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the bringer is forgetter and excitement,
a letter.

so I let her forget
as I rewrite the cleft
to the left-right bottom
of my

frontal lobe.
26 to Dockyard.
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
alexis
red aura
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
alexis
strawberry is like the taste of your cheeks
and
that of the sensation your lips

roses are like the smell of your hands
and
the air that circles around you

rouge lipstick stains your tie
and
the tips of your collar

why must you lie to me so?
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
Zedler
Detain, and explain to the public,
why these rhymes seem so redundant.
[two] for the second letter of the alphabet, the woman
I haven't crashed out of love yet.

Bear with me if it seems amiss,
[five] for the encounter where I finally
placed a kiss on her lips.
Wishing I wasn't missing.

To review, ink contained in pages
of the book labeled as [two], there's
a poem written by the name of [sleep],
written after the events in the previous stanza,
which after, of reality I got a grip
and coincidentally this poem in her
direction written was also the fifth.  

As well as [two] being the book
published by my hand as number [five],
I slowly see the everlasting love starting
to die.

Aren't quite finished yet,
as none of it I regret.
To me my favorite and always the best,
struggling to write, as my heart pounds
and causes friction with my chest.

Met on the twentieth day of November,
contains a [two], but that might be a stretch,
as I find more reasons to love her while
smoking this cigarette.

If counting November as number one,
It took us [seven] months to become one;
addition of [two] and [five].

Letting a lot of details go by,
but if my math is correct,
that would mean that May was the
month we began a relationship.

May being the fifth month of the year
and I know this last fact about my baby seems crazy,
but having ripped this heart and
having it served on plate, I learned to
believe in fate, both embarked love and
sailing on a relationship, was none
other than May on the on the day of the
[twenty-fifth].
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
wounded
what are you doing to me?
these marble figures
crashing at my feet
like chips of flint
begging to catch
fire, to catch a
breath of air
but my god,
my lungs
heaving,
I ask
you

what are you doing to me?
permeating stone and
teaching me what it
is to bend, when I
once stood my
ground and
said, you
cannot
move
me

and what are you doing to me?
your feet are padding around
in the dark tunnels of my
temporal lobe, hanging
lanterns where lights
went out in storms
of crazed chaos,
and don’t you
know that I
am often
a ghost,
( don’t
you? )

what are you doing to me?
I feel the sun’s light as
it shines into my rib
cage, and I find I
am drunk from
this warmth,
and I ask,

what are you
doing to
me?
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
wounded
we are not the
embodiment of beauty,
despite the way
your
quips dance with
my vagary,
or how
our bones are trophies
built from the
same bits of shrapnel
from explosions,
forged by hands
who never learned
how to fashion empires
out of anything
but fragments,
no,
we are much more
than beautiful,
we are
isotopic, enigmatic,
we’re magnetic and
eclectic,
we are
the sum of all things,
a compilation, a mosaic,
we are a
memoir of the universe,
we are fate,
we’re algebraic,
we’re the intersection
of two lines
without a destination,
but
when i follow the trail of
freckles
up your spine,
i find the root
of my
elation
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
Overwhelmed
why does man
not realize his place
amongst the spinning
cogs of the universe?

why does man
not understand
that we, just like
everything else,
are one more
piece in a machine
with no other purpose
than to keep working?

why does man
not give up his fight
with the truth? or maybe,
a better question is,
why can’t he?
eh, posting only to keep a steady drip of updates going.
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
Sarina
You can tell if someone is rotting by looking in their eyes. I
get the look of smoke on cotton,
my mother's childhood house burning when
the doors became more difficult to shut than my legs:
her father died
her mother drowned
so she could pass the bottle to mine. The only ring I have
been given are the purple
bags and bruises and tapeworms
everyone says were alright in childhood,
the rings around my eyes tapering like the sound of
morse code. Read me
listen to me please because my body fluids are like ashes
that will go up in flames again if
ignored: I will burn you. Your black eyes will
get blacker, darkness is the only thing that can commit to me.
 Nov 2013 jude rigor
Sarina
The best thing you can do to get me to forgive you
is take off your belt
and make me bleed, better than I can.

I have slit my wrists into mouths for air and
pockets to hide unhappiness in

because of words
like sorry
like I wish I did not have to do this
but everyone always has to, I know, and I need

for someone to carve the
flesh from my asscheeks the way my
parents wanted to
that time when I was six years old and dashed into
the road really hoping to get hit

for the first time. You
could hold the blood and guts for the first time and I
promise
when I am empty, an apology will feel full.
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