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By this time of the year (In days of old and times past)
we would already be
                                    
                         ­             skipping off
              
               onto deer trails--------                
^^^^^^^^^^in the woods of Fairview park.^^^^^^^^^^
-
at
    the
          bottom
                   ­   of
Stevens Creek runs through
                         those
                                 steep
                                          hills.
-
We will dip our toes in the slow, murky water
(James came to town)
as the thick, sweet smell of my burning cigarillo
(and the whiskey fell into our glasses.)
lingers on the water's surface.
(It was a race to see who would pass out last)
It is here that we are young; No moss clinging.
(and be the one to see him off at dawn.)
-
That old ****-colored truck with the key broken off in the ignition
will take life with every well-used car I'm in. "The Brown Trout".
Marcus called from the 24-hour gas station on Eldorado
to tell you he broke the key in the ignition and couldn't seem to get the ****** truck started. We gave comedy its due.
What could we have done at that point but stumble into the blue?
I recall forty girls & boys crammed into an efficiency apartment that night
as the bathroom vent sapped the room of smoke, liquor stench
and Nag Champa incense, while the dense fog
of budding lust hung in stasis over our heads.
Boys on the exit living out their tree house fantasies;
drinking away boredom and skateboard injuries.
-
Phantoms of the apartment buildings
(Do you remember Dipper Lane?)
at the end of West Main tell tales of past tenants.
(I seem to have forgotten your name again.)
What does it feel like
(Did you hear something?)
to be a home away from home?
(I've been alone this whole time.)
-
It's four years later and the bikini tree has tan lines,
they cut down the ******* walnut at my old house,
and built my ark from its wood.
Supple leaves line the Sylvan Queen's Kermes colored hair
as we sail for higher ground.
Now the stinging sunlight cuts through the cracks in the wood.
-
I'm examining the border of a much larger picture.
Even now, the resolution grows fuzzy.
You are a leaf on the five-hundredth page of my dictionary. Ginko.
I placed you there on a particularly sunny day in July
when the Magicicadas woke up to the sound of Joe Cocker,
and we both learned the language of the spheres.
A revised and re-titled version of Part IV. Parts V and VI still to come...
Amanda Stoddard Sep 2014
IVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING. Ripped out my ******* heart and handed it to you on a silver platter and what don't you understand about that? I did, for you, the most vulnerable thing someone can do. So never treat me like I'm ordinary because you control the one thing that drives my emotions. So when you're lonely and missing me, remember that's where I am at every moment of everyday. See everyone feels things differently, but why do I feel for you a love so big it's the entire country of Russia? When you feel for me, well a love that's grand but I'm not sure how grand because you've never actually disclosed the information. Why is my love so big and so consuming that it turns me into someone I hate when we're not together? My anxiety without you is like your 8th grade best friend out to be exactly like you, but yet change everything about you so she can go behind your back and steal your boyfriend, while then making sure she ruins everything you've worked so hard for. I'm never sure if I have multiple personality because I become someone new every moment anxiety consumes my being and wears my skin as an overcoat, and uses my ego as a umbrella from the storm that is my train of thought. I DO NOT FEEL NORMAL. But does anyone, ever? What I'm trying to say is that, I love you. So don't ever take that **** for granted because I will become the Kanye West and Miley Cyrus of breakups. I will be everywhere you look even when you don't want to see me. All I ever wanted was to love someone and have them love me in return and now I have that. This feeling is the best worst thing and I'm trying to manage as I go. Loving a mentally unstable person is never easy, but ****** you try your best. I have to learn to love myself the same way you love me and I am taking small steps, but I am still moving forward.
I am tired, so I'm not even sure if what I was writing was decent or not. I hope it turns out okay, I'll read it when I wake up tomorrow.
kelia Aug 2014
i tried to love you last night
with whiskey, whiskey
but you've left, gone west
the morning after, the morning after
Cheyenne W Jul 2014
My father once told me my lungs were filled with the western winds,
swept from the plains of South Dakota
and when I spoke, I spoke in shades of the sky;
innocent and naive baby blues to raging, violent greys.

My heart beat to the sound of the hand drum, with a fire in my belly that could not be put out. I yearn for my feet to soak into the soil of the Black Hills, to run the hidden pine trails, seeking wisdom from the ancestors that rest among them.

My mind is as wandering as the Black Foot river and I cannot be stopped.
IncadesentCat Jul 2014
I tried to beat it
The sun.
Tried to beat it to the horizon
I looked up and saw it one day
I said "OH! what beauty! I shall catch it if it falls!"
And it began to fall.
So I tried to beat it to the horizon, where I knew it would land.
But it sank deep, deep into the ground.
And i mourned for it
I cried and crooned of it's beauty.
I begged of it to come back.
And in this depression I fell asleep.
When I woke, high high above me was the sun.
And I said "OH! what beauty! I shall catch it if it falls!"
Phew! been a while since I was here last, but **** that felt good. hope you like it.
Chelsea Jul 2014
The thing is, the town grew restless
living deep within the dustbowl,
so they placed mountains behind the hills
gave the general store a roof,
then each bar a row of stools
which will never sit empty.

We sewed eyes beside our buttons
as eager as our own
and asked eyes to reveal
the depth of our despair.

And because the present blurred our future
dusty hands met moonlit faces,
triggers received a finger;
their bodies sleek, shining handles.

Even what lay hidden from our vision
was radiated from their fires;
we made memories into bones,
photographs screaming out,
wet tongues lashing,
so we could walk into sanctuary.
This is modeled after a poem by the wonderful Lisel Mueller.
No one to talk too
My mouth is sore from being shut
My brain spinning with thought
I'd talk to the stars,
Even they didn't show up

The desert skies of royal hazey colors
New grounds for me
For others discovered

Through long plight before me
Spirits endlessly struggling

To bask
Alone
Under the hazey royal indigo
Desert skies

Enlightened wolves
Darkness despise
A free flow poem :)
eugene-moon.weebly.com
Together
Laughter / inception
An Amazing twist


heads over heels
having climbed
Only slightly

More dangerous trees
:) :)
Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
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