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outside the secret circle
while being encircled
alabryinthly put plans
stupendously clever  display of power over powerless
plenty of hands to pat the backs
got you man
well done everyone who made this joke
the jokes on you
Glass ***** on titanium dioxide on oil,
heat yellowing lead on black,
retroflection in red, white, blue and green,
glass beads vaporised in aluminum.
Divided by reflective white spheres in rubber domes
Cells submerged in sulpherous acid while electrons race
to create Incandescent light tamed to think the commanding white incandescent mirrored lights revolving in blue casing
sounding the alarms
are angels.......
driving in the dark
cry ,one of the two birds that delivers his pleasure,
impossibly, here for sure,nothing is less than nothing,
surmounted, surrounded, captured and grounded,
predated by a whole lot of somethings,
something always there to remind me,
something always there to catch with unsafety net,
something old,
something new,
something borrowed,
something blue.
When Maria Madalena went to the tomb, she was told her Lord was with the living not the dead
just became aware
of the upclose
right here.
Found fear grown so big
it disappeared
to no fear.
Wish you weren't there, here or elsewhere.
I have to concur you are.
Bowing to the act  played,
helped lead me to a headheld star
high up above where we were.
this morning hope woke me , she whispered in my ear
you took that journey for love
hope told me ask love
before I ask her
I write this down

before the age of two, i knew baby Jesus,
in a manger in the crib of that church in London.  
Love I felt,  huge and eternal,
head over heels, following that star.
Carried me far, the heighest heights,
could not even begin to comprehend, or understand,
the plotters plot, and the planners plan,
how wide their webs of devices span,
dumbfounded, astounded,
perplexingly easily coerced and grounded,
my achilles heel,
just found it,
perpetually jumping from jelly into jam,
here i am.
  Aug 2018 Rachel Lady Durand
egghead
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."

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