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Timothy Brown Apr 2013
Truthfully, I really want someone to be honest with me
© April 9th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Apr 2013
I will admit that I still love you very much.
© April 9th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Apr 2013
slam!*

step  step  step

click! Buzz  

pshhh Nonsense...


drip


drip


drip  

Shower...

sigh

foom

inhale

exhale

inhale

*exhale
I walked into my apartment. Turned on the tv. Turned off the dripping faucet and smoked a cigarette.
© April 4th by, 2013 Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Apr 2013
Arizona Ice tea
Pixie sticks
Chocolate and nougat.
You always had something to sell me.

Bumped up a quarter from the price at the store
You were alone while others traveled in pairs.
I could hear you running up the stairs.
Somehow your soccer ball would always hit my door.

Seven is supposed to be a lucky number
Ebay, what you got for me today?
I would say.
50 cents for candy lumber!

Maybe if I played with you that day.
You could be sitting here typing.
No tears on your face for wiping.
Could be that bullet never went astray.

How can people be so evil?
why?
A seven year old shouldn't know how to die.
I shouldn't be experiencing this emotional upheaval
I can still hear the silence after your last wail in my dreams.
© April 4th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Apr 2013
Fifteen minutes entwine conversation during dawn.
Sun makes mist noticeable.
As well as the dew.
Bubbles in glasses
mirror silence
with stillness

Write half-right about quarters twice;
worth 50 cents.
Half-right, write about quarters twice;
worth $1.

Half-hour
past fifteen. Sixteen
words written at a 45 degree
angle across seventeen sheets of paper.
45 minutes past the last
90 degree angle.
A poem written without pronouns and connotation.
© April 1st, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Mar 2013
The Jedi is dead
Now we're off to bed.
She's not mad about missing our date
Just the fact my shoulder still creaks
like a rusty gate.
I pour my thoughts into her,
as if they are rain
and she is a grate.
In the middle of the street
I sink
into her embrace
The whiskey isn't as bad as the cigarette taste
or
The cigarette isn't as bad as the whiskey taste
As we press our bodies together,
I shiver and shake
She responds
Turn the light off.
*So both of us can be black in this place.
Goodnight. Hold your love tight.
© March 29th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Timothy Brown Mar 2013
Regulate
your heart-rate
son,
improve your brain
function.
Fish oil.
© March 26th by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
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