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She tries to knit.

Her mother
showed her how
times over time.

Tapping the knuckles
if she got it wrong.

Drops a stitch.

Puts down the knitting
on the school desk.

Angela her friend says:
Never got it myself;
all fingers and thumbs.

Yochana rubs her knuckles.

That Benny boy
is looking at you?
Angela says.

Is he?
Yochana says.

She daren't look.

Blush.

Feels it coming
at the mere thought.

She picks up
the knitting again
and begins to knit
(of sorts).

Still looking.
What's he looking for?
His friend's gazing too.
Couple of loons,
Angela says.
Don't bother with them.

Drops a stitch.

All fingers and thumbs.

Blushes, thinks of him
and that kiss.

Cheek ward.

Suddenly there
he was that day.

Kissed.

Now and forever
still there
the memory of.

She glances over
her shoulder.

He smiles
and mouths a kiss.

She looks away.

The blown kiss
runs down the back
of her neck,
she can sense it there,
damp, warm,
a light running feel
(between thighs)
a mild inner storm.
A GIRL A KISS AND A BOY IN 1962.
Burdened by obligation
words painted with emotion
Defy the fragile fear
Now, show no tear

Resurrect the darkest soul
deafened silent screams
by countless promises
that is not truthfully spoken
THIS TREE WITH MAGIC
GOLDEN LEAVES
IT'S THE SOLE WITHNESS
OF WHAT HAPPENED LAST FALL,
BETWEEN YOU AND I.

I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU HERE
ONE LAST TIME....
10/2014
Yesterday, today, and then
every other day!
These are the days of the week 
that somehow counts for me.

During these hopeful days
the week goes by quick
as a snow slide,
and frozen tears of ice
through the corners of my eye
in my locked up window...

These days goes by through the front glass of my car,
fogging my way & my whole vision.

Yesterday, today, and every other day
the newspaper arrives at my doorsteps, rain or shine. St. Pete Times or USA Today, 
are left outside for me, soaking wet 
and tintilating,cold, and moody,
with only sad news to offer me...

Nothing seem sadder to me
that a cold and rainy humid winter,
without dirt snowangels,
half melted and salt spread all over it.

Salt bring bad luck. I was told. No. Nothing is sadder
than a rainy winter day
when its snow is no longer white
but a dark shade of gray
like the disarrayed fur 
on a grayish and old 
fake mink coat...

The snow is not hard as rock, is soft like melted sugar in my warm coffee cup.
Yesterday, today, and every other day
I lit a smoke, that I promised to quit yrs. ago.
And I watch through my window
this melting snow, 
dressing the cars in white, the departing airplanes
humming loudly outside, and the lonely, but wild, and crazy 
laughing gulls singing
mindless of everything that's going on around. Laughing loud at my boring days; Today, yesterday, and every other day...
I can't give you all of me
I can't give you the part you want either
I can only give a bare minimum
And that's not worth anything
So I would rather have you hate me after loving me so that when I'm gone it's easier for you to get over me
*Or I would rather have you not fall in love with me at all
;-;
Love
seems to be
the cure
for my suffering;
My anxiety and sadness.
Even if it's brief
or last long extenuating exhausting
hours.
The best hours
can spend in bed
Besides sleep.

Alcohol
It's a light in the dark.
A serum of energy.
A light mixed with darkness.
Or the opposite of darkness.
My choice over water.

****
The famous Mary
The cure to all pain & suffering
These days.
His regular old Camel mixed with ****
It goes hand in hand with love, alcohol & ***.

It is said to relax and take away
Excruciating Pain or any illness,
internaly and externally, intentionally or not.
It heals your soul.
Hide your scars
and numbs your mind
Giving  you new hopes in life
envolved in it's mystical phsycodelic fog.
Maybe that's a different drug.
But **** should be legal and a medicine to trust.

Love, Alcohol, & ***;
It seems be the magical pill
For this matrix type of world.
For this life I live in.
But like all,
There's always a price to pay.
Love, Alchol, & ****
is something you should never trust.
I am in favor of Marihuana for medicinal purpose not for recreational use. I do not use it. This is just a poem. So don't judge.
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