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 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Zoe
Our Beach
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Zoe
You spoke of stars,
of incomprehensible numbers.
Of the world, so big,
with people so small.
And I joined in,
laying a perfect descant
above a lustful melody.
We laughed bitterly
about Fate's clichéd cruelty,
you with your
partner
and me with my
plane ticket.
But our laughs complemented each other
flawlessly,
and when my flitting treble
was joined by your playful bass,
the world grew understanding
and I could breathe
a sigh
of relief.

Ocean's surface showed only
tragedy's timing,
but to ourselves we allowed
a sweet smile,
a secret.
Surely Fate,
though Heartache's mistress,
would reform her ways.
Just for us.
For two who never knew they were only
puzzle pieces
until they found
how supernaturally they fit.
Behind our worried eyes
we kept silent the thought
neither of us
truly doubted– that
we
would be Fate's
exception.

And Fate giggled
in the dark, daring us
to try to defy her,
waiting for the opportunity
to prove us wrong.
And with our feet in the sand,
our eyes to the sea,
we heard her
cold mirth,
an empty soprano
brought in with the waves.
Scared, we left.
Gave up beaches for concrete.
Hand in hand, until the memory
of Fate
invaded clumsily. And,
not wanting to anger her,
we refused her
the opportunity
by
never
trying
to defy.
Why is everything real in my life so utterly trite?
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Zoe
Silence
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Zoe
I want nothing
but to write.
To purge my body of
the weakness,
coiling around my stomach
like
Eve's seductive tempter.
To write, before dusk takes over
and I commit
an unoriginal sin.
But the forbidden fruit
smells like bourbon, and
I'm just
so
thirsty.
If I could write–
if I could tell blank paper
of my split soul, hovering
between agony and apathy–
then I could find
what I need.
But words have lost their luster,
stories are just
selfish ***** on pages,
and this pen
is running low on ink.

****.

So I will write my last,
a suicide note
for the dying poet in me,
and pour myself
a round to serve the snake.
This isn't goodbye. Only until I have something worthwhile to say. It may even be tomorrow. But probably not. All I know is, I can't write like this. I've been writing crap, or not at all, and it's time to take a break.

"Keep it coming like a miracle."
I love you in ways immeasurable
On timelines that have no end
In cups that aren’t marked
And on rulers that aren’t straight
In some ways I love you like a child
Who never learns that the stove is hot
And in some ways like a student
Reading and studying you all night  
Always I love you but sometimes
In ways I don’t understand
Like how I love you like I love
Salt, and water, and sand
Though the ocean still seems too deep
Like how I love you in my dreams
But not always when you steal covers in my sleep
I love you in strange ways that I fear
Will never be truly known
Like how I love you for years
In one day that you’re not home
Or like how my love for you
Is a poem always writing about itself,
Folding up its words and placing them on the very top shelf.
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Waverly
It's a cool place to meet.
25 cent wings.
Nice, tiny booths
Lit by tiny electric lamps
In the guise of candles,
That give everything a nice, golden glow.
It's a Corona light,
And Corona-colored light always makes me feel
at ease.

She pulls up in a silver acura.

Gets out of the car and I can
see her ***
from the front of her
as she syrups over.

She’s got on a Black tanktop;
black bra straps showing
against white-pink
puerto rican skin
all while holding up those veritable C's.

Her hips burst against
a
long, beige
d
r
e
s
s,                                                                                
and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.

We have conversations about feeling older than
eighteen
and twenty-one
respectively.

Our lips are saucy
and oily. Tiny chicken scraps
can be felt in our teeth.

"I just started reading Starship Troopers."

"Yea, I love that movie."

I've never seen the movie,
but it endears her to me

that she loves it.

"Do you have any plans?"

"Plans?"

"After college?"

I plan on finishing my wings
before you, then I'm hoping
you'll let me hold your ****.

"Not yet."

"You know I've read some of your poetry."

"What do you think?"

"I like it," She smirks,
uncomfortably.

She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.

"Truthfully, it was too much for me,
you really shouldn't talk about things like that."

She brings the wing
to her lips
and smacks it down
with a loud ******* noise
of a working, pink tongue.

I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her.
Now I’m lost.
Because she’s got black eyes
and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.


I start thinking about how white her teeth are,
and how much two people can never know about each other.
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Chris Ott
it's 1:57 am on a friday
night. needless to say im
the only soul awake in
the middle of the university.

twenty-six thousand people
walk right past where i am
sitting. every. day. the nurses
musicians, writers, and lawyers,
the drunks, art students, hippies
and boring people.

but right now, it is only myself
and the dead leaves. the cool wind
blowing around us. peaceful. silence.

the oddest thing?
                                                                          i'm only not lonely here.
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
JJ Hutton
sip
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
JJ Hutton
sip
the coffee was cold.
a day old.
i heated it.
poured it.
fought through it.

put on a b-film.
something about crap
films made our lives
feel more fulfilling.

we laughed.
exposed every flaw.
we held hands.
snuck
loving glances.

i have to wake up in three
hours, but all i can think
is life is luck,
even for the dumbest of us,
when you tell your
eyes to open up.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Mike H
Google
 Nov 2011 Holly Davis
Mike H
The laptop heats my thighs
as I pursue your imprint.
Google throws up 16,300,000 results in 0.12 seconds.
Facebook delivers a hoard of possible yous.

You are an elusive ghost
in a city of doppelgangers,
always just disappearing
around the corner.

Each click is like
a tap on the shoulder in a crowded street:
the face revealed is never yours.  But there
you go again, breezing past
in the opposite direction.

I am Breathless: I am
The Man Who Loved Women.

I give up: the Diana Wright who is a **** star
is not you, but is quite distracting.
And I can't type poetry with one hand.
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