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 Aug 31 Thomas W Case
irinia
our bodies a carnival of mismatched why
the curves of a whisper, the strength of a sigh
they merge in a dance,  trompe l'oeil meets the sky
no labels fit no definitions hold
we are free to invent the rules of the fold
with every step our shadows multiply
we chase the echoes of a surrendered reply
in the androgynous abyss there is delight
a space for contrast to become light
they mark their invisible boundaries by the coast
moist air fills the lungs leaving an aching throat
we say it is a part of our world
yet they should be on their own undisturbed
they grace us with their presence
filling the coast with blessings
{i Took
a smooth shell that sparks like dusk
buries within fine thin dust uncrushed
now living in a corner within the books}
though they are tarnished from their purest form
they wash into our world like dawn
mother with silken hands that’s warm
i Refuse
the world that burns cold
with a legacy building on others’ doom
for i am an alien that Cruises
all far and about with a primal desire
they may speak sweet and serene
but they can roar and conquer
bestowing swift death like a reaper
they hug
my feet that’s just inches away
soothing the beats that’s ruined and astray
legs moving till i can no longer reach the ground
i drown
within the other realm of purity
they embrace
the cuts the wounds from the other side
the world calls it death by water
but i call it a return to my origin.
Heartbreak changes sight.
The whole world loses color.
Shades of black and white.
Childhood blinded me.
Innocent and unaware.
Of a world in flames.
by Geof – Mischief-Maker

I’m the hand with intention, the gaze with a glow,
The one who says “breathe” when the rhythm is slow.
I’m the top with a toolkit of velvet and care,
Who’ll whisper your safeword and braid your hair.

I’m the compass of holding, the anchor, the tease,
The one who brings aftercare wrapped in a breeze.
I’m the dom with a diary, the switch with a plan,
Who’ll kiss every bruise like a gentleman can.

I’ve got swagger in satin, and kindness in kink,
A mind that’s ******, and sharper than you think.
I’m the queer-hearted captain with roses and rope,
Who’ll lift you with laughter and **** up your hope.

So cheers to the tops, the fierce and the sweet,
To the ones who bring structure, surrender, and heat.
We’re the pulse of the ritual, the beat in the blend,
With a crown made of care and a touch that can mend.
''Well, I've been out walking
I don't do that much talking these days
These days
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do for you
And all the times I had the chance to...

These days I'll sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Don't confront me with my failures
I had not forgotten them
"
These days by Jackson Browne
[?]

once again, mess with soulful perfection,
the melancholic mood of music & word
making me aching for the sweet sadness
of loss for when one possessed a curvature of
the smooth straight idyllic perfect love
of friends, family & females,
ascending into crescendo,
then the blood letting of
ego, vanity, incorrect priorities,
the hurrying up to nowhere silly manhood,

and Jackson bemoans
"About the things that I forgot to do for you,"
begging please in a daily prayer,
let me be
confronted with my failures,
my children,
I have not forgotten them,
though, they, I,
nor you,
and you too,
have not forgiven me,
nor I,
myself

and all that is left
is counting time
in quarter tones,
and even smaller, finer
intervals,
to make my punishment for all my
mistakes, go slower, making my time taking
more grievous painful

In the context of the song "These Days," counting time in quarter tones to ten means using musical notation to mark the passage of time, specifically dividing each "quarter" of an hour into even smaller intervals (quarter tones) up to the tenth quarter hour. This is likely a metaphorical way of saying the speaker is deeply immersed in a melancholic state, counting down the time until a specific moment (perhaps ten o'clock) or simply reflecting on the slow passage of time
><
These Days
https://www.google.com/gasearch?q=these%20days%20lyrics%20jackson%20browne&source=sh/x/gs/m2/5#ebo=1
a draper is someone who creates garments or patterns by draping fabric directly onto a dress form (Wikipedia)
~~~~
I am a draper,
by trade, by nature, by instinct;
a fling of one arm across her body,
while she dreams and sleeps, rambles, mumbles,
and even convulses,
to hold her tight with two, with both,
soon grows discomforting as the blood ceases to flow,
the heat breeds unsweetened sweat,
and the snuggling impact,
is too fast subsumed by the pins and needles
numbing, deadening,
and ironical attenuation

this is my pattern,
how I address her,
how I dress her,
draping my contiguous,
drawing five fingers
upon her form,
reshaping her in her sleep,
the arm flung, there, and then
there,
to be hung,
at varied places across her body,
higher lower, above below,
but her face,
free and clear,
so not to interfere
with her sensory preceptors

and as I draw my pattern upon her skin,
her body whole,
listening her to indeterminate utterances,
to determine
which
pitter patter pattern
to which.
she feels best suited,

then,
I prepare my
invoice
for her,
for services rendered,
to present upon awakening,
demanding
in voice,
by her voice,
payment in words,
of her own chosen
amuse-bouche,

mmmm, will it be?

good morning my love?
hello you!
or just an indiscriminate
but yet,
a discriminating
sound of
having been pleasured
by unknown forces
in her deeper sleep, using her lips
to say, to hum, to sing,
a genteel unspecific
but, and yet, a
terrific,
deep from within
guttural remittance,
the sound of a delicious,

mmmmmming
greeting
a new equinoxal gale
of a refreshing fresh
birthing, fulsome
already satisfying
draping of the
day
 Aug 28 Thomas W Case
irinia
sunset's scream of gold, light exults
you betray yourself in depressive insults
the city's hollow tone echoing through flesh,
where life's dreams are made to mesh

unstable rhythms like a windless storm
no paradox, just pain, wounds in display
I fell for the burden, the taste of failure's bite,
the tremble of your fright
no need for final meanings or touches that pretend
love without desire, desire without love's bitter end

I told you: night gets shattered
when  darkness fades away
I've been angry
I've been lying
I've been crying
For no reason
But again
I'm lying
The reason is

96
And camping
The reason is
It's raining and it's only  8 o'clock
The reason is your high pitched laugh
Making my brother annoyed
Letting me stay at your house
Holly and your dog
Making jokes
On all my posts
The reason is
You're nothing but a ghost
And that ****** me off
You're gone
When you belonged
Right here
With my mother
As her little brother

Griefs a *****
Life is a ***** too
For taking you
So young
You belonged here
: ( he passed in march unexpectedly. I never took time to grief *** it hurt too much. His insurance company didn't give him his heart medicine. He passed because of that.
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