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Dug in deep,
But deeper I fell,
There's no coin,
In my wishing well.

Lend to live,
But living is stress,
Golden crush,
Creates hellish mess.
written in 2011
I can’t wait for the day he feels me all over,

rough hands roaming clumsily on skin.

Wait till I show him

the things his body aches for.
Blasted together
in the wake of dead stars
New life is born
From celestial suicide.

Say goodnight
Drift into star dust dreams
It fills your mind
it's you after all.

Your hands came from andromeda
Your eyes were born from hera's milk
Stone exploded for your legs
And gasses mixed inside your chest.

You're gonna die
You're gonna die.
Nothing can stop your inevitable suicide.

Say goodnight
Drift into star dust dreams
It fills your mind
It's you, after all.
i have a light inside of me.
sometimes it is a prickly light.
like last summer's berry picking,
and your legs in the back of his pick up.
sometimes it is a drowning light.
like your third cheap beer,
and jeans on the fourth of july.
sometimes it is a dim light.
like the pretty dress he never hugged you in,
and the bruises all down your thigh.
sometimes it is a calm light.
like the first long drag off your cigarette,
and a dry kiss on the cheek.
sometimes it is a beautiful light,
like a palm pushing out from your stomach,
and the long road out of this town.
We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love! love!
as if it were a coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.
But oh, I suppose she was ugly; she wasn't elegant;
I hadn't yearned for her often in my prayers.
Yet holding her I was limp, and nothing happened at all:
I just lay there, a disgraceful load for her bed.
I wanted it, she did too; and yet no pleasure came
from the part of my sluggish ***** that should bring joy.
The girl entwined her ivory arms around my neck
(her arms were whiter than the Sithonian snows) ,
and gave me greedy kisses, thrusting her fluttering tongue,
and laid her eager thigh against my thigh,
and whispering fond words, called me the lord of her heart
and everything else that lovers murmur in joy.
And yet, as if chill hemlock were smeared upon my body,
my numb limbs would not act out my desire.
I lay there like a log, a fraud, a worthless weight;
my body might as well have been a shadow.
What will my age be like, if old age ever comes,
when even my youth cannot fulfill its role?
Ah, I'm ashamed of my years. I'm young and a man: so what?
I was neither young nor a man in my girlfriend's eyes.
She rose like the sacred priestess who tends the undying flame,
or a sister who's chastely lain at a dear brother's side.
But not long ago blonde Chlide twice, fair Pitho three times,
and Libas three times I enjoyed without a pause.
Corinna, as I recall, required my services
nine times in one short night - and I obliged!
Has some Thessalian potion made my body limp,
injuring me with noxious spells and herbs?
Did some witch hex my name scratched on crimson wax
and stab right through the liver with slender pins?
By spells the grain is blighted and withers to worthless weeds;
by blighting spells the founts run out of water.
Enchantment strips the oaks of acorns, vines of grapes,
and makes fruit fall to earth from unstirred boughs.
Such magic arts could also sap my virile powers.
Perhaps they brought this weakness on my thighs,
and shame at what happened, too; shame made it all the worse:
that was the second reason for my collapse.
Yet what a girl I looked at and touched - but nothing more!
I clung to her as closely as her gown.
Her touch could make the Pylian sage feel young again,
and make Tithonus friskier than his years.
This girl fell to my lot, but no man fell to hers.
What will I ask for now in future prayers?
I believe the mighty gods must rue the gift they gave,
since I have treated it so shabbily.
Surely, I wanted entry: well, she let me in.
Kisses: I got them. To lie at her side: There I was.
What good was such great luck - to gain a powerless throne?
What did I have, except a miser's gold?
I was like the teller of secrets, thirsty at the stream,
looking at fruits forever beyond his grasp.
Whoever rose at dawn from the bed of a tender girl
in a state fit to approach the sacred gods?
I suppose she wasn't willing, she didn't waste her best
caresses on me, try everything to excite me!
That girl could have aroused tough oak and hardest steel
and lifeless boulders with her blandishments.
She surely was a girl to rouse all living men,
but then I was not alive, no longer a man.
What pleasure could a deaf man take in Phemius' song
or painted pictures bring poor Thamyras?
But what joys I envisioned in my private mind,
what ways did I position and portray!
And yet my body lay as if untimely dead,
a shameful sight, limper than yesterday's rose.
Now, look! When it's not needed, it's vigorous and strong;
now it asks for action and for battle.
Lie down, there - shame on you! - most wretched part of me.
These promises of yours took me before.
You trick your master, you made me be caught unarmed,
so that I suffered a great and sorry loss.
Yet this same part my girl did not disdain to take
in hand, fondling it with a gentle motion.
But when she saw no skill she had could make it rise
and that it lay without a sign of life,
'You're mocking me, ' she said. 'You're crazy! Who asked you
to lie down in my bed if you don't want to?
You've come here cursed with woolen threads by some Aeaean
witch, or worn out by some other love.'
And straightway she jumped up, clad in a flowing gown
(beautiful, as she rushed barefoot off) ,
and, lest her maids should know that she had not been touched,
began to wash, concealing the disgrace.
I roam through the dwindling light
I am searching for what is invisible to the ignorant
The world is shutting its eyes
And the moon rises above my head
I find what i am looking for
But i hate it
It is the truth
kissing on the stairs
blindly hoping for your room
roughly against walls
where is your key? do not stop
foretaste the delicious night
dani
26 june 2010
Thank you for embellishments, and why the earth in round, and why old men snore during sleep, why the fox betrayed the hound, thank you for musicals, they prance around my soul, dough rises in an oven, humans don’t drink from bowls, thank you for analogies, and why my cats tongue scratches, why do A students love ******, why the pig never hatches, thank you for your torment, thank you for your sins, thank you for your joy, thanks for all the gin. Human kind speaks its mind even if there’s a risk. Human kind is so blind, but it’s how we get our bliss.
It’s like that time we sat in a tree screaming our hearts out till we choked them up and onto our walls behind our eyes, and wiped the paint with our sleeves just like the way you used to look at me,

