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The tides of time pulled us in opposite directions.
You left this small town and the trauma that it held-
confined by the mountains on both sides
dismal skies, narrow minds.

I stayed at home and anchored my roots  
deep down in the Virginia clay.

With smell of the feed mill hanging in the air
you came to say goodbye,
My head was on backwards then
I didn't really see you leave.

You were on your way-
Wide open spaces,
A different perspective.

In our poet’s hearts we could communicate-
high vibrations, unexplained.
A friendship thriving without any nourishment.

Now that you have returned to where I am planted,
it's as if two decades haven't elapsed.

I am filled with gratitude
to hear the ringing of your laughter again.
My cool Ash be
I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.

II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.

III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.
Freewheeling connections on belief
to lead, rule, follow and support.
Decided through a latent separation of sorts,
the choice in course for self determination.
Collective motivation from individual status,
with less regimented offers of conceit.
We transform when our shadows are shown,
as the clarity of transparency can aid growth.
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Spike Harper Jun 23
Perhaps inspiration is the problem.
I have always danced with words.
Blending syllables and wit
Bending sentences at will.
Firing ink from a loaded pen.
Makes for good imagery.
As I flap the pages of this notebook.
Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue.
Trying to master the craft of symbolism.
With sarcasm.
Playing with these words like hooked on phonics.
Molding them into a scene.
Of play on words.
With less drama.
Maybe even worth less.
Like pay-less.
As we walk in eachothers shoes.
To better understand the roads we travel.
Man May 25
there are lurching deaths
we all fear
whether it be of;

life
passion
relations
connections

in the face of death
none rise to the occasion
fortune favors not a soul
the brunt of annihilation
If it doesn't matter spacially whether there is a 1st or 2nd, etc., connection, then this matter shouldn't matter within reason.
As long as a connection is made or not made, that is all that will stand out.  
The kind of connection made cannot be spacially signified except via overlap or by tangency, so therefore, within reason the kind of connection made should not stand out either.
Therefore, this subject of topology is really a matter of 'connect the dots'.
autodidactic
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
a glimpse of
what might have been:
the candle
and the blow

pacing the floor
mind filled with nighthawks
stomach with bitter pills

snow on the window sill
--the long winter
of our love

it comes out of the blue
like dead reckoning

thoughts of us
unfinished

a hand withdrawn
the final wager on goodbye
Moth Sep 2020
everyone in sync
lining up together
words and actions
that flow just right

out of the loop
unable to connect
like some secret
I couldn't find

how do they connect
like wires to computer
making memories together
I feel disconnected
Amanda Hawk Aug 2020
Rain filters
through fingers
slipping in between
the cracks
conversations, wet
fluid, bending against skin
pooling at feet
puddles, these topics
we are eager to stomp
dance, splashing
memories catching
on the hems of our clothes
drenching, our sensations
shiver, and we are cold
in these connections
Cox Jul 2020
You can be a small flower in life.
You may struggle to bloom.
To settle your roots.
To have the perfect position for the sunshine.
What you really need to do is **** your garden.
Your field.
Then, and only then, open your petals as wide and beautiful that they can go.
And just bloom.
Sometimes all we need is to empty those holding us back, only then in order to rise.
To rise to the sun.
Written: 6/6/20, 2:47AM.
A friendly reminder that weeding is important for growth.
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