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Orakhal Oct 2020
Whats that ?
says what
to that what says
Bhill Sep 2020
just look at THAT lonely glass of wine
today, THAT glass was assigned to the most wonderful someone
THAT someone has not arrived, as of this moment
who is THAT someone
is it yourself, are you, your someone
is it someone you don't know
how long must you wait
time moves at the pace of time
find, or be, THAT someone

Brian Hill - 2020 # 244
a headline, a title, an instant self-commissioned
to live on, sponsored by these dying times,
a new poem, a different rabbit hole, a reflective surface
of in-between spaces, that separates letters, I am
that man, charter member, a voting citizen of the

The City That Never Sometimes Sleeps

the new traffic patters, i.e. no traffic at all,
messes up circadian rhythms, no trucks honking,
even the ambulances silenced, asking what’s the rush,
this year the cicadas, them too, took the seventh year off,
the strange silence wierded them out,
so they sheltered in place

our device, informs, it has been employed
20 hours 42 minutes of the last twenty four cycle,
don’t disagree, wonder only where the heck I was for
the 3 hours 18 minutes unaccounted

wasn’t sleeping, of that ‘rest’ assured,
must have been unconsciously
writing poetry, a voyage to my
beloved holy dark,
where nightly
he reimagines when things were
normal and empty streets were
a refreshing sight, a welcome change,
not a harbinger of the visible separation
between the living and the dead
Still I think of an old habit, that I had once made to inhabit, it developed quick as a rabbit.
                              With how fast the crimson would flood, with mountain of tissues soaked in blood, as my body is tossed in the mud.
                                       In all honesty I still miss the rush, the gush,
                                                  That silent shush.
        But I'll keep my word,
Though i might be a flightless bird,
    I can still be beautiful even with the scars, is that so absurd?
Àŧùl May 2020
Our bed will await us,
It will be decorated, and,
With many flowers so various.

That night will surely descend,
From the heavens for me,
Just as for me you arrived.

We shall start a new life,
It will be our marriage, and,
Of two different Hïnđū cultures.

It will be an upgrade for us both,
That night will bring us closer,
Both to each other & to spirituality.

We shall unite as one body,
We are already one soul,
You know that, my fluff baby.
My HP Poem #1842
©Atul Kaushal
Angmar Miedema Apr 2020
When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.... Child, you got to survive.
Eat your lettuce with salt and pepper.
Die die die inside!
Swallow swallow swallow all of your pride!

Spread your legs.
And lay those eggs.
No regrets cause you gotta make them proud and glad.
Your little naked chubby body on the bed.

Cute cute cuty.
Rare crazy beauty.
Pout your lips and touch your skin.
You are so tender, just surrender.
You will never really win!

Spread your arms.
Cling on to these charms.
And no resting your head.
You gotta find ways till you're dead.

When the universe gently pushes these songs into your life.
Child, you got to survive.
Eat your bread with salt and pepper.
Dead dead dead inside!
Stare stare stare at your dissaster left behind!

Ah ah ah. That does not feel right!
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