his own & this world's realities are like the fuzz in the States
they're ones to escape, which is a plan of attack
that, like a unit of ammo dispatched
to the bean of a **** autocrat dying physically damaged & sad
hits his deli̲ght-bankrupt brain; like Donald the dung piece, today
he feels bold, so maybe there'll be, like abundance of cake
["bald"]
fortune coming his way; this one's a schmuck thing to say
["fortis fortuna adiuvat"/"fortune favors the bold"]
but this club reminds of Ukraine (what?)
he, like motorized cavalcades
from the next-door empire, invades
its territory causing, like unaccommodating writer, a sla[ɛ]m
[Eminem & his "Unaccommodating" song]
as he shuts the door frame; obvi, sO̲me people may
find them bars offensive, like an armed aggression
so my apologies, I'm somewhat ashamed
mainstream house stuff is on play
a thought in his skull: "this is lame"
Michael S. straight after he turned around & stumbled on blamed
Toby F.; through the crowd he cuts like a blade
[the ending of the "Frame Toby" episode cold open from "The Office" series]
having hopped U̲p on the stage
as if it were a narcotic substance you've ta'en
he, so loud as if with his cullions in grave
nU̲t-wrenching pain, bawls: "THIS ****** *****!", like a brace
of thigh highs colored with stains of blood; yanderE̲[eɪ]
["*****"; "so[ɑ]cks"]
schoolgirl; disgruntled, he makes for the f#cking DJ
delivers a verbal punch in his face by the fo[ɑ]llowing phrase:
"boy, go house-sit with your confounded
boring house sh#t, just like a housewyf"
whereafter thrusts him away
ending the uproar with "ciao, drip!"
music-wise, it's gon' go hard as nuts in this place
as if a flock of ones who're deranged
["who're" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "whoor"]
swung by a club in the wake of a ****** **[ɑ]spital break (nuts in this place)
he puts on midtempo dark cyberpunky synthwave
Gesaffelsteinish mid-paced
type of music; that's what drives his crumpet insane
speaking of crumpets, he spots a buxomish babe
while nodding his ******* nut to this cray
music, he feels like a **** being aimed
at, for she stands with her sight, like one of a gun, fixed his way
for a few secs, at each other they gaze
she's quite a fox with her vibrant locks
reminding of flame; somebody call a fire brigade
hourglass-shaped & rigged out in tight pa[ɛ]nts & a blouse
with a U̲-neck, like a fella without
*****, & leaving her waist a bit out
["******"]
on display; he makes his way to this frau
salutates her with "ciao"
she greets him with just the same, then he mouths
the following: "babe, you're way like a house
for lodging that's nowhere to be found
that is, in the deep of a labyrinth"
she's like: "what in the void's name's this about?"
he replies: "I'ma translate that one now"
"the way you look's amazing, ten out
of ten", like that "KleanColor" skin bro[ɑ]nzer
["a maze inn"; "Tan Out Of Tan"]
she makes a soft smile, then replies: "ain't you nice, pal
when you lay your thoughts out?"
"not being nice would be a crime
when you face a fine gal
like you", - he replies
"if so, rejecting the company of a guy so gracious would count"
as a crime too", - she replies
the guy asks the gI̲rl if she
fa[ɛ]ncies this sound
her reply is affirmative
she says she, mostly, faves underground
kinds of music; they vibe
to these tunes being pU̲t on, just like
that loony gobshite the whole antifa community'd like
to see end up ruined, just like
Aleppo or Mariupol; stop, I'd
like, before the main telling resumes, to rewind
a little: they vibe to these beats being put on; he finds
out, when asking her what drinkable fluid she'd like
to have, that she deems it uncool to imbibe (*****)
he replies: "to tell you the truth, so do I"
so if there's somebody to end up lit during this night
it is the moon in the sky
["some body"]
soon after having their soft drinks taken, they bounce
like the music style brought into this wO̲rld heaps
before chicks twerking
blew into the mainstream like "blaow!"
["hips"]
like a sick pervert that digs scourging
while engaged in a bout
of carnal fun, he's got a whip ordered
they wait for several mins for it
finally, the motorized conveyance comes out
like a deb girlie
[debutante]
he trails this fox like she's prey to hunt down
watching her proceed to[–]ward it
in a way like she's on a catwalk waving around
a rig splurgy
having hopped in it, to a lodging place they set out
the saucy look in her eyes
once his palm is put on her thigh
a sort of luminous sign–
–board reading: "absolutely alright
with going on a lewd spree tonight"

It started with Hello,
and a fleeting connection
as smiles were exchanged,
along with quiet affection.

It is always the little things
a laugh, a touch, a glance,  
as a shared thrill ignites  
this sweet, subtle dance.

There is no grand confession,  
just a gentle sigh,  
a swoon of devotion
as our hearts comply.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Luck of the draw,
Lucked out from flaws,
Lucky is the breaking mirror.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose wind had brought her nearer

To the black cat,
The camp of bats,
The magpie who points destination
To a rainbow through a latter
While chirping present ticks in fascination.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose vision couldn’t be clearer.

She saw the birds fly west, then east;
She saw the trail the ****** left
On its rampant quest to feast
On flesh, on glass, on salt, on past
Memories of serendipity
And the seven years of misery
The mirror lost, all at the cost
Of pondering his love.

Its ink would run, and pages dry,
Its eyes would trace a butterfly
Of clouds of clay and molded slates
And the most impressive of junior art.
But it all mattered not,
For despite where was the start-

The broken reflection
Only showed a tattered angel.. with four wings-
How lucky to find a Clover here-
To have been seen by a Clover here-
To have been seen.

I don't know where to,

so I can't go anywhere --


Threatening looks then.

Voices around me,

which I cannot understand,


coffee: the meeting.

Lysol the package

Packed and shipped by robot arms

Now close the front door

Today I met someone I knew before.
We talked for a while, shared memories and more.
Then I realized, we can only meet the same person once,
For experience asks, and change is our response.

Static we can't be, unless life's flame
Is snuffed out, and we're just a name.
In every encounter, new experiences we obtain;
Our paths have shifted, though echoes remain.

Time's gentle passage had left its mark,
On hearts once familiar, now slightly stark.
Contrast of past and present, like a shifting dream,
Each conversation weaves new threads in the seam.

After our meeting, I closed my eyes,
Remembering what once was, under the skies.
In quiet reflection, I found a trace
Of the past intertwined with the present’s embrace.

From far away, you seem
Distant, quiet, and closed  
Discard anyone’s company but prefer to be in your own!
I came a little bit close, I saw you are -
warm, wise and witty,
Kind and one of your kind!
And a delight to meet!
Taught me a life lesson in humility in one evening!
It’s not very often I meet people who can inspire me so much in one meeting :)

In the city there are many doors
that are open at night
to being awake
experiencing something together
across the threshold
no longer being an outsider

In the city there are many sidewalks
where people stand
and explore distant areas
with flexible words
questions and mental leaps
to become familiar with them

In the city there are many gardens
where children play, birds
whistle and all year round, flowers
attract bees and people
to come and feast
on the nectar of the day