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for Patrick,
                    if he can still hear me

Rise, every neighbor!
Hear the cacophony of dragon fire
BANG, BANG
and the pitter patter rain fall of disease
T T T T
pouring over your households this evening.

Catch that butterfly, there, boy!
And know that in your future you will be begging
to look as hideous as a moth
banging your skull against the roof of my trunk
as I drive away with your body.

You beg me
give me reason!
and I try, but it's so difficult
I don't want to live!
and what am I supposed to do to help
when you don't want the help I give?

And we plead to gaze at stars over the Causeway
going seventy in the sunroof as off in Norco
the refineries let go a blaze jealous of the sun.

The moon doesn't shine as brightly as I remember.
Maybe I was too young to understand light pollution
or maybe it's the gnawing away of the ozone
as my skin tightens and ages over my teeth.

Do you understand how permanent
death
is?

Let me show you, this:
the vision you are trying to make me live through;
I will not let you force me into folding
your hands over your chest
while the embalming fluid grows stiff
beneath your cold hands.

I *will not
cry for you, if you bleed out your sorrows on a tile floor
or over a dark carpet
or crushed against the wall in your blue Mustang.

I will not cry for you,
but for the life you left behind,
the life you took, the life you stole
from me.

ME.

I have faced death with weakening knees;
I have knelt before the toilet whispering
please someone anyone
when it was too early in the morning for anyone to hear.

I have emptied the medicine cabinet of its promising contents
to find that nothing but
nothing
waited for me on the other side of ignorance.

Pain;
and it rains lightly on Tuesday evenings.

Somewhere behind the doorjamb is a flute
being played by a breeze
through the window you left open.

The note you will never write is tickled by the wind
and a thousand sunsets later--
I do not forget you.
Never give up.
 Jan 2013 Kevin Miller
Kiley ryan
feeling grounded eludes me
the world is a dark room,
with its feelings of uncertainty
an absence of clarity
perpetually unsure
a mental fog that never lifts
a drug you dont come down from
a head in the clouds

this world i live in is a new one
terrifying, and strange
I am 21, cracked my skull on the road and have scars in a few different parts of my brain, and this is me trying to express what it is like while my brain in changing.
 Oct 2012 Kevin Miller
J
Safe Haven
 Oct 2012 Kevin Miller
J
The doors shut, cold echoes
No more warm bed, and no longer home

To journey through groves and streams and beaches
Now not to be alone

Test, a test, a test
Here to find rest for
all the comers, leavers, stayers, goers
For the ****** and the divine

A warm fire, a sip of wine
This all, it shines so bright
Warm light in a dark world...
Another day’s sun
weighing us down;
an exquisite appeal,
sleepy and more real
than the days spent
doing anything but.

A dusk we trust,
tuning common love rust;
a reversal of iron and alloys
corroding,
as such things are wont to do,
from time to time,
through rhyme and rhyme.

Hard hours bled on the clock
for the payoff at the end;
a check stub spun as a rerun,
adding to numbers
we can no longer count to.

Fingers bled and rough
as our nerves are tough;
beaten yet not defeated;

a massage of purposed hands
can cure even a dead man.

A reminder at the bottom
of the porch steps,
where hair rests against
a perspired chest;

caresses restless
within autumn whispers;

it’s the good life.

Reliance on silence;
our day went just fine,
now that the sun is down,
and you are around,
and everything is in
its right place
again—
and evermore.

It’s the good life,
the one on porch steps
painted by imprints
of time;

a scrapbook full
of memories
yet to occur;

the only life
that doesn’t seem forced
to call a life.
let the light fade away
I don’t care if I don’t see the day
Because there’s not turning back
Into infinite black
Your eyes will adjust
Once you learn to trust
Until then
Try to at least pretend
© Roxanne Pepin 2010
Sound can only stretch so far,
And you can only lie awake for so long,
Before you are revealed,
Completely vulnerable.

You, your sheets, and the threads that make them
hold steady eyes upon their shadows.

But in the dark... what can they see?
 Jul 2010 Kevin Miller
DJ Thomas
Intolerant feet of clay
shout out “Not Him!“
echoing, ignored

Life’s cathartic poetry
now mediates extrovert ideas
and introvert intuitions

Past’s flicker of persona masks
solicit with anima driven darker roles
remote and mysterious - not nice

Real now, not reflecting her animus
all becomes stilled and naked, to seek
that physical and spiritual soul mate

Jung’s bucket plumbs the black well
awash from hidden depths of creativity
and kindred ghost’s of spirituality

Change is loss then change - feeds
thy growth’s capacity for understanding
socket of creativity and enlightenment

Life’s tutored process of intelligence
responds elegantly to image and symbol
as a morality conducts the minds music

Babbling on to sip from the well
gains tested may then help others

Ghost glimpsed not genius or mad
spirituality and love held close**


.
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010

Anima and animus as in Carl Jung's school of analytical psychology, are the two primary anthropomorphic archetypes of the unconscious mind, . The anima and animus are described by Jung as elements of his theory of the collective unconscious, a domain of the unconscious that transcends the personal psyche. In the unconscious of the male, it finds expression as a feminine inner personality: anima; equivalently, in the unconscious of the female, it is expressed as a masculine  inner personality: animus.

It can be identified as the totality of the unconscious feminine psychological qualities that a male possesses; or the masculine ones possessed by the female. The anima is an archetype of the collective unconscious and not an aggregate of a man's mother, sisters, aunts, and teachers though these aspects of the personal unconscious can 'influence for good or ill' the person.

Because sensitivity is often repressed, the anima is one of the most significant autonomous complexes of all. It manifests itself by appearing as figures in dreams as well as by influencing a man's interactions with women and his attitudes toward them, and vice versa for females and the animus. Jung said that confronting one's shadow self is an "apprentice-piece," while confronting one's fears is the masterpiece. Jung viewed the anima process as being one of the sources of creative ability - Wikipedia
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