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 May 2016 Montana
Ronald D Lanor
under a
moonsea of
glass whispers

her shadow song
beams a
reticent smile

adorned in
the natal gown
of ancient
thread

her
silk bells
croon

beneath a
midnight ballet

in silver
lilt
 May 2016 Montana
Skylar Bouchard
Puddles form to mirror the very sky that they fell from,
The sharp talons of the trees explode with colour,
After being cleansed with the kiss of spring rain,
The fragrance of resurgence is pushed to and fro,
Warm southern wind came thousands of miles to cool your face.
Reborn, wet, and in bloom.
Nature demands growth.
...I am dry but for the hole in my shoe.
Written by Skylar Bouchard. All Rights Reserved.
 May 2016 Montana
Skylar Bouchard
Pastels and pretty pictures,
I lean back in the couch,
The elephant in the room,
She'll never know about,
How the critics wail over the way the paint falls off her brush.

I would rather drop-dead,
Than ever talk about
That night back in 07'
Teeth flying out my mouth,
But I think you would've liked me better then anyhow,

                                                        ­                      I'm curious...

                                                     ­   I'm curious...

                                                     ­                      ...I'm curious....
                              ..Cause
                                           I
                                              just
            ­                                         wanna
                                                           ­       see
                                                      ­                  what
                                          ­                                       makes
                                                           ­                                  you
                                                             ­                                        tick  



Each year he writes a note
and leaves it in his room,
Key lime pie, Saturdays at the zoo,
Reminiscing flashbacks of better fast food,

Dead the day,
He scurries home in the dead of night,
Dragging his will, whats left, shaking off the frostbite,
Volunteers to play drunken clown for another night,


I think of their eyes and everything that they've seen,
Nothing that I see could ever be unique,
So don't you lie and say you see it shining in me.


                                                              ­                I'm curious...

                                                     ­   I'm curious...

                                                     ­                      ...I'm curious....
                              ..Cause
                                           I
                                              just
            ­                                         wanna
                                                           ­       see
                                                      ­                  what
                                          ­                                       makes
                                                           ­                                  you
                                                             ­                                        **tick
Written by Skylar Bouchard. All Rights Reserved.
 Apr 2016 Montana
Ronald D Lanor
wry smile
of a vestige moon

stirs a daisy
meadow

watercolor dreams

upon
a wind-soaked
hymn
 Apr 2016 Montana
Ronald D Lanor
stringed notes
of a river's breeze

prelude
in afternoon cadence

the wind's
wine stained lips

chant a tune
of lover's
lust

and dance

to a seraph's
song
 Apr 2016 Montana
Ronald D Lanor
quiet warmth
of a crocus smile

blooming
birthstone

a fragile
sigh

in winter's
wake
 Apr 2016 Montana
Ronald D Lanor
twilight yawn
of amethyst

robed
lunar veil

in a
whispering
valley

of midnight
bloom
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