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Trying to make me miserable
      fails as it fails to make my
fellow poets feeling sorry for me;

Few other poets are splendid at that: they whine a bit
and you can see immediately
           almost everybody swiftly offering some stupid silken handkerchiefs
         and golden particles floating at the edges of every teardrop they spill for the aching poor poet. How strange!

It's like an unatempted deer hunt with the accompany
           of the invisible fast running grey hound dog, barking aloud through the void of the woods. Noone hears! The heroes...
                                      
                         ­                            Sycamore seeds°

                        I am no poet. Noone feels with me;
I'm the impeccable warrior! Writing for the benefit of Humanness, Human~heartkindness
              Scribbling on the high Sparkling ideals - on Humanity's behalf!
Imagined by
Impeccable Space Poetess
Poetic idealist
Secluded dreams are your fragile fingers
never to caress harsh tree bark creeks again
pulsating in vain when you don't hear the drumming dominion
of my tactile gentle tips falling in love with your philosophical nonsense
constellating words become sensual sonoric spaces
between you and me betweex texts of adoration
one typing pad and a hot salvia tea
serves you' mastering over
the paint brushes
in a ***
and splashing
colours
dispersed
drawings, fine arts, parts of an intimate instrumentalia
To parties
salute!
Freshly washed t-shirt hangs over one empty bottle
Sealed contentment, sleepless nights, red wine dizzy
gifts
adrift and fiery
one giant dragonfly emerging from the clouds
At the end has crashed the mighty wings and
the haunted sounds; all of my desires for you
the old blood
corridors
brook
strings
swinging
catching a fire flower within your palm
torchering torches turning us, our lust, into the waxed reciprocity
sideral  you still love me  tropic  me still crave
to arouse you solely by my
empty words
in between days solstice
in between the dying
night's Équinoxe
Never admitted to himself what a mom's pretty pet he was
Her temple of love and respect, her perky boy, with good
Grades, her scholar and a domesticated noble manners boy.

Yet, he despised her, ******* her off, later in his beard years
For laziness driped into the marrow of his every to-morrow
Always begging for at least his ancient fathers note briefcase.

So was his splendid life fulfilled with perfumes of the day
Briefly inhaled and never consumed on a precious bronze
Skin of his brilliant assistant, who lurked uncontrollably
Into his daydreams distressing him from the deep naps.

Usually taken after the joint of young male people naming
Themselves the "Liquid Seductive Democratic Wild Bunch."
Or in other words: Lovers *** Dames Wonderful Banging
 Aug 2015 Rob Cochran
Ela
Untitled
 Aug 2015 Rob Cochran
Ela
I never understood
How anyone could not see the sadness
In you
You smiled
Like being alive was a burden
You danced
Like you wanted to forget the world
You laughed
So beautifully
But it happened so rarely
I wonder
Could I help ease the pain
Of living alone?

— The End —