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 Mar 2011 HR B
Shashank Virkud
Silk in a serenade,
each second becomes a day.
Just stay for the blink of an eye.
Now I have a reason to lose
control of my breathing.

Sympathy in the strings I play,
not so much in the things I say,
no matter how hard I try.
Unaware of the passing season,
am I staying or am I leaving?

Cornerstones crumble,
I don't trust my senses enough.
I've got a feeling nothings' real.
Now I have a reason to
really start screaming.

Polished brass,
shattered glass in the garden.
Examine the facts yet abolish
the past, a history lesson isn't
something I'm going to believe in.

The creases in time are
seamless in my sleep.
A fragile frame of mind,
I hate to suppress it. I'm inclined
to ask, am I awake, or am I dreaming?
 Mar 2011 HR B
Marx Cline
Pretension
 Mar 2011 HR B
Marx Cline
I will cultivate thee,
With my Herculean word spree.
Pour my divine rhyme,
Into your truncated mind.
So profound, so intellectual, how can this be?
Revere me! Revere me!
 Mar 2011 HR B
E. E. Cummings
i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
 Mar 2011 HR B
beth winters
you had birds in your mouth and sunlight dripping from your eyelashes.
i promised i wouldn't speak if you wouldn't change faces twice an hour.
we made conversation under a tree and sleep-walked through your kitchen.
i couldn't stare for your poetry disguised as fingers, always moved your hands.

i opened your window and slid to the street, took a walk with the recycling.
my hands looked tired the next morning, and you wouldn't take no.
when the lights fell asleep, we ran for the boats and slipped into the water.
the moon smiled and pulled us apart, i never matched your shoes again.
 Mar 2011 HR B
Marsha Singh
Crush
 Mar 2011 HR B
Marsha Singh
If an easy rain
would make the rocks slippery,
he would hold my hand.
Why aren’t your eyes--- there?
In two places--- where water should be?
Moldy residue--- absence of vision, tears
From those bullet holes--- you ought to see--- your own ambivalence
Fall down my cheek
Terrifying--- Me, with nothing for both us
Automaton, my weakness
Intellect, disease
You’re my body
Cage
You're my spirit
Doubt
Justice and horror--- within, without
MMXI
 Feb 2011 HR B
Victor Thorn
last time we spoke in person
you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

the day was cold and gray and wet.
we were cold and gray and wet.
the bus had a blowout, there was smoke everywhere,
we pulled over.
everyone freaked out,
but we just sat there.
you were in front of me,
i was behind you,
texting each other, because we couldn't talk in person,
ever.
i had decided i was mad at you.
why was i mad, and not sad?
you had decided to make my mistake
of wanting something you just can't have.
why were you sad, and not mad?

the bus pressed onward on three wheels and a doughnut-
a wheel you want to think is there, but isn't.
and when we made it to the restaurant,
i sat alone,
and you sat alone
with friends you kept from inviting me over,
and you left
and they left
and i left.

the bus doughnutted it's way to some ****** play,
i sat on the far left,
you sat on the far right,
and they left,
and you left,
and i left.

we were waiting on something,
so you typed "hey"
and i typed "what"
and you asked me what i thought
and i said there was only one way it could have been worse.
and you asked what
but i didn't answer.

the bus doughtnutted it's way down the twisting, turning, hateful road that leads to my hometown where i can hardly pass a crack in the pavement without a painful memory, like a ****, sprouting up.

it was cold and gray and wet that day;
the bus window was foggy.
you drew a heart and scribbled initials inside.

T.M.
+
A.F.

you kissed a fogged up bus window
because you were sad.

i drew a heart and scribbled initials inside,
of course you couldn't see me
(i was behind you)

V.T.
+
A.F.

i kissed a fogged up bus window
because i was sad
and wished you would turn around.
Copyright February 2011 by Victor Thorn
 Feb 2011 HR B
Alyssa Starnes
Wake.
 Feb 2011 HR B
Alyssa Starnes
i want to see the pigment of your eyes
what if they are more than i imagine?
i want to feel the coarseness in your voice,
reverberate against my soft skin
what if it is more than i can fathom?
i wish i could stop asking questions,
but glad you make me ask them
should i dye my hair a brilliant purple,
tattoo 'crazy' on my collarbone,
act like someone you just met, but have always known?
there we go again, asking rhetorical questions
because you can't answer
when you have to hear across the clatter
of all fifty states, wish for clean slates
or some time in your bed, wake me, from the dead
just like we play it, cause we're so demented
our hearts are black, our breath cigarette scented
we don't buy into religion, or this world we live in
and the last thing i vest my faith in
is you
with your black and white art, the way you pull me apart
and ****, your heart is beautiful
i devour you unusual
and wish that i was what you craved
made you this manic and depraved
or at least that i could cure you
that you might maybe pull through
so we could spend our time together in the graveyards
the sun would shine on our arms
where we intertwined like vines
fade like passing time
and finally be alone
finding solace in our home
but i'm wasting precious hope, becoming my own ghost
because i can't take what isn't mine
so i'll get drunk off ancient wine,
pretend that i am fine
and wait for morning to face me,
wait for scars to grace me
and while you wait for C,
i will save your seat
on the shore of this warm ocean,
cause i know your wounds are open
and the salty brine
of love and rhyme
will heal them all, from me.
My own thoughts.
 Jan 2011 HR B
Alyssa Starnes
it's been awhile
since someone kissed my forehead
prickly affection
fondness forgo nearness
smears of coral number fifty eight
tobacco breath lingers on my face
a passing gesture, a passing chance
family affection, no second glance

it's been awhile
since someone kissed my lips
chapped to perfection
remind me of your rugged protection
synchronized moving led by love
i bite my lip trying to remember
holding on tighter than i did last December
waiting for the day we can try that again
relished in us being more than we'd been

it's been awhile
since someone kissed my neck
wrapping my skin in a frantic passion
closer than my veins
warmer than the blood
physicality of love starting to form
i remember the first time
and how every time felt just like it
how you never changed and we never changed
and how i'm still wishing the world
didn't break us

it's been awhile
since someone kissed my heart
the metaphysical, unforgettable
the sometimes neatly, never discreetly
pumping ***** behind my breast
the one bigger than my chest
scarier than the stories i've told
forgive me for not being cold
and you were my sun, the only one
who didn't run and now

it's been awhile
My own thoughts.
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