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Thera Lance Aug 2022
He has hands and feet now.
And eyes that can close off the world to such a limited view.
  Look at the sun and it is bright,
  Even when the sky shifts to his other sight,
  That warps the fabric of space into view.
  Gravity bends around and around the star burning above,
  Trapping his gaze under its twisting fire.
He forces the vision away, blinking
Once and then twice, then thrice while it lingers.

He breathes in and out
Tucks back a strand of hair glowing red even if there wasn’t light.
Humans see the brightness,
The nameless shade slipping through their thoughts
Slithering down their necks, causing the hair to rise.
When it catches his eye,
When he lets it catch his eye
The dying red star, the one he wasn’t finished slurping down,
Glimmers in those strands of hair.

Once, a very long time ago yet so recently in his memory,
There was a hole, gaping and black
Not quite as empty as humans like to pretend that they are.
Stars and planets, bits of rock with life clinging to the surface
Sliding down, down, down what was once a mouth.
That’s all, everything he was, only a mouth to devour.

His hands clench.
His hands, his feet, his eyes
The mouth closed so very tight
Even if past the lips only round little teeth reside and not
A bottomless abyss.
He might be wrong about that, though
Never could quite build the courage to face a mirror and open wide,
To see if that echoless emptiness still waits inside this carbon-construction of a body.  

He breathes in and out, feels the air slip into lungs
And out again unlike those stars and planets from so long ago.
How was it? How did he become like this?
During that time when his appetite was vast,
Yet he couldn’t have been larger than a drop of ink on a page.
How did he grow, yet become so contained
That the light can strike off this form and not fall into him forever like it did then.

There once was an item of science and a priest of old—
The light, the light that doesn’t fall in like the other rays slips its fingers
Into the maw, pulling its jaw open to the point that it
Cracks and realizes that
Its eating, that’s what it—he is doing
That’s all he’s doing, and he wants more
Not more to eat, but more to existing.
And the light pulls out the half-eaten star,
Weaving the red and the orange and the yellow
Into strands that settle past shaking shoulders.

The memory of what he once was presses down upon him as
He wraps his arms around
Those shoulders that only shiver now
Under the weight of boundaries
That keeps the people walking by from falling into him.
He looks back up
Searching for the light that molded him into this shape.
The sun is too dim though, the rays brushing too weakly against his face
To be whatever god forced him into human limbs.
Who needs character notes and outlines when you can just write a poem. In other words, this is a brief and self-contained concept poem about the personification of a black hole.
peace, she wrote on the wall of the house
the one wall that remained standing
scared to death, she wrote the only word that she dared to dream
peace, a mythical concept
a fictional character
rare and unfamiliar
she wrote on the wall and kept her peace alive
when the bombs rained down, she left this world smiling
a girl grapples for peace in a war torn scene
Salvador Kent Feb 2021
time was
were you
three i
as grow old

there be
distant memory
be you kind to me
distant memory.
time be conceptual
conceptual be time.
Deconstruction. New. Two.
Lennox Trim Jan 2021
I would like to call my first witness to the stand, 
Will the characteristic name selfish please stand,
"Is it true, that you believe the world revolves around you?
If so , how can a ***** even evolve around you?,
That's why in conversation ****** tolk around you, 
Because if he cant walk with ,****** will walk around you,
That's meant exactly how it sounds too,
Always jumping to conclusions without sound proof,
Know how to hit me where it hurts ,with such a profound tooth,
Then when my feelings are revealed,  you become soundproof?"
You know ******* me softly , you're well known for your silky execution,
and you like a story ,
Never been one for the hasty resolution,
And for that alone is why im seeking  Restitution,

This is it. the Jury is hung,
My mind is out of it but my heart? Its  latching on to you like the song that Sam sung,
There's been too much time lost playin victim, 
Which is why I'm here to ask that you wave this indictment,
Not gonna lie and say that there is no need for conviction,
The truth is your honor,  that SHE. SHE is my addiction ,
Not a day goes by when I don't think about her,
I never say never but I never saw me without her,
But To be Frank , its tragic what she got up in her attic, I've had it with the dramatics,
it's like her formulas quadratic,
My mind is filled with static,
I tried to hit the box for clarity,
I planned 100 different ways of asking her to marry me,
But I could never get the timing right your majesty,
Then it all fell apart , miraculous, no magically.
Lennox Trim Jan 2021
Correct me if I'm wrong,
but I'm pretty sure I anthropologized after that dirt came up ,
dug myself a deeper hole, 
gotta learn when to shut up,
my feelings fossilized like **** I ****** up,
yea I ***** her - but that was way before we had made up,
that's why I see through you like glass when you lie and say you're not tempered,
cause you're still stained with emotions, even after my fi is sempered,
your words are tinted in the way you throw in shade,
and them ***** cut deep - apologies sharpened the blades,
lost my touch - my tunnels carpeled and feelings fade,
on my last nerve - how much before it can't be saved,
as of late...our interactions have been nothin short of taxin',
taxidermy of it's old self,
and it's a tall order for you to sit down and relax man,
my words massaged more than 40 aches and pains away
and when you felt broken I lent tools,
I listened to every gripe and grievance,
and for your burdens I was your mule,
you were my muse then but now it's far from amusing,
I visit the museum of memories for my amusement, 
often make withdrawals from my memory bank from when the fun was mutual,
there was a point and time your words used to paint murals, 
now I'm stuck in somewhere, nowhere
lost my courage and my muriel,
Now I'm ruthless as eustace,  
after my efforts proved to be useless,
im used to this, I use this - pen to write my wrongs, then I put it in a song,
I fell weak , at first strong,
This plight is too long,
my heart breaks constantly for your constant needs,
and subconsciously I know you not the break my conscious needs,
still can be my trinity but now I'm feelin more (like) Constantine, 
let's fulfill  the prophecy your the fishburne to my Keanu Reeves, 
you play hard ball so there's no need to draft replacements, 
always find myself running back - I'm Emmitt Smith if you Troy Aikman,
I'm Liam Neeson and you the reason my heart is taken,
I need amnesia these memories I see are forsaken, 
This is all new to me , maybe cause im used to you,
can't do much these days without reminders of what we used to do,
maybe I should let it be a bygone how you python,
but I'd shed skin before I shed tears,
And if our conclusion is forgone,
thats one of my worst fears,
you remind of that song I can't remember.
or that place that I've never been to.
that movie I never seen.
or that experience I've never been through, they say 7 days without prayer can make one weak,
everyday you're not there I get less sleep,
I propose a writ of habeas corpus, 
For the miscellaneous corpses that lie in her wake,
My thoughts are both heinous & cautious, 
still my candidate for this caucus,
for heaven sake..
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