
i wonder why I can't be happy.
i meant to start this off

"dear horus,"
Stars at night, long the hours
watching animal spirits deep in the wooded wilds
tracing circles round the moon, glowing
translucent spiders weaving webs
floating at the edge, before diving in
oceans of sailing green seas
waves newly born, bright as sparks
lightning in the dark, igniting hearts
fiery blue, water too, the earth and air runs through
basking in other worldly realms of moon
with hearts, pure white where lilies bloom
home, where the soul of the sea is borne
drenched in storms of falling star seas
yours is a place wilder, than these.
After, a long drawn out burning kiss
that opened a never healing wound
she leaves for the secret rendezvous
in a verdant oasis in a distant desert.
He didn't hear about her even after
light years, remembrance of that
kept on haunting him, for reasons
he wanted to find, he burned and burned.

On a full moon night after million years,
searching in the desert, long hours
sweating and tired like a haunted animal
he found a magnificent Spinx,felt connected
fell for that feminine allure, curved hips
hypnotic eyes of a hermaphrodite,swell of *******,
that illogically prompted him to caress,

towering high at the end of an oasis,
wasn't it  a construct of desire?

he stood, feverishly desiring those pouting lips,
the moment next, missed the one inflicted wound,
in a pit inside  forbidden longings erupt
when speaking  language of desire, poisoned fruits too
taste dark poetry, nature flows to  symmetry
"No man or woman, loved me like that"
a whisper, then a hiss, in passion proclaims
there she was his one time lover, cheat, deserter
of his spirit's mating call, still he isn't free from delusions,
she abandoned him for another, in that too wasn't sure
yet another of her misadventure, does she repent?

"I didn't want to miss you like this" she says
"you mistook that I was in love with her, him or whatever"
entanglements, there were from the word go,
her eyes , he observed were sapphires,
her bleached white bones, were irresistible, totems
he wanted to preserve it in the museum in Cairo
her being grew in to him like an oasis
in a desert, a weary, insane, traveler reaches
just in time for the final peaceful hour before all resolve.

"Are you insane, what makes you do this again" a voice asked,
another million years would pass without any solace,
the sphinx, so magnificent then would be just a sand dune !
They hand in hand, would be walking over it,
that sweet oblivion would remain, birth after birth.
the limitless complex
cosmic ocean dance,
the whole phenomena
deep within is a tiny seed,
one single moment, for ever.

പ്രപഞ്ച സമസ്യ

അനന്ത സങ്കീര്‍ണമീ
പ്രപഞ്ച സാഗരനൃത്തം
ആഴത്തി,ലുള്ളില്‍ ഇതൊരു
ചെറു  ബീജാന്തര്‍ പ്രതിഭാസം.
വെറുമൊരു നിത്യ നിമിഷം.
The sun is sane, pure as his light—
Always beaming about certitudes,
Wearing his indigo robe speckled
With old stars— a jewel in the sky.

The earth is but in lone upheavals,
With only friend of desolate moon,
Crowned with bugs, buzzing on fire
And all is madness— under the sun.
 Aug 2014 Heike Borgard
r
Night and fog
setting in-unsettling
now that the rain has stopped

the live oak in the dark
creaks under the weight
of dying limbs

mean high tide
at three a.m.
means no ghosts will walk
ashore

U-227 lies on the bottom
not too far out from here
where she went down
in the nacht und nebel
while the live oak creaked
and the ocean roared.

r ~ 8/10/14
\¥/\
  |.     Graveyard of the Atlantic
/ \
 Aug 2014 Heike Borgard
r
she wore a soft white sundress
·weathered light cotton·
and when she stood just right
-in the August sun-
I could see clear through to Venus.

r ~ 8/24/14
\¥/\
|   diaphanous
/ \
If i were to write drunk poetry,
You would call me foolish,
But my words dont lie,
they flow,
Like a river,
which knows no end
and a few rocks
which hit you,
like they hit me
but they mean no harm,
so let them be
i walk through
a sea of fire
but it doesnt burn me
whats the use
i wont scream
So it passes by,
and i stand still
burning with out burning
in my fiery dreams
Never answer questions about yourself when drunk, you'll find out things you don't want to know.
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