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Laughing,
Slow dancing
In bedrooms*

Problems drain away
Like kettle- water down the sink
From our last cups of tea

The smell on your neck
Our jokes and gestures
Like rituals

Teases of where, one day
We might end up.

We could be, on the sea
With the breeze buffeting our faces,
Making violent sails on blue-grey skies

There, you'd stand -
A silhouette on the deck
[Salt-wood & peeling paint]
- Absent minded.
Not understanding
How much
These moments

mean

to me.

Out on the sea
There's nothing but us
Laughing,
Slow dancing
I take a wrench to each temple
unscrewing bolts used to hold in
the gray and red sediment
pull out a handful, and begin.

Upon the spinning wheel I throw
a formless character yet to be
until I choose which way to go
and become a piece of pottery.

But my mind dances in fragility
so I move my hands deliberately
as to create without any haste
or ruin my clay's graceful shape.

Dissatisfied, I grab a tool and scrape
the useless remains of my broken brain
and throw them back into my skull,
my once sharp mind now completely dull.
Thinking about the tumultuous world,
Being thrown about like a rabid dust bunny.
Eternally weeping, from joy or sorrow
Who knows the will of the wilted flower?
I will inscribe a scribe's favorite scripture
Inceptively distinctive to your woeful mind
An inspirational frame I will capture
Between the fluff of your pillow
To detain the tendrils of yesteryear, floating
Beneath the purple of your sallow
Eyes I am denoting
With every kiss of mine to each lid
So that dreams will inspire instead of forbid.
Have     you ever

Wondered
                             how you would react

                --could react--

If you SUDDENLY

felt your neck snap by the hinges

       of the outboard spoiler
                                                  of a plane
Crashing

                       through shingles and plaster

Right through your favorite

                          Bob Dylan poster

Hanging on your  bedroom wall.

        Or
if you awoke in a lake

            of fire

And realized you were wrong.
come and dive into my
aching bedspread
& I promise I'll give you
room for a proper
rest

your chest is pulsing
symphonies
in coordination with my
left breast

& your tongue is ever
as clever as
the weather of which
I possess

I hope that one day
you'll believe my
breathless
finesse



& I'll kiss the pain
and pleasure from
the aching in
your chest
 Feb 2013 Refined in Flames
Savio
If I had the hands of the sky,
the colors of Monet's secret insight,
a pigment of an Ocean,
unsailed,
by human kind,
what color would I paint you?
How man days can I Starve,
to stay alive,
If I had a canvas,
as large,
as white,
as the moon,
how would I describe you,
snow crunches,
beneath my feet,
I light a cigarette,
breath thick,
honey,
molasses,
dog fat,
If I were to build you,
could I use the tombstone of Beethoven,
grandmother's woolen blanket,
the missing piano key,
a harp string,
moth's wing,
winter's bulimia,
night's insomnia,
a dream's last breath,
novel's,
Last line,
Neruda's breath,
Shiva's golden temple,
a goddess' breast,
the highway's Texan accent,
a humming bird's,
silent flight,
the pollen of a sunflowers,
the ****** user's,
high,
Indian's leather,
a mother's palm,
sad song,
Michigan's final night,
If I were to kiss you,
how again,
would you taste,
too many nights,
have separated my memory.
Happy-hearted but not all there
His awkward smile lingers through my mind
             Peaceful,
             Yet Unforunate
That staggering physique & that waddling
            walk & that dauntful dance & that
            unstable eye: a precise entailment
            of his persona,  
                       though never ******
                                   never vacant
                                   never violent

                      ...UNTIL NOW

when the demon of his soul prevails
       no mercy
                     no mercy
                                    no mercy
Not even for a loving mother; a loving
     mother who provided a comforting
     home & the essential care & three
     daily dishes of food & the one thing
     a loving mother provides best:
              Unconditional Love
      
He is now ripped of a warm heart; will
he ever find salvation?

I hope so.

His possessed actions are ample
punishment and will eventually
tear the boy to shreds:

Those memories of an unreasonable death;
            a death that spilt blood into every
            crevice of his character
Those memories of innocent bloodshed;
             the blood of his own race...the
          same blood that stirs in his viens
Those memories of pure insanity;
    an insanity that taught anger
    the ways of mutilation
Those memories of his murdered mother;
         a "horrendous" scene that plays on
         constant repeat in his head
...and those future memories of remorse;
                    remorse for his ***** deeds
                     of spontaneous psychosis  

Yet,
his awkward smile
still lingers through
my mind


https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=349987311783508&set;=a.298260023622904.72189.100003167250519&type;=1&theater;

"There is without a doubt that this kid has something possessing him... I believe it wasn't him who killed the mother he loved with all his heart, how can such a kindhearted loving teenager change in less than two months and ****** the woman who loved him the most and who he loved. This teenager has a demon inside him.... look at the pictures ya'll.... on the right is him less than six months ago. He doesn't even look the same...."
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