Letter to my Deer
Thunder Bay, On
13th of June, 2013

My Dear,

I have been thinking for a long time about writing this letter to you. Only, every time I enter the writing room I feel how words abandon me into the hands of past memories. I feel deserted in front of still uncoated paper, and titanium pen waiting and waiting for the battle of my feelings.

I hope you understand and forgive me!
Since I left, much has been changed in my life.

Today,
I sit here in silence and wonder if it will rain.
The sunlight scattered in all directions
and clouds piled up covering the sky with a foggy blanket.

I sit quietly here
and watch how vapours are competing on my pale skin
for the arid spot to get in.

I hope it will start raining soon,
As it has been dry and hot since the new moon.

You know I always delighted in
touching fresh black soil with my eager hands
moving through its richness and leaf blades.

If aunty Larisa didn’t tell you,
I let you know, I moved inland and planted a garth.
I work hard from morning till night
being fond of every little progress,
at sunrise, I put up my sleeves,
spray the roses, and pull the weeds,
sensing the presence of a lost wind,
and watching how the greenwood
guards as an unnoticed hero.
It is soothing and comforting.

I even had a dream one night,
How the garden was in full bloom
waiting for you to come soon,
You were driven by grace
coming from a forest’s place,
the sun showed its shiny teeth,
and my heart froze when thee
gently leaned and smelled the rose,
as if you didn’t want to steal forest’s piece,
selflessly giving all of your attention
to the invisible fragrance.

Still in my dream,
Next spring I planted some chiefs,

I hope to hear from you soon,
My Deer,

The Gardener

It is true one mind sees bloodsport in the heavens
and cringes in dread of feeling
kindly, like if that were me, what would I do but die?

nada, right, pass on

thank y'mam, feeling kinda woozy, ever after
seeing
2020 on TV…

Google the violence, ohshitnoknowknow we all know
enough evil to know it don't work like on TV, ever
after one burn, you know, fire works, every time,
to destroy at the touch

thunder, such a holy sound in the desert summer moment
on earth, around the middle,
not too cold in the winter
makes too hot to work in the summer, just
fine.

That's right. Life is like that, if you live in the right state of mind.

Back to the Future, once more, it is
always on or in the library,
ask libby, who in the whole world
before

my generation… we who did not get
stuck wishing we would die
before we got old…
who among us now is we the people minded?
Post war knower bubblers expand
until we pop like matured
pods of what people can be if we live this long.

Trouble your own house, inherit the wind,
as part of the meek inheritance agreement accepted
with the weather.

Earthlings all, hear ye, severe storms are part of the deal.
Free ticts to ever after on Bucky Fuller's spaceship,
Sagan's pale blue dot,
live to tell

we learned no lie may be belived and be survived.

We first saw earth from the moon.
More boomers blew minds beyond their
own imaginings, back then,
listen in radioman's
morphic broadcasts
from Khai Vinh,
the fishnet factory,
legendary - now ifier loosed for the attention paid

do you hear what I hear?
did we know the meaning in happy Sisyphus,
or did we find it known and tag along?
Like a rolling stone.

A weizaskid ax me what I mean,

I say, you know,
what I mean.

You always wishtto go my way stretched out,
expanded,
as a bubble to be in, all ways, as in nine
more than you imagine,
I guarantee.

-- war was a bad idea.
-- corrected it at the finger print of intention
woven into the complexity

code-wize and wiring wize and interpretation
wize domain of all the tells,
signals heart and brain call true,
the health of my countenance, word spikes true
needed to play the game honestly,

sharp, intentionally, prickly oblesky thingy do
symbols seen in places related to DC
ideo game eatery franchisees
owned in a golden archetype,
rock candy mountain
- pop -
poke a point into a slit anticipating just
a wave,

we made a ripple if you smile, non one else need
gno unless
you imagine they al- stretcheit- all read
y'know
y known now is deeper than eve imagined
when she saw she knew everything about nothing,

tricked, ******, been guiled, guilty, you know,

this would really help Atum get his kuriosity collection
performing useful
suggestions for more good than we knew.

