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I do not mourn long Mondays--
Wednesday is gone before I
blink back an astonished Tuesday, and
at twenty-four already
I see my mothers hands sliding
across the page
That same scrawl following tip
of the exigent pen

Nervous mind idly stroking
bitter torments
That which is aggravated swells
inflamed. Like a
canker sore deep in
the inner cheek
The tongue rolling and probing,
absorbed by each sour pain
Carefully plotting little volcanoes across
the slick terrain
They burst like purple pomegranates
pounding spattered cement
on mild fall evenings

So do people sometimes
Through tectonics of the brain
Those which could be minor psychological
blemishes roar to life. Shifting
vast emotional plates
behind a cool gaze

People hurl carelessness at on another
like schoolyard boys
chucking helpless frogs at
jagged stone walls
Ignorant of life's high price
And though horrified-- I
Can not look away.
Eyes bulging, blown out anuses spewing
pale intestines slick with blood-- I
can not look away.
Each giddy chimp, feces
Proudly flung-- I
do not look away.
My heart swollen hungering for
that emptiness called humanity
Mostly pretense, mostly solitude, mostly cruelty,
     All personal gain!
Meanwhile, brothers and sisters,
have you considered the fate
of your everlasting soul?
     I didn't think so

Glassy eyes stare
beseeching from bathroom mirrors
Tear-stained cheeks belie
a quizzical half-smile
I will meet that insecure gaze
promising to seek my own perfect
imperfection
No longer guilt ridden and ashamed
I will hold the reflected stare aloft
with my own true eyes
and I swear--  I
     will not look away
Did we decide on love?
You know the grumbling hooligan
better than I.
If the choice was mine I’d toss it to the streets,
let it soak in the rain.
                                                           ­                                                                 ­    You know love has
                                                                ­                                                                 a brain that hums?
                                                           ­                                                          Not sits and scowls in the
                                                                ­                                                        midst of responsibility.
                                                 ­                                                       Hold, dear child, your sentiments
                                                                ­                                                                 ­     of mediocrity.
                                                     ­                                                                 ­     And wait for the light.
veins of frost pulsing
on the bloodless face of night...
his ghost in my dreams
Published in Dark Poetry
Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.

Sleep, sleep, and in the night
may your whispers be softer
than a leaf of grass,
or the silken fleece of lambs.

May my flesh slumber in you,
my worry, my trembling.
In you, may my eyes close
and my heart sleep.
 Oct 2013 Taylor St Onge
M M M
I could love someone,
but not
like
I
do
you
 Oct 2013 Taylor St Onge
M M M
We are animals
Look in our eyes and see fear
We are all the same
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