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Samara Mar 8
bygone tycoons and blind followers
traversed by taking all offerings
while offering nothing to their offspring
except a tainted world they left dying
and crude remarks about societal upstanding
built on the back of  insurmountable debt
and a grapefruit breakfast
that left much to be desired in the ways
of relishing our senses and drenching ourselves
in awe removed from daunting poverty of spirit.

but like the green that peeks through concrete
so too shall we live completely
with their legacy coursing through our veins
in the form of bloodened synthetic remains
they call: our inheritance
Samara Mar 8
plunge the dagger
a little bit deeper
into the flesh of this body
of bellowed breaths
and unseen depths

plunge the dagger  
a little bit deeper
i'm just trying-
to get some sleep here

plunge the dagger
a little bit deeper
it can't hurt anymore
and i'm not keeping score

plunge the dagger  
a little bit deeper
i guess maybe,
this is how it's meant to be


Samara Mar 8
transatlantic candor
sounding sweet
while masking falsities-
don't for even a second
think that i can't see
through words and pleas
so, please;
put my boots on the ground
for i will hang them up
when you can rest easy
and we can sit around
this place, your land or
around a passing home
underneath green old olive trees.
Samara Mar 6
neatly laid, red-brick walls
behind them, my skin crawls

four corners, all empty
here i stay, on my knees

not knowing, when ill meet
the maker, the mover or the shaker

no windows, no way out
growing virulent, settling accounts

how many days, must i wait?
the world within, turns to waste
- - -
deep confessions
swimming under the surface
no one's listening
when i shout them quietly
drowning in deception
mostly of my own making;
going through life while only taking

searching through shapes
traced by stars
and someday soon-
we'll live among them all

Samara Mar 6
trapped by failings of a guardian
protective duty check-marked

how can i make a meal
so full of comfort
to fill my insides
with a sense of belonging
like a warm genuine embrace
trustingly exclaiming
you belong here

what ingredients does it take
to feel at home of an elder
compassionately caring
for you
providing you warm shelter
from the storm outside
Samara Mar 4
oh i wish you could see her
day dreaming under
crystal sky blue weaving
ether with the earth through
day and through night
fighting only with the waking moment
should it ever change
from drab old dragging
around one after another;
much like a flower
growing through cracks
not coveting the colors they lack
knowing all roots lie dark cold beneath
it all there lives another world
not for the sight
not for the righteous
where the only thing you can see
is the slither of nightshade forests
and there, my dear friend-
lives everyone you’ve ever known.
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