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 Nov 2014 Frisk
Edward Coles
I do not want to talk about love today.
I do not want to mention
affectionate contact or semi-regular ***.
The newspapers are bringing forth
welcome divisions between mankind;
fault-lines of irreconcilable differences
to justify my half-hearted attempt at solitude.

I do not want to talk about sobriety today.
I do not want to bore you
with those nervous hours between cigarettes
and how I fill each moment spent inside myself.
******* offers a ladder of perfume and hair
for me to ascend to some anaerobic bliss,
towards an isolated unity between myself

and the woman stretched out on my astral bed.
I do not want to talk about much today.
I have over-thought all that is worth a mention.
c
 Nov 2014 Frisk
harlee kae
what ******  me off is that my sister says "i want you to marry him" everyday. okay, i understand he's a nice guy. but i don't love him.
the one time i was in love NO ONE gave a ****. and you want to know why? because i was in love with a girl.
no one said ya'll are so cute together. no one said i want ya'll to get married.
well let me tell you something; people that don't support same *** relationships. you are ignorant.
the love is there. the feelings are there!
why does it bother you.
also, gay DOES NOT equal stupid.
the words aren't synonymous.
"this homework is gay"
"that picture is gay"
"your haircut is gay"
no
no
and no
to the people that use the word gay as a descriptive noun, you are also ignorant.
okay, i'm good for now.
 Nov 2014 Frisk
Rebecca Lawson
i could not wash her from my skin,
my nest of thorns, my memory
lies trapped beneath her mortal sin
and grasping for her remedy.
i turned her face up to the sun,
buried my light under the ground
******* with reason, and undone
the end hangs heavy with the sound.
gentle serpent, fill up these veins
infect sublime serenity
between the comfort and the shame
i still hold on so cowardly.
for in that liturgy of dirt,
i hold my life, and all it’s worth.
 Nov 2014 Frisk
Rebecca Lawson
my longing is suffocating,
concrete poured over my living corpse,
heavy and hollow, that faithless cry
falls mute. i do not need.

these grisly limbs ache, vacant as
the mirror, no reflection,
i chased my love to the edge of the ocean
and watched the waves steal it away.
i’ve swallowed my curse. i’ve covered my tracks.
i do not need.
 Nov 2014 Frisk
R Saba
differences
 Nov 2014 Frisk
R Saba
i wrote this for you
because i knew you'd never read it

fear rules my words, rules every breath
as i walk, head down, avoiding the rain
that seeps into my hair as if to tell me
i can't escape
i will always have these cracks, these splits
that let the rain and sunshine in
and lately, they've been letting in
too much water

maybe i'm drowning
in the river we dipped our feet in
in the rain that divided our differences
and washed them down the street
the first day i held your hand

but differences are tougher than us, i guess
because they've still found the strength to shade the sky
with charcoal grey and light blue worry
that keeps me up at night
even now that they've finally done their damage

i wrote this for you
just as i always did, honest and rough
because i knew i couldn't say the words out loud

i wish i had, though
because there's not much poetry can do
to fix this now
 Nov 2014 Frisk
mark john junor
she is a blatant caricature in loud technicolor
her presence shouts ****** innuendo  
alluring with dark undertones
her past shadows her every word
like clouds passing over a weak sun
she is the road untold but by the few hardiest of souls
her skin tangles his mind
as she watches him in the rearview
runs her hand through her hair repeatedly
he is mesmerized by moist lips parted  
around phrases dark and foreboding
the cool calculation of her casual appearance
he is sleepwalking a dangerous dream
he is a dramatic parody in shades of pastel
a sorrowful tale told hesitatingly full of doubts and fears
full of the gentlest of loves
weak and stained he stands in the fell shadows
waiting for her rusty razor blade kisses
she has him
like clouds passing over a weak sun
and he loves her for it
 Nov 2014 Frisk
mark john junor
red fragments of plastic litter the
sandy soil at my feet
i gather them with one at a time
while my soul searches for a song to impart
my pen grows strange in my hand
its words have a feel to them
foreign deranged

the phrases float disjointedly
they refuse to knit into a poem
while my mind is troubled by a scattering
of autumn winds
the red fragments arranged randomly
on the small backyard table
sunshine illuminates each with precise clarity
the fragments are my poem
and i shuffle the pieces back and forth
trying with a maddened mind
to knit them into a beautiful bird
but they only keep forming the ugly face distorted
they keep moving of their own accord
to form a jagged edge
i breath and **** at my coffee mug

the red fragments thorny in my head
they have sand clinging to them
and bits of the brackish water that
the nights rain had left for me
these words are incomplete visions
mere phrases like incongruous men walking
random paths in a field
when two meet they shout their ideas
at eachother and part company full of
suspicious glares
a draft of this randomly worded madness
flows from my unwilling pen
the red fragmentation
of the incomplete poem
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