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We broke the doorknob off of the door  
The door swung open easily
We sauntered into the poorly lit store
and looked around lazily
We stole every bit of candy they had inside
Gobbled it all up greedily on our 3 month ride
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone

You headed out to the getaway car
And hit the open road
I saw something written in tall clear letters on your face
but I could not break the code
We had hot caramel sticking to our teeth
and the only love I've ever known burning underneath
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone

I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
Andy Chunn Jul 7
Overgrowths of arm-post life
Lift upward as my steam-breath
Vanishes thinly into the sky.

Cool sweat drips deliberately
As the stacks grow larger
And the sawdust smells and sticks.

The wagon-load will wallow obediently
As the frost bites cleanly
Through the still winter dusk.

Ash white smoke curls softly
From the cut-stone chimney
Where a portrait of simplicity
Sleeps eternally in my mind.
J J Oct 17
Mothlet-like owl midges fizzling in and out of the waves
   that shuffle the moon's shed reflection,
hovering and imitating like a wettened rorschach--

with disembodied tiny teeth for feet
suckling from the scurvy gums
where shadows are allowed to be kings.

Kings that observe a godess body that spans the whole sky with ******* made of crinkled ash dripping latex that falls
then cuts into the grass to
                                        spread life--perfection spares no time for the impatient.

Glistening stream,mucky dewlap of the mountain carving a caricature of someone  praying for rain and dreaming of a metamorphoses into ice.

With the night comes tide. Comes time. Comes death. Comes life.

If you were to sit down in one spot
anywhere in the world and not move
for another second of yor life

from there on in--
you would see so much beauty and pain
You'd wonder what you ever did to be

as lucky as you had been.
J J Oct 4
Flowers are the earth's fruit
    Which await the sun's permission
         To beautify and ripen

And at night may serve
   As guiding lanterns floating atop
          Their mother thorns

To gently lead the moon oceanward.
rgz Oct 1
Every bar looks the same
when you live in a cage,
every round rounds out
with a shot and dry snout.

A cold night out
without snow on the pavement,
as truth slowly trickles through the fickle adoration,
and the empty, impatient crowd
is waiting.

The spotlight hits
a white tie on white shirt,
his smile is perfection,
perfected from dirt
through years of tears and blood and lies,
pompous prattle pasteurised.

The spotlight lingers like cheap perfume
from the back of the room
on a white tie and shirt,
handsome as a groom,
he talks with his hands,
his nails, neatly clipped,
are still lined with dirt.

He holds on to hope
for something like bliss,
not quite convinced it even exists,
outside of an incidental kiss,
but the build-up is crucial
to a master crafter,
and the crowd is rapt,
from the floor to the rafters
awaiting their happily ever after.
Poetry is capturing a scene, an event, or a deed with your eyes,
Processing it in your mind,
Feeling it in your heart,
It’s letting go, and
Expressing it with your words.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
Jessica Aug 23
He looked into his mirror
On a day like any other
But that morning
The sun could not wash the darkness
That hung about his eyes like soot
From the fire of passion
He winced
In his moment of clarity
And heard the roar of a crowd with fangs
As sharp as the thoughts of genius that eluded  
And the blunt ones that beguiled
His menacing expression
Having forgotten love
And it’s ethics
A hollow reflection
William Marr Jul 26
you slow feet that walk step by step

be quiet and move aside



make way for the wheels in fast approach

blowing horns and puffing black smoke
Celestial Jul 24
You are a poets dream,
If I am to be a poet.
Hair as light and fluffy as a cloud.
Yet dense and woven like,
Vines in a forest of trees.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to put words on paper.
Smile as wide as the horizon.
Yet devious and charming like,
the demons that are biblical.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to believe in the word.
Eyes as deep as the ocean.
Yet changing and searching like,
a lighthouse in the storm.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to keep the beat.
Hands as strong as stone.
Yet guiding and scarred like,
the seasoned boat captian.

You are a poets dream.
If I am to patch the scene.
Heart as heavy as an anchor.
Yet beating and living like,
Mine.
J J Jul 11
Fortonuate palms skim the dogeared surface
Of the snakes and ladders without clear direction--

Hot tea and foggy glasses. Familiar lips
That look as young as ever when they smile.

Sun melting in the clouds like mollases
While the breeze lifts and plays with

Our clothes.

Hollow words served as concierge
For this used up body-- orbs and a silhouette,

That's all you get as it's all I was perceived as

And all I've left to give.

But here I don't have any will to offer.

I've gave you everything and how peaceful

It is to be contempt replaying another day.
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