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  Mar 2016 Little Bird
David N Juboor
My mom
Tells me I'm a gift.

She says love
Is what keeps the atoms
In you and I
Is the moment
She caught my
Father's eye
Is the day
My grandfather died
With a candy kiss on his cheek
She had never tasted something so sweet.

When we were little
We played kickball,
The ground is lava
And hide-and-go-seek.
As I grew I knew most days,
It was harder to find myself;
Let alone somebody else.

And I have been around
Enough center city playgrounds
To see the rich
Pump every bit of spare change
In their veins fighting
A cancer that they
Never learned to put in their past.
To see the poor
Wage wars with themselves
Trying to pick up
Way too much,
Way too fast;

Nobody really knows how to make love last.

So put your prism your heart
Beneath the moonlight.
Refract the wavelengths
Of your wonders
Into ROYGB-eautiful like the sea,
It took a lot of jellyfish to let
people see through me.

And even more mirrors
To find a place I was comfortable
Praying in.

Fraying in doorways
Where I learned hope,
Is looking both ways
On a one way street
Cause it can be so easy to thank God
While you still have bread to eat.

I have never prayed
So hard for a healthy meal
Than the days I remember
The heart is a muscle;
And sometimes the only
Thing we need
Is to "work it out."

And I know that some days,
My doubt hangs my
Smile like Jesus Christ
I never quite learned
How to bleed right.

But if there's one thing
I found from cleaning
The crosses out of the
Empty hallway of my character
Is that you haven't experienced loss
Until you've held two outstretched arms
For years waiting for your innocence to come back.
Nothing, weighs more than the guilt of your past
And nothing throws punches
Faster than the ghost of who you used to be.

And I know it's hard
To stop looking for yourself
Under every bed you
Left nightmares in
And I know it's hard
To be comfortable
In your own skin

But sometimes bars
Aren’t the only thing
That builds a cage
And sometimes
The only way to live
With yourself
Is to stop digging
Your own grave.

You can spend years
Listening to morticians
And never get grounded.
Surrounded by the
Square roots we all share,
By the same air,
We've all got to learn to let go.

To learn that
Holding your breath
Has never been how
Living things
Learn to
"We're all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we're going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't"
  Mar 2016 Little Bird
JK Cabresos

They hate us,
when they also talk
about destinies.
People are fond
of breaking hearts
then fixing it.

We will build castle
out of the bricks
they threw at us.
Love is beyond
any beautiful scenery
in the world.

Never let go
of the things
for the unknown.
They have hatred,
we have love;
we are love.
Copyright © 2016
You’re your own idea
written in blood and electricity.
You’re Pulcinella. You’re judy.
You’re someone else’s description
of light
imagined alive.
You’re temporary.
You’re the dream in a Jivaro head.
There’s the ceiling of a skull
just above your clouds
and even further out
there's another.
You’re pock-marked, wood-wormed
with thoughts,
that you’ve been taught
on you, like tattoos
and shared birthmarks.

You’re picture-framed
in my eye sockets
flipped and made
and only some of you
like the sun
below the surface of the sea.
You’re me
and i’m you
swirling in each other’s boundaries
like the Tao and oily water
and the point between the colours in rainbows.
You’re infinite to mayflies.
You’re an explosion’s leftovers.
You died last time I saw you
and reformed in the doorframe
when I came around again.
You’re the world’s re-used love letter
from ****** to organised organism
incubated in original sin
the kiln
making Russian dolls from living things.
You’re the seed of a ghost.
You only existed since this morning
and yesterday’s you woke up
and is now out haunting.
You’re both here, and there, and here
a string vibrating
a seismograph
a tree ring
Earth’s music
and playing
and playing.
All the things I know about people I don't know.
Little Bird Mar 2016
can you hear my silence?
the gentle swishing
each drop makes?

can you feel my numbness?
the burn of novocaine
in my veins?
Little Bird Mar 2016
to feel; to feel nothing
to feel: that would be nice.
to feel a feeling of more than
Little Bird Mar 2016
I am a tin can.
The most average tin can
Your eyes did ever see.
But leave me in the sun
and, baby, I'll glow
You better believe
I'll be 1E10K

Some more about me,
Because honey,
You should know:
I'm curvy
Easily grippable
The perfect size
For your hands
To wander in so tight
To find..
I'm not tin,
I'm soup.
And baby,
I spill easily
If you hold me upsidedown
Like that.
I dent easily
When you press me
Like that.
And baby,
I grow cold
When you forget
I'm soup
And I need a heat source
To taste right.

No one likes cold soup.

But when I'm hot
I'm sure if I asked
You would eat me all day.

Mmm baby,
Its so bittersweet
That a can could love the sun.
Your dawn
Captivated me
Intrigued me
As much more welcoming
Than the microwave.
And honey,
When you lay your head
Just above the horizon,
Illuminating every white flower
With your breathtaking red-orange haze
You are the most beautiful thing
I've ever seen
And I am the luckiest can
In the whole **** world
And I try to pinch myself
But I don't have arms.
I wish I did.
Because the way
You, so quickly,
Drop below the horizon
Vanish from my sight
Leave me warm for a moment
Until the cold seeps in
Makes me wonder
If maybe I'd be better off
With the stability of
A microwave.

— The End —