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What good does
a Tuesday do?
to man or beast
I wish I knew.

Ignorance may be
the stepping stone
that gets me home
safe and sound.

The day starts dark and
gets darker still,
someone should make
a lightness pill,
bright idea
number one.

Anyway,
I get up
for a cup
of hot sweet
tea
and see
Tuesday
looking in on
me.
If Tuesday did anyone any good at any time they'd have taxed it, but they didn't and it doesn't and it's free so I enjoy it anyway.
 Mar 2016 Shaded Lamp
jalc
Behind my closed lids lights strobe
The flickering of the streetlamp
Or the twinkle of the stars
Perhaps the uneven thump of my heart
Echoing the throb of your veins
Reverberating in my head upon your arm
This racing that belies our even breaths
Mingling in the cold sea breeze
That is charged with more than silence
Broken by a sudden salvo across the ocean
Lights blossom in the darkness
Reflecting in the inky waters
The brilliance is startling
As the night sky is painted in colours
So is this night we are sharing.
I hate that I get moody very often and sometimes there's just nothing I can do; always grateful for friends who drive out in the middle of the night to save me from myself.
we have been discussing his mother recently.

at a request from another.



‘who is my mother’. the bear whispered.



i do not know.



‘why?’



you came as an adult, a wise one.

you never said.



‘then i will never know?’



no, probably not, yet

i love you.



‘thank you’



whispered the bear, then went very quiet.



sbm.
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.

Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.

Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".  
To map a new demographic before our deaths.

If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.

And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.

We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.

The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
background:
we always struggle with pursuing what we want to do due to us believing we can't, or lack of resources, that we don't have what it takes, etc. And that's more or less fear making you think that. Once you let go of the fear in your head you can chase your dreams and passions. Once you realize that it's just a mental block, and you remove it, the world is yours to do what you want. Enjoy!
 Mar 2016 Shaded Lamp
Sjr1000
Our love has
become
wet wood
all sizzle without fire
smoke without heat
A cold day's house
without
warmth

Another round of paper
Quick flames and
sparks
Heading no where
except to
silent
dead
ashes

The one last sizzle
of
wet wood.
.



He was afraid to stand up

Against the police

On behalf of Liberty

And

Justice !

And yet

( get this ! )

He expected to find a girlfriend  

Someone to love him !!

.:::.

Now what girl could ever love

A boy like that (?)



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