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 Nov 2013 peachy
Annie
Alien encounters
abducted by my own frontal lobe
sand dripping down my toes like those
sandcastles I used to make at the beach
as a kid with peach fuzz dunes and
flower petal skies I want my
orange bathing suit sewed to my skin and
my finger nails cut too short so it
stings when I waltz on surfaces made
of wood or steel or linoleum
like those victorian queen polka days
when we used to lay on the kitchen floor sunlight
vomiting onto our faces and we laughed anyway
I want your mustache forests and I want to believe in them
and you told me I ran so fast I don't know why I slowed down
there are 6 easter eggs hiding in the garden but
one
has a slug on its shell and when you pick up
the tie dyed droplet surface you'll shriek
in delight
in the light
of the moon
the golden one hides in the creases of
the trees and it will remain there for
1 week until you smell the stench
like emerald gas climbing up your nose
I have dreams of flying
falling
thoughts of
icicles and snow angels
pretending I am someone I am not
an actress with all the lightbulbs and glitter
who am I to say it
me me me me me me
back to the hallway extremities
and ski lift blushing and ocean
drowning I can not wait
for the day that I finally realize
what I need to understand
in order to vacuum the carpet
in order to
in order to
 Nov 2013 peachy
SWB
Can I?
 Nov 2013 peachy
SWB
Can I turn off your brain,
like you do when you kiss me,
so we can just feel?
I want
to embrace my demon;
make love with it's desires,
I want to
let myself be enveloped
by it's existence.

The only reason
I refuse to do so

is because the existence
of such monsters
might mean
a portion of my sanity is lost.

That both excites and terrifies me.
 Nov 2013 peachy
charlie
years.
 Nov 2013 peachy
charlie
i. (2010)

there are eighteen scars in a row above your wrist
pallid and shameful and white as bones and you’ve
counted them
(still do)
under the sheets with your lips moving around whispers

they remind you of empty hallways and
the cacophony of your steps on blue linoleum
and that you are alive the way your breath in pale clouds does
on especially cold days


ii. (2011)

sometimes you dream of colours
(soft and animate and comforting) but
there is only red against the ivory
of your wrist
you’ve read the stories, you know
about the wolves and what happens to girls in red

there are eighteen scars in a row
and you breathe
and you bleed
and you keep counting

iii. (2012)

you don’t sleep much anymore
you fill your nights with the synthetic emotion
of words and films instead and
bury yourself in their comfort
their fabricated sadness

a substitute for everything you should have felt
there is an emtpiness inside of you, a vast
pale space inside your chest
your breath can’t fill

iiii. (2013)**

you tell people you’re mending
not even you know what that means
sometimes you trace them
(quietly
and with closed eyes)

and there is only the white of your skin
and the press of your fingertips
and you breathe
and your blood keeps pumping

I washed out all your seven colors;
Except the black, the color of dark;
The shades of the mid-night hours;
The shadows of the straight powers;
Making love with those pearls and gems;
Glittering on your soft tiny *******.

I plucked all your sinful flowers;
Except the black, the color of death;
The strong paint of the wooden coffin;
The wrong attack within a sudden pain;
Making lust with those heavenly bodies;
Tempting in an external smell of the souls.
**
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
 Nov 2013 peachy
Nat Lipstadt
always woke up with nothing to say to her
not a thing.

we slept in rooms separate,
but she would bust in on me,
occasionally, to have an occasion,
never knocking, just door pounding,
just to annoy, just to see
if I still cared, hoping to revoke
what passed for pseudo-serenity.

some times entireties
would pass
before you had the energies
to swing
your legs over the
side of the day~bed,
conceding, white flag surrendering,
losing the commencing-avoidance of
the start-of-the-day battle of
pseudo-existence.

hoping against hope
you don't meet,
hoping against hope
she doesn't say accidentally,
good morning.

so you don't have to
Lincoln~Douglas debate,
aerate, concentrate, orate,
how to answer without bitterness
intended to maim.

knowing you could not e'er possess
a good morning, day, night,
by definition, by ruling of the
gods in charge of never.

sometimes you made it out
of the apartment that had
no ingress,
only egress,
happy happy no converse.

used to go to a Barnes & Noble,
get a refillable endless Starbucks,
from open to closing.
read all day, sitting with strangers,
till my **** hurt so bad,
didn't think I could walk again.

now and then,
smiled at the ladies,
tho nothing could come of it,
nothing ever did.

she never asked me
where I egressed too.
didn't care, that was better
for sanitizing my pseudo-sanity.

came home cautiously,
door opening silently
in case I was home prematurely,
she still there.

sometimes you wake up with nothing to say
to yourself.
that is even worse,
cause the meaning clear,
breaking point is near.

have a picture of me from those days.
a cellphone photo I took myself,
of course.
serious, bearded, short haired,
red eyed, unfiltered.

Sometimes I think I will banner it,
so you can tap into a part of me
that words just cannot do injustice to,
more than was already done.

here, while composing,
I fell asleep.
tired?

maybe.  maybe,
sometimes you just don't want to remember.
 Nov 2013 peachy
Ariel Taverner
Fear
 Nov 2013 peachy
Ariel Taverner
Fear
         Meds
Fear  
         Doctor
Fear
        Chair
Fear
        Reach out
Fear
        Lies
Fear
        Mom
Fear
Fear
Fear
Fear
Doesn't make sense but felt appropriate for some reason and my heart told me to do it
 Nov 2013 peachy
Ariel Taverner
The sweet smooth music plays, setting a tantalizing atmosphere that somehow says I am the master and you will enjoy tonight
The band playing the music seem plastic yet at the same time vibrant with restrained energy. Energy that , like blood, seeps into the people in the room yet not into the music that is being created. The music does not need the energy because it has a power all on its own. The people dancing enthusiastically look satisfied. They look to be having an extravagant time. Everyone is smiling. Everyone is happy? No? Look deeper. If you focus intensly, you can see the signs: a mouth twitching, a hand hesitating as it reaches for a glass, a foot jerking to its position in the dance it is performing. If you look even deeper there are signs of the desperate lust to escape: a shorter than usual skirt, a scar on a wrist, a ciggarette in a hand, a bruised neck. And I can see these signs so effortlessly.  If these people could come evn close to comprehending intelligence they would call it a gift. This is not a gift ....... only a burden I bear and as I look to the others who have the ability I see them hanging. All of them. Hanging from rafters I cannot reach understand or comprehend........  I look at my rafter and deep inside me I feel the perverted need the grotesque want to find those other rafters so I drop the rope and push the chair away and I stare.... stare aimlessly at the mindless zombies that smile fake smiles.
A metaphor of me in comparison to society. The rafters represent knowledge
Run
little tike,
kite thread,
strung out
pulling hands, body, fear
into sky, clouds, air,

beyond

chicken skin chill
wind shiver cold
fear

stop! mama! scream

little older now,
kites, dreams, birds, feathers
flights, mountain crags
song, soar

mama, now, screams
rolling, plywood floor
no kite, big hand man
grab, spit, roar

tears heave breath
face, mama hands
cry, side, no more
said to floor

metal fireplace
hot, don't touch,
arrow poke fire,
heavy hurt stick
**** big hand man
make mama scream
stop thumping body
slap, flesh, red burn

heavy arrow stick
fall down, thump
face, floor

big hand man
take, this or that
hot scrap belly
bone, angry kite
throw living-room
bed, heavy hands
burn bones, dreams
eyes

morning light
mama scoops
legs, arms, teddy

"we're getting out alright"

*subject matter partially stolen from http://hellopoetry.com/-peachy/
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