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 Jun 2013 Neurotica
spysgrandson
I cannot escape you  
your voices haunt me
in the quiet of summer mornings  
when I expect only the sound
of gentle breezes through my ash, my oak  
when I would, if I could, close my eyes
and enter the world, of forgetting  
your dirges call forth
the delirious dances of the dead  
those slain in the summer fields, of my youth  
without your mourning song  
to honor their passing  
without the  praying  processions,
the grandiloquent eulogies,
they had
only the sizzling silence
after the staccato storm
of our rapid rifle fire  
until now, when I thought
my guilt was assuaged  
until I listened,  and
heard your doleful cries
 Jun 2013 Neurotica
wolf mother
the season you lost your innocence it rained exceptionally hard
and all the kindergarteners that would come over to sing and swing and chant in the yard
started to frown in your direction
or half-smile with a cloudy membrane sheltering their eyes to you, or so it seemed

and people would walk their dogs with a tighter leash, afraid that they could smell
your ruin

ing body, plastered in a cold, hardened defeat...uneasy sweat

and you took off that child-like headband you'd been wearing for months on end
a little worn now, that terrible periwinkle satin and lace

too Lo Li Ta for liking
now that you finally knew what it was like to be a ******* in the lion's den
 Jun 2013 Neurotica
John
Ayn Rand
 Jun 2013 Neurotica
John
I am a being
My own self
I
Myself
Am
Being
Who I am
Who I be
Dusty paths, ***** roads, choices
Choices
Choices
I've known no guilt
I've felt no pain
Progress sometimes becomes
Disturbed
But my rivers
Still flow
My waters
Still fall
My rain
Still pats your roofs
Your head
Under your feet
You don't know that you
Know it
But you feel it
Your body knows it
Your heart beats to it
To the sound
Of my own
Feet
My own
Heart
In synch
With what you aren't yet ready
To admit
To notice
To be true to youself, concerning
The questions
The words
The thoughts
It isn't
Who will let me?
But it is
*Who is going to stop me now?
 Jan 2013 Neurotica
John
Love is intoxicating
In that
In it
One sees no
Negative
 Jan 2013 Neurotica
CharlesC
Enough
 Jan 2013 Neurotica
CharlesC
is an edge
a border line
north of the line
find spare scarcity  
abundance resides south..
a life fulfilled is
a precarious walk
on that edge..
our stumbling arises
when this line
becomes smudged
south appears north
north seems south..
when bearings are lost
we have forgotten
abundance and scarcity
are siamese twins..
one is by
the other defined..
both are needed
to ply our way
survive on the edge..
to find again and
in each moment
the illusive
Enough...
 Dec 2012 Neurotica
John
The paths of
Glory
Are lined
In doubt
And
Hesitation
Tease me with your words.

Let.
       Each.  
                 Syllable
       Fly.
Free.

And when you drift
away,
I hope this happiness exists,
that you find
to be beyond
your fingertips.

You put the L
in Lust,
and the Loss
in Love.

But let me not forget
my own imperfections.
When you force yourself
to smile all of the time,
you ready yourself available
to restrooms.

Who am I to say what your smiles mean?
Just as I would not expect you to know mine.

The quirks and the relevancy of
daily life
cloud the fact
that progression
is essential,
and that the need for development
is the reason for closure
and travel.

Emotional baggage is only
goodbyes that aren't finished.
And sometimes they will never
be salvaged; relationships are like that.
But it's important to remember
who you explained a few
smiles to.
New,
without you,
once lost,
once blue,
I learned how to commit;
let me elaborate:

Words reliably true

Paradoxical in every sense,
because leaving is not facing
a problem, as problems
seem to be everlasting;
however, commitment works
in both ways.
Committing to solitude
is held with less regard
the same way
the kernels in a popcorn bag
are thrown away,
the same as the ends of a loaf,
and broth of a soup,
and sometimes it is
missing the sun for a day's time.

But it will be there again.
It will be found again.
I don't like the fit of my pants, I think. She is wearing a black dress. Probable that it is her favorite. She often mentions her closet, her designer clothes, but they go unnoticed. She owns many, but this particular dress she wears more frequently.
She is in a good mood.
Her life is falling apart.

Where to next, she thought.

What is this now, I think.

We are sitting at a restaurant downtown. I order my second beer. Our waitress leaves us to our thoughts. I sip my beer and wait for her to speak. She takes a sip of her water. I can see that she is tapped out.

Drained.

Purity is filtered.

I rest my hand on top of hers. She keeps her eyes on her glass. The past month she has not made eye contact when I touch her. She keeps her eyes closed when we have ***. It would be silly of her to close her eyes and picture me while we ****, but a man can dream, right? I remove my hand. I sip my beer and wait for her to speak. She takes a sip of her water.

"Are your eyes open when you **** him?" I ask.

She does not falter. She orders a gin and tonic. Our waitress leaves us to our thoughts.
I sip my beer and wait for her answer.
I am not in love, I tell myself. Faint words
do not reverberate, however, I know
that I am very good at fooling myself.
I should feel the vibration,
or so they say.

I am not in love.

Scribbled words running off
loose leaf.
Words left in the margins,
underneath the dotted line.
No Strings Attached
Or so they say.

I am not in love.

My hand on
the small of your back.
The taste of cold.
Wind blows headlines down
the sidewalk.
Adjusting coats and
gloves.
Skin remained covered,
to prevent frostbite,
or so they say.

How much prose
can relinquish this fire,
this intensity, which coincides
with disillusion?
When does an act of grace
become an act of convenience?

I am not in love.

Every once in awhile you find yourself at a crossroad,
or you feel like you've reached a dead end.
Life is hard to handle sometimes, and so are the relationships we hold.
It's very confusing.
Especially when it is between two people of the opposite ***.
The easiest way to explain this,
is that
it is not easy for most people to let themselves be vulnerable.
We all face so many hurdles in life,
trying to attain this goal that is (sometimes) unattainable.
Not all of our dreams will come true.
But that doesn't mean we should lose sight
or become discouraged.

Or so they say.

That is why we are human.
We are willing to make these decisions
and prepare to accept the consequences in doing so.
We don't allow ourselves to take breaks, simply because life does not stop.
We push forward. We strive. Although, sometimes life catches up to us.

We become irritable.
We become confused.
We become tired.

My life: far too much scrutiny.
In the end, I put too much thought into something
that changes my perspective.
Usually a distorted one.
That is why shutting down in a neurotic state is accepted.
A cool down period,
when all the while we know another meltdown is around the corner.

I am not in love.

Ideally, words should have the same
encompassing power.
But seeing as how I can not
determine what works well
for me, I have conditioned
myself to being adaptable.
No rhyme or reason,
will ease the pain
that seems to follow
your name.
And that is why
I repeat faint words.

I am not in love.
She never was.
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