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 Apr 2016 Mona
Tana Marie B
Each step aches
Pushing through mud like molasses
Just to get where I'm going
Just a breath
A moment of reprieve
But this, this is pain's space and time
Not mine
Days feel like months
My temple crumbling around me
Wavering and frail, even the wind shakes me
This is pain's time, not mine
The more I fight, the worse I feel
So I lay down my angry heart
In defeat, I have failed.
4/9/16
 Apr 2016 Mona
MRQUIPTY
smudge
 Apr 2016 Mona
MRQUIPTY
caught you
in the sky today
a smudge of mirror

I am lit by munlight
stretching to length of gallows
under faint light of moon.
the dead buries the living.

a thing is not a thing in itself
as it denotes nothing.
like a peripatetic iamb inscribed

persisting in drivel. flowers her face
this evening. pillars her arms,
  i do not have a wife.

i do not have a love undressed
as i examine a pool of shadow
in the plenary recess of silence.

the dead buries the living
within the blue-headed noon;
fascist birds bellow over haciendas,

tuba from the dustwell, from the orchard
decorated with blood. it rings for me
a guttural voice: hustling down

the avenue of the dead. better the alternative,
the guillotine, the small beginning of rage
through the thickness of air.

a marauder sleuths as the living keep
on keeping on, as the dead resign
 a hindrance under dissonant skies.

she is not with me as all the others are.
they have passed on expired limitations;
a flash of lighting at the back

of startled hills. rivers shake cool waters
 down my sleeve and i sleep -- soon fields
will be nasal with dew and the children

will have their place in heaven. the damp
landscape will adhere to stucco, fashioned
to cerements on corpses reeking, rising

to altitudes where some birds
in spring soar, left thriving in smog
as i bid you good night, farewell.
 Apr 2016 Mona
Michael Blonski
Whatever happened to the boy
who dreamed?
The master architect of worlds
rarely visited.
Fragmented artifacts are discovered,
sieved out of the sand.
The body as whole remains incomplete

A lonely man singing along
with his guitar of woe
Sing to me your story,
tell me what brought you here
Failure to dream or overwhelmed
by choice?

I've heard of the living
I know of the afterlife
The walls between you and me
are physical
Follow the paths forged by the few
Liberate your passions
I see you in me.
 Apr 2016 Mona
JC Lucas
I've tried portaiture,
but for some old reason
I find it hard
to eulogize the living.

And when I do try,
the details just never seem
to fit right,
it's too much
or not enough
or just plain inaccurate,
from a few steps back.

I'll paint your actions, alright
'cause I can watch those happen
start to finish,
but I wouldn't pretend to be good enough
to encapsulate a whole person
-all that transient multicolor light under your halo-
with my petty vain jabber,
my incomplete vocabulary
of unflattering grunts-

take it as a compliment.
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