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 Jun 2013 Musings123
AJ
Today I bought some cheap press powder
That makes my face smell like cinnamon and old people.
It was fifty percent off and I could not hold myself back.
I cashed another pay check today,
Money money money money.
Everyone is really annoying.
I liked it better when my worlds were separate.
They have all collided as of right now.
I just want everyone to unacquaint themselves,
And/or go **** themselves.
Because I cannot spare my feelings,
As well as all of yours
At the same time.
Tonight I went to Olive Garden,
I did not finish my mushroom ravioli.
Oh well.
Just another day in the life of a non-super hero.
 Jun 2013 Musings123
Beaux
What a lovely heart you have inside
Beating so happy and free
What a shame it'd be to stomp it out
And leave you with an empty beat
And oh how I'll laugh as I watch you cry
Then whither up bitter and die
I'll tell my friends how crazy you are
Even though it's all a lie
I'll dance on your grave
Where you're buried alone
Then marry your ****** old ex
I'll make her a sinner and even more bitter
Bitter than all of the rest
So bring on the night
You're looking at me
Thinking that I am so sweet
Remember my dear
Just cause I'm queer
Doesn't mean you can use me.
 Jun 2013 Musings123
brooke
brief instances when
hands meet and you
would very much like
to linger.
(c) Brooke Otto
 Jun 2013 Musings123
Nat Lipstadt
Dedicated to you.
Fair Warning: a long road ahead*

MAJOR WARNING: Anything you say can and will be used...


Excited utterances,
Acerbic witticisms,
Utter stupidities,
Elegant inanities,
Can and assuredly will be used
Evidentially, eventually,
about you in the court of poetic justice,
as inspiration, original source material,
proofs of our collaboration
with the enemy,
whom Pogo fathomed long ago,
is us

A Vermeer-vectored light ray
will reveal with luminous clarity,
all that you have spoken,
been secret-thinking,
template of colors for future sketchers,
inspiration for future poets,
far, far better than me

this dishonorable, low repute,
poetic eavesdropper, poet-as-recorder:
revels in the smoke and ash of
absurd, common sensible trash,
the trite and tragic,
the pith and prissy,
the calm and hissy,
all your lovely revelations
of human frailty and asininity, most
adorable

that you n' I are blessed
to have combinated
in a manner most
curiously original,
now recorded in my
digital memory,
proving positive the unique,
discreet charms de notre
humanity

Even your silences are
most curious fodder,  
the sighs you sigh so hard
and yet again, even harder,
unfair game, mined as
veins of golden material
for my aquatic scribblings,
as I float downriver on
currents of compulsion
to promote vicariously,
our joint disjointedness,
our grade A, prime choice,
recombinant genetic,
absurdities

Rembrandt will honor us,
we, the Comedic Elders of the City,
paint us upright avec expressions
most suitably gravitas,
but see the poetic jester,
find him underneath the table,
in manner most levitas,
out-sticking his protubered tongue,
like a common geni-***,
a la maniere de
Einsteiny

When I cross over the Styx,
limbs turned to
potash, dust and trash,
my blush transferred to earth,
to color the good earth red,
my body eradicated yet,
our body of work extant
a written record of us,
our very own
Dead See Scrolls,
shall be an amuse bouche
for our loyal satrapped
retainers

Let the scholars
dicker and obfusicate,
delve and explicate,
each turn of phrase,
write tomes on the catacombs,
where in jar and cracked vessel discarded,
these Poems and Catechisms,
the collected processes of our mutualism,
your edicts, pronouncements and verdicts
captured as
dots and dashes,
zeroes and ones,
wait most patiently
for shepard boys to find  

You err most grievously,
if you relegate this note
to the dustbin of simple ditties.

Take these words at plain face,
and look not askance
at this fair warning,
for I am but a tragic,
empty vessel for you to fill,
you are the raconteur,
me, just a  
poet *poseur
extraordinaire,
street urchin, word merchant,
all my verbally, wordly goods expropriated
from the wind,  where your scattered thoughts
lie about, carelessly,
unattended

Mock me not,
for anything you say to our chagrin,
will be fully attributed
and recorded on the Web
of long-lived embarrassments

A fevered dream you might say,
rumors and excuses of
visions of drug induced haze?
a theorem most plausible,
but the redacted versions will not conceal
that all my words were Indo-rooted in
a dialect called,
collaborative

This I pen
as apology, thank you note,
written notice, subpoena served,
for as long as you emote,
my fingertips will gleefully record
with love abundant in their artful device,
your mutterings, putterings,
and in cahooting,
right here, shall be,
wrought and wrote,
treasured and kept
Anything you say can and will be used...to express our community

Written June12011
 Jun 2013 Musings123
-
Weakness
 Jun 2013 Musings123
-
You could take everything away
But I'd still remain
You could lie, cheat
Drag me down
Until I'm on my knees
But next to you
I'd still be

I don't understand
How I can love such a bad man
Falling in love wasn't a part of my plan
All I wanted was to feel again
But you gave me more
And I fell deeper
Score after score
And then when you left
My tears tasted bitter

Felt like my heart surrendered
To my careless mind
And lovesick brain
I'm going insane

Love is not what I wanted
But it is what I got
And now I'm crying
As I can't forget it

I can't forget you
Or the feelings I had
No matter what I do
My heart will always
Stay in love with you

Feels like I'm handcuffed
With the handcuffs of love
I feel so helpless
You're a weakness
© Natali Veronica 2013.
Darling dear, your face is what I see
before I fall asleep
Darling dear, your face is what I see
when I wake.
I protest to thee
I am not in love
merely bored and your lips were the last I taste
Believe me darling dear,
I don't want you
just your touch
your hand on my thigh
stating "she is mine! Not yours!"
But I am not yours
I just like the color of your lips
and the way you bite your lower lip
before you grab my neck to kiss me.
Darling dear this is lust.
I hope it is that much
anyways.
Jeg søger
søgte
søger stadig
efter brikker
pusler spil
spiller
med brikkerne
til de samles
jeg samler dem
i et spil
og jeg spiller det
spiller levende
spillevende
og lever i de spil
som jeg finder
i haven
for jeg har en have
og haven har et træ
jeg har et træ
der bærer æbler
somme tider
sidste år bar det ingen
ingenting
men tingene kom
kom ud af luften
blev luftet
luftet ud
med sproget
sproget sprang ud
og det blomstrede
pludselig
og puslede
raslede og voksede
og skabte
sproget skabte
gennem mig
jeg skabte mig
og sproget
i haven
og udenfor
men mest indeni
så jeg nu søger
forsøger
at finde
***
mellemrum
imellem ***
og ord
for billeder
forbilleder
uden for mig
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