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you wear the thick glasses



and the plaid shirt


and i see you at the library all the time

with your plastic coffee cup



your stomach overflowing

with art



we could be sisters
if you weren't such a stuck up *****

ha ha ha
you smell like a mix of all the men that came before you

like axe

like onions and garlic

like dirt

like man sweat

like an ******

like a muddy lake (i squish that gunk between my toes in pure ecstasy while cupping a tadpole in one hand and holding my dress up with the other)

a little bit like cigarettes (and you remind me of the music i once had in me(i think i'm losing my poetry)



you smell a little like a deck of cards
you smell like
a hot tent


you smell



like your couch
where i fall asleep sometimes
 Feb 2012 John Mahoney
Trinity O
I like to walk through the apartment
at night to be sure nothing
has moved, to be sure I still belong. I quiz myself
on the layout of furniture darker than air
with my hands above my head
so I can’t cheat. I know
where the lamp sits, just out of reach.

It was a glass of water I was after
or just darkness or to check the faucet
was still dripping into rusty Rorschach portraits
like the first cave drawings made by accident
when they pressed their sooty faces
against the cool cave wall.
The man across the hallway steps out
around midnight, he pretends
to hold a cigarette in his teeth, to light up and love
every breath. When the leaves are crunching like tonight,
I know he’s outside puffing on air. His fingers rest
lightly on his lips, he flicks nothing into the street.
Sometimes I follow him out,
ask for a light and we stand together
on the sidewalk, pretending to risk it all.
He had a shine
You had unseen
Brilliance

He complimented my glow
You set our image
Aflame

I want to burn the city with you
You want the world’s
Approval
If you looked closely
You could find a god
Among the populous
Inside of mankind
All you’d have to do
Is find a man with
A Hunched over back
Because he is Atlas
And he carries the burden
Of the world’s ugly truth
On his very own shoulders
A cave crawls into me, turns inside out,
Captures my heart and saves my skin for last.
Slimy shadows spread like faith to doubt.
Is this the Jungian Shadow here to lambaste

While all the photons of the sun depart
As quickly as they come--an original sin--
And stop my thinking like Rene Descartes,
Affronting twistless logic like particle spin?

Now perceiving nothing it must exist,
Like Freud with OCD made Oedipus blind--
Becoming nothing nothing can resist.
Finally into earth my mind confined:

Create in me a ***** heart, o earth.
Perhaps a worm will have a ****** birth.
A lot of allusions here. Try to catch them all. I kept thinking Petrarchan would be better for the serious subject, but I'm so used to Shakespearean. I guess we'll see how well this goes over and work from there. Thanks for reading!
I changed the title from Death-- Blasphemies against logic. I'm a fan of one word titles, and I think this works better. When I say the word "******" at the end I draw out the V as long as I can. Just another note. I actually love reading this aloud.
I've noticed, my favorite serpent
secretly bearing her fangs,
but, can't fall out of love,
what a *dark slithery grace!
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