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  Sep 2015 Sam Vaghi
Nat Lipstadt
your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"

but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending

who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them

and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you

each "like,"
a work in itself

re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote

a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,

each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other

~~~
6:53am
Sam Vaghi Sep 2015
We try to connect
beyond our small lonely selves
But we are only playing
connect the dots
with uncountable grains of shifting sand
And light years of bleak black empty space
                    between them..

You think you hear me.
You think we speak the same language.
But we never do get it right
It is always a debilitating mess.

Our unique experiences
make our interpretations ours alone,
and nobody else can understand anything
in exactly the same way.

Every word paints a million meanings,
And carries an infinite infantry of feelings
And abstract associations.

And it so seldom
really
has absolutely anything
to do
With the moment we are in
Here
And
Now.
Pink confused with white
flowers and flowers reversed
take and spill the shaded flame
darting it back
into the lamp’s horn

petals aslant darkened with mauve

red where in whorls
petal lays its glow upon petal
round flamegreen throats

petals radiant with transpiercing light
contending
              above
the leaves
reaching up their modest green
from the ***’s rim

and there, wholly dark, the ***
gay with rough moss.
  Sep 2015 Sam Vaghi
VVanGone
sad, pretty little planet
so far from anyone else
they aren't sure what to call you
or what to think of you
but there you are shivering in the cold
made mostly of heart
  Sep 2015 Sam Vaghi
Sarah
It doesn't seem fair
that the stairs
are there
when I'm unaware
of how to go
where
I need to be
hopelessly
honestly
following
steps as I count
the hypocrisy
engrained in me
plain to see
ascending,
descending unending
tragedy

is it up
is it down
is it all in the sound
of a breath
on a step
as I'm hitting my
head to
climb up the
staircase
and
for
what,
again?

It doesn't seem fair that the stairs always know
where they're going.
Sam Vaghi Sep 2015
In the inelegant entwined paths
Of my minstrel mind
You have wondered in
And curled up
Like a stray cat
Finding a soft, sacred spot in the sun
Purring profoundly
And vibrating through
My thoughts
Much too often

And yet
you are a still a stranger to me
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