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 Oct 2019 touka
Everforest
We are beautiful,
like fresh flowers
born of ashes,
like dawn
after a moonless night.
 Oct 2019 touka
TheConcretePoet
for

    once,

   i would

love

      to be

         the poem

and

     not

         the poet
 Oct 2019 touka
C
Sugar nightmares haunt children
Nancy harlequins cane them

Oh, child of mine
your life you did,
away,
sign.

Force fed familiarity with already branded emotions,
irregular realities and clouded surreal formalities,
so very many humans’ form dichotomies
out of our shared mute gray;
spinning constant self-important prose.
So very many humans share so much,
so little,
not often
doing little to soften
all of their emotional blows
trying hard to strike enigmatic pose.

Oh, child of mine
the heart of utilitarian method
has receded in incredulous fashion
followed by authoritarian apologies;
the majority is not icecream people
spreading simple good thought,
but generations fraught
with trivial conformist ideologies.
We are all hiding our seams
with creative masks
and self created tasks.

Oh, child of mine
your prescription reality is revealing itself as Atlantis,
sinking and shuddering into Quaaludes
with frightening psychotic interludes.
Emotions paint
stained lurid faces,
dancing with
ludes effecting movement,
nudes of swaying and repose.
You arose deeming so much rightfully yours
waltzing through seemingly already opened doors.

Holy curb their anti-Christ
Consider your aging soul

Oh, child of mine
Belief of awareness in action
understand the probability of dissatisfaction,
Stop!
treating the moment as a bleak bridge to the next inaction.
Eventually ponderous thoughts form
resembling an orrery,
an incessantly philippic story
orchestrates your oleaginous personality.

Oh, child of mine
Youth flees and your mind
takes once again to the seas,
a vexing penumbra of perception.
Bathos permeates the fathoms of an obstreperous life
and if you still care,
lament that this meaningless congeries
of moments
inspires only delusion,
no disillusionment.
Eventually a lilting threnody
leading 'tween burning pews of proposed serenity
and the following bumping callithump
will firmly stamp you into black infinity.

Oh, child of mine
You've used the switch
too much
too often
coupled with lofty scoffing
giving the innocent up as offering
to the
mechanical engine
             of organic creation.
(Rough draft#27)
 Oct 2019 touka
Still Crazy
“High in an ingredient called allicin, garlic can help stimulate circulation and blood flow to ****** organs in both men and women. However, because of garlic's mood-killing smell, eat it in moderation.”

while researching mold, stumbled on this factoid,
the one that’s asking
what is moderation in love?
and where in the oddest places, we find answers...

oft thought that pure love is extremist,
and any extreme needs to thrive on its antimatter,
so goodness, needs speckles of unkind,
and ****** promotions, aides that aid,
present an invoice needy for stamping “paid!”

such is the casino we play life in,
you cannot leave till you’re paid up,
paid in full in heartbreak joyous,
so the odor of love, keener, fruited,
when absent and the green grocer
no longer smiles when his ex-best garlic
customer walks by(e)

I toiled in seduction fields, gathering fruits and flowers,
now, reduced to a window-sill gardener whose
crop will grow from citified rain, small stunted,
leaden and ripe for discardation

troll me not, your stuff is your stuff,
mine is mine, when we meet, you will be slow to recognize,
but you will smell my garlic, and know it’s

that poet
exactly

au revoir, no!

it’s not your eyes that will acknowledge
my existence, but the dirt beneath my fingernails,
and the perfume of what might have been therein contained
if you, sadly unlike me,
are!
s t i l l
crazy after all these (tears) years
 Oct 2019 touka
Aaron Combs
The stars, with all their power,
are falling like Himalayan roses.
Tonight the marble moon is burning,
mirroring the hazel flames in your eyes.

Soon the twin shadows of Gemini
will soar overhead.

While the world unravels
like a crimson dress,
tell me the moment—
the moment you knew life was good.

Dust storms, spirits, shadows
will bleed across the dawn.
Inside this truck let me cradle your heart;
beneath the darkness I’ll be your armor.

Up the sleeves of our feelings,
night no longer terrifies—
cling to the hem of my words
as streetlights spill over skin and memory.

Oh, these shadows, shadows, shadows…
I feel fear as fiercely
as I feel the fire in your eyes,
while the red sky drops like razor blades.

Until we’re clothed in a single flame,
tell me you belong to me.
There is only this night:

the marble moon in flames,
stars collapsing around us.

Turn the radio up—one last song—
and let its blaze of sound
meld perfectly with the fading.
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