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verus Nov 15
how did we start,
equating hope to silly?
the fallacy of optimism,
contrasted by the truth of pessimism,
confused as realism, facts
sent by a goal of ataraxia

supported by leadership position

tinted of eudaimonia
and the loss of getting ahead
at what cost?
do you tear down
others' hope
with your glance,
fuelled by your own
cowardly manner,
afraid of losing
what you never had,
walks around telling others they won't miss it?
I watch Greek men
With hunting dogs
Arrive on the island.
We say
What's the prey?
Then later
Over black sweet coffee
We pray for sun.

3 collie dogs
Follow a man who
Rides *******
Up valley side.
Like foot soldiers
They look for orders

We navigate the mist of
We dont know any more
We can only shepherd
New order in hope
While we Hunt for love
With guide dogs now.
My writing becomes possessive.
I sit down too hard
On an easy chair
Slip on the shiny leather surface
Smooth from overuse.
Down to ground.

I have nothing to uphold
No sculptured walls
Protect my castle.
No dowager queen dwells safely inside.
Lying in change space
Open to reshaping
verus Nov 8
birds birds birds—
birds left untitled,
untitled flight and traveler
moribund and morbid
fleetingly silent,
through the skies unwanted.
trying to break out
from monotonie.
verus Nov 7
no point in thinking
about right or wrong,
in the end, is it ever up to us?

I wonder about my hopes.
I may have lost them all,
yet I fail to indulge
in the epicurean practice
of abandonment.

no glory, joy, or
gold—if it mattered—awaits me,
it's something its consequence
will hurl a spear
between my blades

and watch me fall to the absence of sea.

but there is hope for the child
that once held my hand
and said “you're kind.”

thus with this spear,
I may take sail
into the abundance of tears.
without a purpose I remain.
  Nov 6 verus
Spicy Digits
Fading apricot sky
Paints the wet sand
The sharpest silver
and romantic mauve.

Angry incoming waves
Turn to lace agate
For a perfect moment
Only to return again.

A sooty oystercatcher
Always keeping
one eye on me.
It is, after all,
his littoral arcadia.

Sea mist coats my skin
Speckled sand whips at my skin
Claggy dread claws at my skin
While I write
And write
And write.
verus Nov 6
there are three freckles on my shoulder
for every time our skins touched,
a new freckle bloomed, softly,
as if distilled energy from your body.

these, had I never seen before,
I was never aware enough
of our selves to know.
and then I beg you so,

don't remember me for what I said—
remember I lied, remember the pain
that I caused and the wave,
washing over your wound,
rubbing salt on the cracks.

forget and don't forgive me
as forgiveness unasked for still,
remember the heart we used to be,
remember the dagger bleed,
allow the freckles to haunt me.

let me scratch with claw and teeth
for the rest of eternity,

for the ache of another:
who either way did not deserve me.
self-worth comes from within, self-blaming takes more to set free.
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