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 Feb 2013 Timothy Clarke
Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.
warm buttered syrup
the smell woke me from my dreams
little discs of flour
Oaks, groves, winding roads, all the twisted branches
Gnarled reaches of a wrong direction
Acorns and disappointments
some on the ground, some hanging on
I came to gather mistletoe, or kiss the earth and sky
Nomadic tribeswoman, a newborn deer, lost and found
We have fallen asleep together, the deepest peace I've known
Now crows dancing on branches awaken me.
I am alone, with our heartbeats in perfect sync, the deer's and mine
 Jun 2012 Timothy Clarke
If I wanted to see the Eiffel tower
I’d pick one photo
of the hundreds, of thousands
ever taken

Taken from every possible angle
In every light available
From down, down, beneath,
and from up, up, above

From an apartment balcony
late at night
with a glass of wine
in one hand.

But, I don’t want to see the Eiffel tower; No!
Instead; I want to see
The laugh lines
of the man who built it

Or the rosy cheeked child
on the corner street
wishing that they were bigger
than they already sadly were,

Or the imprints
of a new-born goat’s feet
in the red, red sand,
of West Africa.

I’d want to see
‘from whence he came’
and ‘from whence he goes’ “
and what home really is again.

I’d want to see
What it means
to see Something more
than just another photo view, of the same old Eiffel tower.
All rights of the author.
 Feb 2012 Timothy Clarke
I heard my brittle bones breaking in your hands
As I collapsed
I thought I was made of steel
Or rubber
something that bends.
But never
Your hands were not comforting they
seemed all too steady
and your voice
was too robotic
When asking me to
How could you ask me such a thing?
At a time like that?
have you no heart?

I don't cry in-front of people
You could've had the decency to leave me broken
On the kitchen floor,
So I could carry on saying that
"I never really cry..."
as a testament to my strength

But you had to grab my bruised wrist's
and push denial away
"Shhh..its okay."
  I could've held on a little longer
Had I known
You weren't here to
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