but what i didn’t know was that everything you were screaming was nothing but a lie. tongue tied and swollen cheeks

we’ve been pacing these circles for minutes and years your eyelashes fall from where mine used to be and for that


i can no longer see, because my protection is gone my eyes are no longer sealed because now it’s everything that’s infront of me.

you’re rearranging your mind while i pick apart my spine,
and it’s not that i don’t have a lot of time, because i love you, but you’re not you,

yet we’re both still here


with the same results,

i’ve got hatred and fear when i look at your collar bones,
so let my hate drip from my fingers and
let me pull my words back from your mouth and
stuff them into my frontal lobe tucked deep away in my cerebrum

because that’s

the only safe place to keep them.

you’re not you because you say you are, you’re not the you i grew to love and know

you are you, and you are what ever will be,
what could be, and what can be.


it’s okay that nobody knows who you used to be,

except if that nobody is me.

I’m so tired of sleeping in alcohol stained sheets with my
own shadow dancing ten feet away from me,
and i’m so tired of cleaning up your thoughts with mine, and combining them until you feel

something

that’s

real

i could pray to you, or pray for you, but i’m afraid that the minds trap is only casting me further and further from what

i could

be


not


you


but

me

and now all we have is the middle not the left or the right,
we’ve got no balance because

everything is on me, because

i

am nothing but your past,


because i am not a memory you’d like to keep

but you can’t cast me away like everything you once did,
because within my mind is the same as it was then.

because you’ll pack me up and put me away and hide me behind curtains and under bed sheets, but I’ve still got your heart on my sleeve taken away from the wall where it used to be,

where our tree was cut down, and we no longer choke, but why can’t i breathe?

these days i want to tell people about the music that would come out of your mouth instead of words and how your eyes would change colors depending on our moods,

i want to tell people but,

nobody knows that you used to call me baby and


tell me i was beautiful and always would be,

and the thoughts sometimes still serenade me.

and rock me to sleep and lead me to an almost nothingness sleep,

but a nightmare and sweat soaked sheets and,

screaming voices echoing my pillow cases and

left with nothing but what my mind has played out for me to believe.

— The End —