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 Jul 2014 Patrick Kokos
Zaynub
i started sleeping when i met you
*tell me a love story*
 May 2014 Patrick Kokos
NV
And I sort of fell in love with plastic cups.
The ability to fall, and never break apart.
Because, as for me.
I'm just a glass positioned a little to close to the edge of the table.
***
The most awkward five minutes of my life.
Da dana da da dana da,
Da dana da da da;
Dana da ddana da,
Da dana da dada.
The days I fall hardest,
Are the ones kindest,
And were I to surrender,
Then all go assunder.
Where all the boyish men go,
That place of awesome magic,
Where they refuse to grow,
And time doth not tick.
monsters call to themselves
and breezes eat the stones
a blue moon
sheds the underworld
of thought and time
it wallows in a pink sea
where out of the depths
his words like blown
cherry blossoms come
and a little bird finds
his pool of dreams
the birthing pool of ideas
then she is gone
flying under a soft
Columbian sky
growing hope, after him
whose creations and distractions
are the processes
that are necessary to show
the true feelings
hidden beneath the surface of things
where there is an endless combat
a struggle between darkness and light
the emotional duality of life
between that which is
and that which
has already been
for this is a place of images
images built upon images
constructed upon layers
and layers of so much paint
and you ask yourself ( without much insistence)
is there hope between a stone
and in this brief moment of asking
you give a lifetime
In memory of Gabriel García Márquez
wandering
across
the splinters of
squandered
seasons
the Hajj
of the
lost ones
completes
a broken
circle

returning
with hope to
burrow back
into the safety
of desecrated
graveyards

welcomed
home to the
embrace of a
cadaverous cloak
and the kiss
of carrion
smudged lips,
Hajji's eye
the decrepit
visage of
criminal
depravity

germination
of this
Arab Spring
mocks us

aromas
of jasmine
elude us

emulsified
concrete
clogs our
nostrils

burning eyes
filled with
asbestos dust
form
grateful
blinders
to the
ruination
of reason
betrayed

arcane
remnants
of our life
lay inert
in the open
****** of
fractured
habitations

amidst
jumbled rubble
the decaying
carcasses of
razed buildings
boast grotesque
sculptures of
twisted rebar
cradling artifacts
of a past life

pink
hair curlers
splashed
with sickly
blood grown
mold

scavenged
bicycles
limp on
banished
parts

smashed
skulls of
dolls weep,
her
dismembered
limb reaches
for a lost child’s
nursing
hand

the charred
remains of a
Persian rug
maps the
scale
of a city’s
deconstruction
and a frayed
regions
disconsolation

electric luxury
flowing water
the friendly bustle
of the street
bespeak
expired memories
foretelling an
unimaginal future

sectarian strife
enforces  a communal
solitary confinement

in cold blood
we willingly
murdered
compassion

we
butchered
trust

we
euthanized
our
common
humanity

constructing
buildings is
easy

rebuilding
ourselves
impossible

Music Selection:
Segovia, Capricho Arabe

Oakland
5/13/14
jbm
please also see on Hello Poetry:
Homage to Homs
Leaving Homs
Maryam of Homs
Watching Homs
Wheres Rumi?
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