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 Apr 2013 Sawyer
K Balachandran
Night,
dark, soft, alluring,
spinner of dreams I want to be lost in,
is a kindhearted courtesan,
who never demanded anything
for all her loving, that to me
was like a swim in the pool
of "Ananda"* I was searching for.

I climbed her door steps
with the silent footfalls of a cat,
all these years for solace,
when the fair lass ,
regaled by my songs evening after evening,
scoffed and taunted,
when I fell wounded
in duels of life, I was forced to fight
to keep my honor intact.

Once,
seeing me left in the lurch,
blood soaked and badly wounded
she led my tired legs
to her house of magic and secret treasure hunts,
blessed me with oblivion, till I woke up.
Her mansion became
arena of silent dances of wounded memories,
till sun appeared above misty mountains
cheering me up with new promises,
but my thoughts never left her.
I spent my darkest hours
in her house,
thrilled by dreams she induced,
in which under moonbeams
princesses gathered,
bubbling fine wine brimmed
in sparkling glasses,
I felt the most loved man
within her tender arms.
I would wait for the night, my sullied lover,
to arrive with her hands of breeze,
to tousle my hair and caress my face.
Night  took away my pains,
her lasciviousness is the only drink,
that makes me ask for more.
She is not only mine,
as a courtesan, she needs to entertain
whoever seeks her,
But when I am with her,
she is all mine.
*"Ananda"(Happiness):Ancient Indian sages recognized Ananda as the goal of human life, which ranges from simple pleasures to ultimate bliss, brought about by the union with cosmic consciousness
termed as "Brahmanandam"
 Apr 2013 Sawyer
Hannah Hayes
Our fingers graze
      As I pass his cup
            My eyes meet his
                      
                            He smiles.

                                       Seduction is subtle.
"Heal" is a fake word
Means nothing to me
I will not heal from my fathers fingers
and violation
I will not heal from the sharp needle
Mama pushed into my arm
I will not heal from the words
Grandpa yells at me
I will not heal from the cuts i inflict on myself
The scars will always be there
They will not go away

Heal is an ugly word
Fake and full of false hope
You will not heal child
You will learn to deal with the things given to you
With the problems and sorrows
You will grow up
You will move on
but you will not heal.
 Apr 2013 Sawyer
Kristo Frost
i walk

brain dragging

behind me

(a suitcase)


this is what i have

this is what i know

this is what i am


did i leave my oven on?

will my apartment

(along with my neighbors)

be spent cinders

when i return?


a line of yellow tape

a shyly raised hand


this is all i have

this is all i know

this is all i am


(forgetful)

(stupid)

(out of room)

(out of time)

(out of spite)

(out of rhyme)


poor

dependent

rummaging through my suitcase

on the sidewalk

for my key


(if it’s yours

you have to prove it)

this really is all my


(fault)

(problem)

loss


pushing past my

belongings

looking beneath my

self

i find the only thing

i ever really had

in a place where it can never be turned to ashes


i am all i have

i am all i know

i am all i am


seeing it safe

slightly scuffed but still intact

(contrary to cruel conveyancing)

i wrap my heart in a dying thought

building a fortress of drying observation

around a charred husk

of burnt-out hope


applying it firmly

between clenched teeth

(edging out gravity with pressure)

behind zipped lips


still, i walk

brain dragging

behind me

(a suitcase)
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