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I conjure forth a booming and terrifying
storm within the confines of my head.  The clouds
gather as the wind starts to howl.  The trees sway as their
leaves turn upward, hungrily waiting for the drops of rain to begin
to sate them.  There is a moment of silence before we see
a bolt of lightning shatter the sky, followed shortly
by a deep rolling thunder that shakes my imagination.
Then

i                                             ­                                 v
d                             ­                 t                              e
e              ­       w                       h                             r
a                     o                        o                s            s
s       ­               r                        u                t       ­     e
                       d                        g                o            s
        ­               s                        h                 r            
                                               t                 i            
                                                 s                 e              
                                                 ­                   s              


They form in puddles in my mind
waiting to be put into vases
where they can nourish
my creativity
 Jan 2012 Sidd Kingsley
Algernon
I'm just a pile of bones,
leaning deep into my desk,
deep into my computer screen,
the sight is quite grotesque,

for I am just a pile of bones,
with my hollow clinking sound,
as my ribcage xylophone,
sinks slowly to the ground,

I'm just a pile of bones,
so please don't mind the mess,
I promise to pick up my pieces,
right after they all undress,

'cause I"m just a pile of bones,
it doesn't matter where I fall,
scattered across the desk here,
and spread out into the hall,

for this lonely pile of bones,
reserves the right to sleep,
in hopes I'll be put back together,
in the hours I seldom keep.

— The End —