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Em MacKenzie Feb 2020
Existence stretched through a detour,
two spots; unknown in direction.
Turning left when it was right before,
keep all guessing, slide past detection.

I’m not a one stop shop,
once I housed hand crafted originality.
With the increase in demand I let my guard drop,
and now both my shelves and insides are empty.
I believed in a watcher behind me,
I held onto tight to an invisible thread.
Everyone is just silently constantly reminding me,
I’m isolated and alone even in my head.

I hear the loud pop of plastic against plastic,
feeling both relief and shame simultaneously.
Side slipping and back breaking; I thought myself a gymnastic,
though incredulous was the thought of even competing.

But I was sleeping in a Chinese finger trap,
so assured that I would choose to make it a womb.
You couldn’t hear a pin drop but with the concept of a single tap,
ears would shake and ring as if it were a sonic boom.
I’ve got nothing but dirt and dust on my shoulders
I pass it off as glitter and simple magic.
I show no signs of tiring from passing back all the boulders
if I didn’t let them slide it would almost be tragic.

Pardon my complacent self involuntary involvement,
and excuse me while I perform dramatic ironies.
Preparing the conscious for the next inevitable instalment
of prepared monologues of justifications and fallacies.

And I can’t but think in this instance,
I remember the episode of The Simpsons
where Homer is outcasted for screaming “aliens”
and he drinks himself out of existence.
“Red M&M, blue M&M,
they’re all the same colour in the end.”
Really had to stretch for that last reference. Not the best.
Windows sneezing past the trees.
Other flowers streak past with snarls.
Vitality of descending moment,
springs forth prior to the receding dusk.
A woman cleans her garden terrace.
Rehearsing for the next guests’ visit.
But then she left.
A boy jumps to a swing chair,
catches up with a butterfly breeze.
He wondered and asked,
could you help, if she is left there?
Gesmoi’s solo bark has no echos.
And then recedes silently.
Prior to his hind-paw stretch steadily.
Gesmoi’s barking voice is lasting.
Long breath after a finger click.
Dismount and leave the garden ride,
day dream.
at fiends’s terrace garden.
By Angel. XJ 30/07/2019
Debanjana Saha Jan 2018
I wondered how the moon
Was superbly beautiful.
Taking chances to climb up high
And more higher than usual reach,
Just to admire it more than ever.

I spoke with a girl of age 8,
Explaining her about the supermoon
She asked supermoon?
After understanding it
She said wait, wait.
Let's go to the terrace
And admire it together.
A bond formed talking about the moon and how she can relate to it more as her mom used to tell her stories about moon when she was a child.

— The End —