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annh Nov 2020
We burrow where they lie, our fallen brothers. Old sweats and fledgling crow bags, both. In death as in life, they have our back…and so we plough on into the abyss by the light of a caged phosphorus flare, hot metal spraying the midnight hour like some vengeful fay’s buckshot.

A human scaffold supports us for the distance of four miles. That’s Piccadilly to Hampstead; Circus to Heath. The length of a lifetime…of  hundreds of lifetimes. In the winter when the rains come and the trenches run like a quartermaster’s latrine, the soil sloughs away to reveal the ossuary within. It is then that I, in my now customary delirium, imagine that I can reach out to shake their hand again.

‘Sunrise and sunset are blasphemous…only the black rain out of the bruised and swollen clouds…is fit atmosphere in such a land. The rain drives on, the stinking mud becomes more evilly yellow, the shell-holes fill up with green-white water, the roads and tracks are covered in inches of slime, the black dying trees ooze and sweat and the shells never cease…they plunge into the grave which is this land.’
- Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcgceA64aAI
Wai Phyo Win Dec 2018
Alone at home busy
Where is she?
Duty is duty
No one around me

Pouring water; plants and lawn
Washing floor with the pump
Blossoming flowers remind me bygone
They used to run and jump

Yellow flowers were eaten by rabbits
Two whites and one black
They forgot missing two, memory habit
Of the rest -  brain's bank

Missing one was pragnant, Oh so sad,
Wish you were hidding in burrow
Where you dug near the shad
Not a dog bit it up to hollow

Miss you the everytime I feed
Green fresh water spinach leaves
Only the rest three came to eat
Where do you leave? Where do you leave?
CE Jun 2018
my skin peels away as I itch the bumps moving around beneath it
beetles burrow into my flesh and search for a home
soon they will find
that there is no home here
K Balachandran Jun 2017
I am the warm lips of sun, that kiss your dew drenched petals,
when you in self oblivion try to embrace, I've gone faraway,
playing  with love struck clouds, dancing, their slips flying,
I am the fire making your body burn with desire,slyly planted

I am the wind, licking pollen off your stamen softly, making you
want me to do that more, sowing goosebumps all over
I am the movement of desire, moving through that time of the day
languid in mornings,spreading fervor at noons and in darkness
coils like a serpent that searches for burrow to snuggle in til dawn

Flow of water am I, that carries you along easily throughout,
you could ease in to me, I am the bed and the fingers caressing,
in my dreams you are the  sneaking fingers of my naughty lover,
in you are my ablutions, my fire is quenched  by your  flows.
I ooze,fluids of many scents sometimes a sprouting spring.
I trickle with  pleasure, lubricate,cross one level to the other.
                                               (C)
Luna Craft Apr 2016
Get used to getting hurt
It's life's greatest necessity
The only honest part of reality
Brisk- ever fleeting, this feeling never really leaves
A hole
Burrow, deeper and wider, rip out the organs
Make room for the marrow
Mechanical bones
I scream at the gears for no reason
Echoing clock towers
Turn it up
Let it bellow into the sky
Stress relief
Try not to connect words
Dots
Default a loan
A life
An end

— The End —