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Don't go looking
for bread from an
starving man
when he cant even feed himself.

Esther L. Krenzin
When I breathe
You breathe
And when you look past the greening summer trees
I see
Like Julia Stone
That same essence of the world unknown
And still unknown to me
Past Nature
I'm opening up
Into the ground
Looking for gold
Underneath the weeds
On the nearby hill

I wonder how long
I can afford
To spend my soul
On empty holes
When my body aches

I saw a vision
I know it's in
This hill somewhere
But the doubts all
Found me today
Bellissima May 29
You sit in silence.
Orange shafts pour
through the stain glass windows,
melt into your soul.

You have found God,
not in the clouds, the books,
nor the empty wooden pews,

but in you.
Eliseatlife May 19
Sitting here
Staring to the world around me
Listening to something I want to hear
Waiting for you to come
Looking for the key
To open me
Johnny walker May 16
I touched Heaven when reaching for her I saw Heaven In everything shedid each smile each kiss I
laid upon Helen's sweet tender
I saw Heaven when I
looked to her beautiful eyes the first time I'd looked Into her eyes like crystal
I saw to a vision In her eyes this girl would go on be my wife I'd truly seen Heaven through this vision
In her eyes shortly after we got
I saw Heaven when placed  the her upon her finger the twenty years we had
together Helen giifted to me
a son before finnaly her life was
For my sweetheart had departed without me to the next life she had gone
ahead to light the way for
me when
It's my time I'd seen Heaven
many times through Helen's eye's
and In those years I'd touched or seen Heaven
as if through a crystal ball
so many visions through years but not once In
all that
was I shown a vision of how  all this would come to an end
But I still remember seeing Heaven through Helens
amber May 10
i sip water
as you sip
on your beer

your cheeks are rosy
and warm to the touch
my hand is ice cold
you flinch and pull away

your eyes are wide
my lip is cracked
a small bead of blood
forms atop
and slips down
my bottom lip

as you sip
on your beer
Rowan Apr 29
No words
I don’t write letters
not to myself, not to anyone.
The first time I wrote a letter
it was to my best friend in the hospital.

What does that say about me?

To my younger self,
who wouldn’t listen,
who won’t listen,
I don’t write this to you.

I won’t tell you about
what occured in October 2016
or the job in the summer of 2018.

What of that week in 2015 that you will begin
to learn how to hate?

No, not others. Yourself.

Dates don’t mean anything
but they linger around your head,
worming their way through cracks
in a well worn veneer.

I can’t explain the haunted memories that have silk bows
wrapped around the pinnacle of my fingers.

How do I explain the loss and grief
of losing myself without contouring the edges
into selfishness?

There aren’t words that strike
the anvil with enough malice to endow
the emotion with truth. A simple veritable power
taken away from my reaching grasp and I fathom the silence with
crushing, lovely anger you relish.

A letter to you? They asked me to write about the struggle
I would carve out for you? I wouldn’t wish that upon any child,
not even you.

You don’t need to understand the vibrance of hunger,
peeling scraps of skin to the floor.

So I say to you, don’t go looking for answers,
You may crave the sturdy oak floors, but
it’s better to fly than fall before you’re time.

I don’t write letters, I write
about people and aches that never pass
and stories of deranged hope but I
cannot write a letter to you.

You are not yet ready to write honestly,
the lies seep through and bury themselves in
layers of truths.
You’d say, that’s cliche
But how do you explain three long years?

I was told you write a letter to you…
I refuse.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 5
~for the co conspirators, they know who they are, them
foreign poets~

write in solitudes,
provocations arriving from within and without,
the hot magma melting internally,
the sting of red scars from arriving cold asteroid hits

all I’ve got to do is faithfully transcribe
the knife fights, the not OK corral fights,
the trailing comets passing-laughing their tales off
at the black hole idiot
who said writing poetry is
easy peasy

of course making it easy,
no issue no problem,
just by picking up those
peasy pieces
of leftover me

11:48pm 4-4-2019
It’s a funny place
I feel as though a single glance
Would cause my dying
So I’ll close my eyes
And pretend to sleep
I’ll annihilate lies
And destroy my creep
I wouldn’t wish being alone on the bus on my worst enemy
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