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Wind blows swiftly on
Mirroring my love for you
Soft but capable
 Mar 2016 RIVIS WRITES
Got Guanxi
in solipsism,
soul left
upon a pole.
you're lips move,
but you never listen.
on a solo groove,
smooth hedonism,
to soothe the mood,
in equidistance;
your body glistens.
The music rules you,
in a
restricted prison -
grinding bars,
wars of attrition.
you never missed
a final kiss,
at your own insistence,
In
pole position,
you never listened.
 Mar 2016 RIVIS WRITES
Homunculus
You poor fools!
Pity be upon you!
You are practicing
A dying art form!

Do you not realize,
That poetry is biased
Towards the literate?

There once was a time
When the scribes were
Revered as gods, but
Regrettably, that time
Has long since passed.

Now, we live in an age of
Constant, electronic stimulation,
Mediated by a steady flux of
Ready made imagery, where

Flashing lights and bright colors
Whittle away at the attention span, and
Destroy the capacity of the mind
To imagine for itself, so

Keep your word count low, and
Your syllable count lower, or
You just may lose your audience.
I'm drunk.
Strength
Beauty
Melancholy laughter
Writing down
Lifes tragic disasters
Looking through the mirror
Hoping to see
Some other face
Or a different
Pair of eyes
Just to hear
The echo of the same
Old lies
Tomorrow will be
Better
But we just live
Today
Over and
Over
again
the shiver of hands
blind without memory
and so,
friendly still
yet sweet like the words
forgotten
to the tremble of lips

quiet
there are no surprises here
rest your eyelids
until they become stone
rest your heart
until it stops

(it beats now only for itself
in some secret place)
in a wine glass
sleeves of a sleeveless dress
knotted
around its stem
and a bull’s head sleeping, breathless
tangled
in the scent of pearl and warm flesh
standing on a drumbeat
balanced
by a prism’s deceptive stammer
you swept the ashes of winter
lit red and ****
drawn naked with smoke
and coal
still glowing
in the shadow of paper flowers
pressed to walls of plaster
and stone
heartbreak
parallel to eye
without razor

sobbing

wet leaves
pressed in
a book
will not
dry

next

tears
do not
outlive
themselves

discovery

for another
generation

still

when in doubt
quote rimbaud
no verbs
no more

choosing the vowel “o”

that
i’m not
going to
remember
again
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