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 Nov 2013 L Gardener
Dieter Muniz
I fell down
when you said,
"drop dead"
and didn't make a sound.
 Nov 2013 L Gardener
Dieter Muniz
I craft mirrors that face mirrors.

I can do this handmade

with glass-shard scissors,

and symmetrical blades,

to point out your imperfections.

So you’ll launch vanity crusades

against your infinite reflections.

and look into that mirrored-mirror war

and see my reflection weapon expel

endless seas of endless gore

into an infinite mirrored hell.
 Nov 2013 L Gardener
Dieter Muniz
I was born with eyes glued to broken frames.
I can peer through hindsight,
but I only see twenty-twenty facades
But this is the way I find the games
that can make the head and heart unite.
They always have fifty-fifty odds.
So I gamble my repentance claims
against my heart’s diseased knights
and my mind’s fried firing squads,
and I lost all my penance, forgot all their names.
I fumble my tongue to please my brain. To ensue the passion of hilarity for others through the shame I lack.

If you write, you write wrong. No, sorry, you write incorrectly... No still not the right writing.

The grammar you possess is lacking enthusiasm in construction and production.

You fumble words in a loose platonic, exploitive passion of hilted disappointment.

Grammar and creation grow as production does. One-to-one the tower grows on an even playing field of iron I-beams and the office on aluminum T shaped cubical walls.

I apologize profusely if this has been difficult to process. Let us consider this a difficult simulation of your current level on sentence structure, and comprehensive understanding.
Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"

This is what we ask, and wait for...

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.

All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.

Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.

Good morning.
You left for the summer, didn't come back in fall
I don't know if your words were true
I'm trashing your memory and burning all
Of the things that remind me of you

I'm bored and alone, got no one to call
This house holds nothing to do
So I'm moving along and burning all
Of the things that remind me of you

Breaking a heart's not considered a crime
If it was, I would probably sue
I'd get an attorney and he'd help me burn
All the things that remind me of you


You say you'd prefer
We don't stay in touch
I figured that someday
You'd figure as much

Off to better times
Without a bitter end
I still can't comprehend
Why you won't be my friend

We never went camping or conquered the world
Seems that all of our plans fell through
Now I'm kicking the flames, choking on ashes
Of things that remind me of you.
They went up in a flash, now I'm choking on ashes
Of things that remind me of you.
Separated
Alone in the dark
Hope?
A dying flame
Sanity and reality
Falling apart
Nightmares
Wild, untame
I'm just a player
In life's sick game

Breaking
Sinking
Finally floating
Floating with the pain
Swimming through fear
Drinking in tears
Consumed with notions
Of impossible possibilities
Never to be imagined again

The darkness is the key
To doors of insanity
Light?
The broken lock
 Nov 2013 L Gardener
Taigu Ryokan
The Three Thousand Worlds
that step forward
with the light snow,
and the light snow that falls
in those Three Thousand Worlds
 Nov 2013 L Gardener
Jaycee Lynn
Do you ever look up at the sky and fear for your life?
Fear for the heart that thrives inside you?
The same heart that throbs like a newly drilled cavity,
and flutters in sync with your stomach while boarding cloud nine,
do you fear it will stop?

Do you fear for your voice?
The unique song that plays through your teeth,
the one noise that stands strong above the thunder.
Do you fear it will fall silent?

Do you fear for your body?
Your growing flesh and breathing soul?
Or do you sit and wish all three were up above,
wound up in a cloud?

I do fear for our beating hearts
which will grow old and ache with every night that turns,
and our voice that shall fall off key
with every day that shines.
But, if we are to rot,
with our slowly wrinkling souls and decaying skin,
we will no doubt do it together, therefore,
I shall not fear at all, but prepare for the days to come.
For when I look up at the sky, I do not wish to be apart of it,
but to remain beneath in happiness,
suffering with you.
Hot sun is blistering my shoulders
My dripping sweat stings the exposed mounds
Each breath burns my lungs
My feet are pulsing cinderblocks


She waves at me,
waves away the pain--
a wave of relief
sweeps me off my feet.
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