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My mother was nothing but food for him
My father a meal, not anything more
The Flaming Giant has come to us
His children arrive to pick our bones

Neither snow of ash, nor rain of blood
Can quench our thirst, our need to live
Though we are drowned in burning pain
The water is gone, the sky in flames

He melts my flesh, destroys my mind
The fume above blocks out the sun
I go to stand, but only fall
And wonder what hell I am in

I hoped this could not be my life
A nightmare in the summer heat
But now I know that I am wrong
Now I know the smoke is real

I crawl, I drag toward her heart
Whose beats have just begun to slow
I hear the haunted screams inside
They cry in fear for rain to come

I reach my dear, and use my strength
To speak to her for one last time
Her thoughts begin to fade to black
"She's gone!" I cry. She won't come back.
 Mar 2011 Sean Kassab
Kulay
The talks that we had
the smiles and the laughter
sigh...
I missed 'em.

You're a shooting star
wish you're not just a shooting star.

Sleepless nights
and morning hi's
sigh...
I missed 'em.

You're a shooting star
wish you're not just a shooting star.
aaah sigh...
but you really made me smile!
i sat there and waited for you.
then, after the time it took for the ice to form on the window,
i left.
i knew you'd never make it.
maybe there was another appointment, an important peice of business to attend to.
all i got was a crummy mass-mailing of the same carbon copied letter of good tidings.
i want more than that.
i don't have the capital, nor the time to confess such demands.
it's just not my style.
you know my style.
i fiend for you almost as much as i fiend for blank sheets of paper when the mood hits me.
stop.
 Mar 2011 Sean Kassab
Jessie
One day,
I made a flip book out of sticky notes.

It was about a stick man who
shoots himself with an
ink pen pistol
and bleeds all over the
imaginary floor.
I named it
"Goodbye"
.


When I played with the book
I found that it was easier to flip the pages
backwards
because the pages kept
skipping and sticking.

So now,
the story is about
a man who is laying
dead on the ground, when
suddenly!
he raises from the ground!
and a bullet from out of
NOWHERE
flies through the air
and through the gaping holes
in his bleeding head,
patching up his wounds,
and landing safely
into the
pistol

"Hello."
the first time i saw you in 38 days, or something like that,
you etch-a-sketched my skin so that i could have a
souvenir of how much we wanted a second
of sleep.
I'll bet you are exhausted from reading
my poetry
that continues to turn into you and
i have no excuses or tickets or money,
but you taste like honey and you can imprint art,

t e m p o r a r y or n o t,
           on my limbs.

so when you gathered your arms around my torso
and said
that my heart was beating too fast at such a late hour,
i wanted to tell you that
maybe it's always been that way or
maybe it's a defect or
maybe i was
just too scared
to open
again.
© Danielle Jones 2011

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