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annh Dec 2020
π™Άπš‘πš˜πšœπš-πšπš›πšŠπš’πš—πš’πš—πš πš–πš’ 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒 πš‘πš˜πš–πšŽ,
π™²πšŠπšŸπšŽπš—πšπš’πšœπš‘ 𝚝𝚘 πš€πšžπšŽπšŽπš—πšœ π™ΏπšŠπš›πš”,
π™Ώπšžπš—πš”-𝚊-πš•πš’πšŒπš’πš˜πšžπšœ πš™πš’πšœπšπš˜πš•πšœ 𝚊𝚝 πšπšŠπš πš—.

π™Ύπš—πšŽ πš‘πšŠπš—πš πš˜πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš–πšŽπšπšŠπš•, πšπš‘πšŽ πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πš˜πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŠπš’πš›,
πš‚πš™πšŠπš›πšπšŠπš— πšπšŠπš›πšπšŠπš—, πš‹πš˜πš˜πš πš•πšŽπšŠπšπš‘πšŽπš› πšŠπš—πš πšœπš‘πš›πšŽπšπšπšŽπš πšœπš•πš˜πšπšŠπš—πšœ:
|π•¬π–“π–†π–—π–ˆπ–π–ž (𝕻)π–—π–Šπ–˜π–Šπ–—π–›π–Šπ–˜ π•΅π–šπ–‰π–Œπ–Šπ–’π–Šπ–“π–™|

𝙰 πš›πš’πš—πš-𝚊-πš›πš˜πšžπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš›πš˜πšœπš’πšŽ,
𝙰 πšπšŠπš’πšπš‘, 𝚊 πšŒπš˜πš—πšŒπš‘ πšŠπš—πš 𝚊 πš—πš˜πšœπšŽπšπšŠπš’.


𝙸 πšπšŽπšŽπš• πš–πš˜πšœπš 𝚊𝚝 πš‘πš˜πš–πšŽ πšŠπš–πš˜πš—πš πšœπš˜πšŒπš’πšŽπšπš’β€™πšœ πš˜πšπšπš’πšπš’πšŽπšœ πš πš‘πš˜ πš’πš—πšŸπšŠπš›πš’πšŠπš‹πš•πš’ πšπš˜πš—β€™πš πšŒπšŽπš•πšŽπš‹πš›πšŠπšπšŽ π™²πš‘πš›πš’πšœπšβ€™πšœ π™ΌπšŠπšœπšœ. πš‚πš πš’πš–πš–πš’πš—πš πšπš’πš›πšŽπš•πšŽπšœπšœπš•πš’ πšžπš™πšœπšπš›πšŽπšŠπš– πšŠπšπšŠπš’πš—πšœπš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πš˜πš•πš’ πšŒπšžπš›πš›πšŽπš—πš 𝚘𝚏 πšŒπš˜πš—πšœπšžπš–πšŽπš›πš’πšœπš–, πšπš’πš—πšœπšŽπš• πšŠπš—πš πšπšŠπšŒπš”, πšπšžπš›πš”πšŽπš’ πšŠπš—πš πšπš›πš’πšπš•πšŽ, 𝚠𝚎 πš›πš’πšπšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš‘πš˜πšœπš πšπš›πšŠπš’πš— πšŠπš—πš πš–πšŽπšŽπš πš˜πšžπš›πšœπšŽπš•πšŸπšŽπšœ πš‘πšŠπš•πšπš πšŠπš’.
β€˜Daith’, β€˜conch’ and β€˜nosegay’ describe a variety of body piercings. Historically, a nosegay (in the small-bouquet-of-flowers sense of the word) was either hand-held or attached to clothing to fend off disease and plague.

β€˜I had choosen the path of the black sheep
rather than that of the unicorns and puppies.’
- Magenta Periwinkle, Cutting Class
Simone Gabrielli Aug 2020
The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.
Velvel Ben David Apr 2020
I couldn’t sleep.
My brain shivered when I moved my eyes.
I felt invincible
β€œInvincible” fails to describe it.
Then I was a cockroach
Crawling like a little bug
My head missing each obstacle
Just enough to feel them
Brush their matter against me
Blowing a rush of air back at me
Warning me my choices are crucial.
Cutting it close to the end
But - I don’t mind it.
-I’d be a liar if I said
I didn’t like it this way-
Some fear the discomfort called the unknown.
I welcome it with open arms
A gift in each hand.
As long as it never bores me.
Life must never be boring.
Fear is inevitable
It is always present
My greatest weakness.

Life is not the time to find your purpose
It is the time to create it
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
If I Falter
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

If I regret
fire in the sunset
exploding on the horizon,
then let me regret loving you.

If I forget
even for a moment
that you are the only one,
then let me forget that the sky is blue.

If I should yearn
in a season of discontentment
for the vagabond light of a companionless moon,
let dawn remind me that you are my sun.

If I should burnβ€”one moment less brightly,
one instant less trueβ€”
then with wild scorching kisses,
inflame me, inflame me, inflame me anew.

Keywords/Tags: love, regret, forget, fire, sunset, sky, blue, vagabond, moon, sun, burn, true, kisses, inflame
R Oct 2019
He travels

With no specific place
In mind

He is not lost
Nor does he want to be
DC Hall Jul 2019
A window seat
A good book
Dylan's discography
This ought to get me there.
I'm headed out with my life in a bag.
The simplicity of it all on your back.
Profoundly liberating to societies hold.
ESHÉ Mar 2019
My mothers love I never knew.
Her affection was cold and pale blue.
My thorny heart was born to sin.
In creek water, I'm born again.
A pack of joes, a fith of gin,
I follow ghosts of what could've been.
Ive seen the sun pass through the. moon
In every town, I start again.
Derrek Estrella Dec 2018
Before the thaw, my feet will be rooted
Into this nation’s primordial freeze
My muscles and bones will be acquainted with malaise
The sun’s altruism will be refuted

Before the thaw, I will struggle to find consciousness
The frost will leak through the bedroom window
And don the facade of a blanket
The door will prove to be bottomless

Possibilities will seem unachievable
The brain will itch for what it can not have
Buses will limp through congestion
And the blizzards may feast on the feeble

You may want to write of your misery
But your automation will halt in cataclysm
Because someone held a door open
For the gust that billows bitterly

Gastric emissions will become tangible
As smouldering wastes contrast against the sky with rancour
The wispy whites, marginalized into *****
And the world remains infallible

I will lack the tools of incision
To enact my life’s revisions
I will weep for my unguided millions
While I saunter into oblivion

After the thaw, I will smile
My expatriate soul will run in the whimsical wind
Of the morning dayspring that will march unto me
I will stand over a kingdom of honey-filled tiles

After the thaw, the arks will converge
Into the straits of the Bermudian Sea and the
Elusive Caspian Forest, where I will learn to love again
While bidding farewell to winter’s dirge

In the waking world, I will ***** a limestone castle
Where entropy will rule and the mind’s domain
Is left susceptible to perennial reverence
The sea, coloured true, nesting a fairgrounds vessel

In this Great Revision, gargantuan skyways
Will show the world how exiguous we are
That we must not wait for exodus to come
Should we fear to waste away
Into icebergs
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