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  May 2014 Ian Cairns
Ryan Galloway
My mind swims when I see you
As I say "hi"
All intelligible thought leaves my mind
To only leave behind
Stick figure drawings of me and you
I mean that figuratively for given enough time
I would paint you a masterpiece
But this drawing was all I could muster for the sheer surprise
Of seeing you before my eyes
I try to regain myself and maintain my "suave" facade
Yet I find myself looking more like an awkward giraffe
I continue to jumble my words like a frustrating jigsaw puzzle
Also I'm pretty sure that my last sentence was in pig-Latin
I sprinkle in incorrect quotes from obscure 80's movies
And you still look at me with that unfazed look
A third party looking at my performance may have thought they were watching some sort of comedy routine and a poor one at that
I try to close my mouth to stop this mess
Yet my brain doesn't spare me such pity
I continue till I am sure that I have buried any chance of ever knowing you
Yet when I look up, I see a smile spread across your face
Ian Cairns May 2014
The rhythm wakes up
Underneath the microscope
It regains all hope

The molecules dance
Never stopping the spirit
Provided by us

The dance floor is open
Looking for atoms split in half
Couples jive the runway

In a tiny world
The truth connects through tiptoes
Make every step count
A sweet face and a delightful frame is always a treat to be desired
But what I really treasure is a mind with such character that I'm enlightened to the point of gravitation-
Continuously interested by its design
A feeling that no other could even attempt to replicate inside of me

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
Ian Cairns May 2014
When I tell you I'm tired
The trouble is my bed
It doesn't seem to fit right
Without the outline of your head

When you tell me you're tired
The trouble is what's said
Typically in times of trouble
Your patience rests instead

When I tell you I'm sorry
The truth is I don't know
My intentions never crooked
Though my weakness always shows

When you tell me you're sorry
The truth is hidden low
You overthrow my worries
Keep tradition and just let go

When I tell you I'm leaving
What I mean is I'm holding on
Staring at the unmarked path
Reluctant to move along

When you tell me you're leaving
What you mean is you've already gone
So far down the crossroads
You can't make right from wrong
Ian Cairns May 2014
My gut reaction remains the same
shade of grey I remember finger painting yesterday.
The smears cloak my fingerprints
like manuscripts of the negative.
Sharp enough to break through the holiest of sentiments.
It's night two in the dark alone when I call on the ghosts.
Exercise the demons so I may leave the couch at once and turn the lamp on.
Warm bodies approach- blurred yet familiar- radiating only eyes.
Dull and full of assumptions.
I can't respond.
I reach out and watch as effort manifests as motionless limbs again.
Now, my eyes neither open nor closed, identify nothing.
My hands, palms dripping a simple shade of gloom I've come to embrace, greet my brow.
Grey sweat covers this grey reflection and these paintbrush arms I own just want to get up and live.
In color again.
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