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Alexiss Sep 2018
You love me.
I don't love you.

Now I love you.
And I don't tell because you love her.

I hide my feelings.
And he is still loved.

I am alone.
kt mccurdy Dec 2016
Dear John,

All my poems are addressed to no one,
And no thing.
You see, I’ve been trying to braid scenes, create spaces,
To hide and for you to seek. A sanctuary, a sin.
We could dream of fortresses,
places to protect us
From the worst of all: ourselves.
But we are here, in this city,
And your mouth is a sky,
Setting, leaving words black.
Every dream is on water,
And every morning, I wake up sinking.

In my dreams are ships, are sinking,
Are floods of skies and no rain,
Are jungles dry and thick and my finger on the trigger
Of a camera, imagining a frame to fit everything in
Side. And outside, car rides on roads closest to the
milky way. Bells do not chime in America, only horns, only
a billion birds fly but have you ever caught one in your hands?

Do you unravel yourself before falling to bed, but only dream in your sleep?
On the merry-go-round,
new love I found.
Caressed hands on dodgems,
but she pinged me a Dear John.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

How we canoodled by
the coconut shy.
Phoney fortune-teller
foresaw us together.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

The Big Dipper's
not great for one's dinner,
but its ups and downs thrill.
Love is the ride that makes you ill.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Once seatbeats were buckled,
harum-scarum carny cackled.
Sugarcube senses dissolved
as the giant teacup revolved.  
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Atop the Ferris Wheel,
did I queer this deal?
Should I have fondled her
in the gondola?
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

At hoop-la I won nix
- same with love, is it fixed?
Vendor's upped sticks , in candy floss
I can't even drown my loss.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Her name was Elena,
she came from Romania.
Where carnival lights once glew,
now as a disco under Ceausescu:
drab, shabby, dark. Like my heart
of trash, strewn about a fair-departed park.
hollowings Sep 2015
Soft s
Hard z
Warring names
Like warring nations
Soldiers in and out of filled
Train stations.

Letters March
Up and down
Filling pages of
Notebooks bought brown
Math was a bite and a bore
English is her light and her lore

She never wrote love stories out loud
Because a twice uttered spell could cause her to drown
Deep in a sea of serpentine slopes
That the people called  loves, dreams and hopes

But she did color with her mind
A clouded sky
Steeped full of orange and pink painted chai
The cup was bitter but sweet
A chance for two lovers to meet
Select all; delete
Now he is gone before she could sleep

Slumber is simple
Unless you are on watch
Watching your watch for another
To stand notching his clock
Never Relieved of duty
her names never ceased fire
The letters are looting
Abased of greed they get their fill
Filled full of slumber and pills

— The End —