Broad shoulders, alkaline appearance, clothes tight fitting for appeal.

As the sun comes halfway through.

Drowsiness with the shoulders sinking—
dragging both the feet and the toes—
limp in the arms, very inconsiderate of what happens at the back.

Vague terms—
Vague slang, slandering the vending machine walking stiff amongst them.

Inserting credits used as name-calling—
in a language acute by their accents.

Last period,
I looked at her—she looked at me.
I take notes—he takes more.

But with the parachute of salt dangling on their noses and not yet inhaled…

Soon they will see a sloth with its arms not tied to a tree rather than a machine.

Like bouquets of flowers
Which are all but homogenous
And withering from neglect.

Like a classic & well known speech;
But someone altered it greatly
From structure, wording, & hermeneutics.

Like beaches of glass,
Where time & wave deny
Any smoothing of edges.

Poetry is long-winded,
The stanzas bore
Through ups & downs.

And then I heard
her heart
through
the screams
that trickled
down her cheeks

She speaks...

Haven't wrote in a while my
               words stutteringggggg.....

repeating the words

                     before that

duplicating expressive
                      alterations.

that sounded different!

A particular vibrant diversity,

worded, formulated..
           effectively resonating, echoing

in the same flow that seems different
     but cascading within contrasting similarity's..

Snow flakes fall upon
the black mountains.
   But never mix,
                           segregated.

But where oriental blossom
falls, in the next field
         fruit pickers labour for
                              gangs..


Our words define our morality..

By Arcassin Burnham


Men being afraid of other men is a joke,
Pretend to have a hard exterior from ****
that they spoke,
You seem to act tougher than the man
you brought with ya' but when he leaves
all those you said will just up and choke,
Men ain't men no more, they just come with a gloat,
For me its not easy to be a black man and
be broke,
Can say it two times , can say it three times,
If I don't get it the first time, its not gon'
work,
Leave my emotions and my feelings and my anguish and my insecurities to put a
troubled man under the dirt,
Manhood comes first,
This is a curse,
Wicked worlds worth,
How many men does it take to lift the earth,

Not intimidated by no man.


/


Sparkles don't last as long than an life expectancy,
Lashing my threats to my enemies,
I am nothing but holy,
I know I could peel the corruption from my skin, my soul,
A morning like this could take me out
of feeling old,
A good solid feeling from the this I've told,
Some days I feel my words are not enough and so,
Reap what you sow,

And so will they also be sold.

I'm just a man
               with a pencil
sharpening it.
For blunt words
        never mean much,
but sharpened words
          are smooth
on there understanding .

A tiny and mere space of nothing in-between,
No smiles or tears to capture in one’s heart,
Lifeless emotion to stare on aimlessly,
Graves are open to fill in, in part.

Blank eyes have souls of no matter,
Tea stains in perfect hollow rings,
Thoughts come and go with furious wind,
Take attention of nothing he sings.

Fingers punching at plastic and horror,
Read on dear people no love of pans,
Lapping on ***** to feel something, anything,
Speed in lines in ***** in acid coloured cans.

Brace yourself Time my ***** master,
I’m running to you now without jittery retention,
Catch my waist as wings give promise in attendance,
Pain gone or exhausted floccinaucinihilipilification.