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Invocation May 2014
but the hole in my lungs is draining
my air into the the sky, plugging
it with all this nicotine is utterly
useless. i do it often enough
to know. bleeding eyes
stare at your face, or
what i can see of it
on the screen, I
guess. will you
come for me?

take that it any way you prefer.
( i meant it in every way possible)

replay the music
i can't fall, not without a soundtrack
hands sting from skinless remarks
shuffling sideways to avoid
blatant attraction
words spilled from the side of
a half-closed mouth
that never fully closes

I would bleed for you if you asked me to
i would rather you kept me from losing everything.
we could be sheep in the fields forever
sunlight and waving golden faces, old rain
on the trees slipping down to remind the dry hands

lay with me in the grass, but don't get wet
we can do that later
Hello.
Kagami Apr 2014
It felt so right, clear
As a crystal lake in summer. The humidity.

Teach me how to breathe under water so that I may
Follow the current.
Through time and thyme, the scents
That drive me to ask.
Question everything.

Can I make this better?
Install a light switch in the sun for you.

Sleep, lion. I will not be the sheep
You devour. I will be the lioness you sweep away.

Could I be the one to trim your ego,
Your fragile mind into a sturdy rose bush?
Thorns protruding, make me bleed again?

Maybe I will keep you.
The steady strums of my heart strings calming my ears.
And I can not predict what we could discover in this filthy music,
Or maybe the silver harps the angels play.
I don't even know.
Delilah Moon Apr 2014
my earliest memory are clouds
whirling fans
sticky heat
a car ride
greasy fingers
pepper lollipops
sugar coated stories
telephone polls
sheep cows horses
sheep
so many sheep
the window sweat
rapid spanish
windmills
burning sun
then I saw them
they were perfect
in a meadow
puffy
soft
warm
they went on
and on
and on
i wanted to eat
sleep
bounce
STOP
i screamed
STOP
WHAT?
WHY?!
STOP.
is it a doe?
NO
is it a cat?
NO
WHAT THE HELL IS IT?
a cloud
a farm of clouds
don't you see it?
no.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Mew
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin
teli raphael Apr 2014
The world is indeed flat.

When we fell
    
             from the star

into the box,

shades of amber colored the walls.


People were like sheep,

following the flock.

In their stupid

uniforms

until they crashed

                face first into the side


      dazed   disoriented   dizzy.


We followed them and

         the box

became smaller.

We started walking

    like them,

talking

    like them.

And our prattle

     echoed
                 and
                     hopped,

bleating

from corner to corner.
Aaron Knockovich Apr 2014
Baaaaaaaaaaahhhhh
Baaaaahhhhh
Baaaaaaaaaaahhhhh
Chris Schop Apr 2014
The wind makes a roar,
Pushing sheep on a blue hill,
Warm sunshine all gone.
This is a haiku describing a storm. In case you don't know what the sheep on a blue hill are, they are clouds.
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