We, in Eve's Ish-aww mind, mitomom of us all, we
the survivors of the most recent
common gene pool reduction event.

We share the plan that forms the batteries we
use,
and reuse and restore and replace,

at a maddening pace, thus the commonsense
allocation of most awareness to
soul or spirit, consci used autopoeisish awwtyahll know
-- the y must be evil beings who have power to fuggup ever
and you know this

how?
We can imagine no reason to just allow war to ify as a proud
child takes credit for burps and farts
- we won, cut the **** about being offended, be good
- or die a miserable loser being 1950's mean.

-- eh - where's the dichotomy, is the y's no reason to form a duality of
opposing forces,
honest'godas I write, it thunders over Long Valley Mountain.

I realize you must have read this far and I am home again.

Standing under the viaduct at Exit 45, I-8 East.

And it feels like 2020-real happened.
And it is cooler than it was
And
I wonder if meandering old men mean peace
in the valley and my idea of the long
valley,
you know, the one you think you gotta walk,
even if you don't wish to,
even if you wishtnot to,

you transverse it from one end to the other,
one direction flow, like 1-d DNA,
unmazing engineering on par with the intention
displayed in the hook of heart field and mind fields,

genius, knock-knock jokes are a natural, deploy them

who is there, let them ask?
Thunder in the mountains in August.
This is totally good mohkus, my friends.

At this point. All is well enough all we can pay sharp
focused, non default scatter brain meandering old
white head, my my my myelinated
brain allows a thought to age,
as bourbon in charred oak,

the longer the systems have been on ever after
time when time shall,
not will, I see, shall
I say, be no more. Null set was imagined for this moment
to arrive. Selah.

Resurrecting Passion
by Michael R. Burch

Last night, while dawn was far away
and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies,
as thunder boomed and lightning railed,
I conjured words, where passion failed ...

But, oh, that you were mine tonight,
sprawled in this bed, held in these arms,
your ******* pale baubles in my hands,
our bodies bent to old demands ...

Such passions we might resurrect,
if only time and distance waned
and brought us back together; now
I pray that this might be, somehow.

But time has left us twisted, torn,
and we are more apart than miles.
How have you come to be so far—
as distant as an unseen star?

So that, while dawn is far away,
my thoughts might not return to you,
I feed your portrait to the flames,
but as they feast, I burn for you.

Published in Songs of Innocence and The Chained Muse. Keywords/Tags: resurrecting, passion, desire, lust, ***, night, dawn, rain, thunder, lightning, bodies, *******, arms, portrait, flames

whenever I stumbled and fell,
instead of helping me up,
they pushed and berated me,
knocking me down even further.
safety was never a guarantee.
I take each step carefully - too carefully.
wondering who can see my trembling hands
and feel my heart pounding in my chest.

now when I stumble and fall,
I push the helping hands away,
even though I want to feel
a hand in mine
more than anything.
I've come to expect sharp,
grating words from everyone,
even though not everyone is like them.

I pick myself up and hide
waiting until the storm settles.
sometimes when it all dies down,
I'm still not convinced that it's over.
I step out of my hiding place
and wait for the thunder.
I jump at every noise,
and I wince at every touch.

I want to have spaces in which
my body can relax instead of
looking for the next threat.
in which my hands are steady,
my heart takes a leisurely stroll,
and I don't have to hide.
in which I can tell myself,
"I am safe," and fully believe it.

Boy :-

deep beneath the veil
behind creaking songs of mouth -
felt fragrance of love

Girl :-

nah! torpor dreamer
fret over your own fancies -
stars won't shine the day

Boy :-

rain sweeping over
pall of clouds hiding the sun -
still I waits the smile

Girl :-

before thunder knocks
lightning burns the tweet of love-
not the right day out

Boy :-

burned pile of ashes
blown by the low moaning wind -
shines the fire of love

Girl :-

fling of youthful love
swayed faded chintz of my mind -
stony heart melted