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  Mar 2023 Bardo
sandra wyllie
of amour. It's self-
preservation. I've grown poor
in spirit. I can't grin and
bear it for another day

It's not lack
of ardor. None have tried
harder than me. But I can't live
a life of make-believe.

It's not lack
of rhythm. With him
for sixteen years, dancing to the beat
of the snap of his fingers. They're now
my triggers.

It's not lack
of fit. I just can't sit with this. I'll miss
him. But the ride is over. I'm not
a leftover.
  Mar 2023 Bardo
Thomas W Case
My friends are dropping like flies,
and by dropping, I mean dying.
I mean no longer trying to
fly in a world that wanted
them grounded.
Perry drowned,
and Greg was
found on Highway 6 hit by a
minivan—***** in hand.
They say the best laid
plans of mice and men oft go
astray—that’s an understatement.
My life plays out like
a scene from  Dante’s Inferno.
Abandon all hope.
A month back, Kristin dies from
too much dope.
Tibbs goes out from a  
stroke
or some kind of strange brain
malfunction.
I did C.P.R. at the
great wall,
the junction where
the drunks drink and the
dreamers scheme.
It doesn’t work—he goes into a coma.
No more roaming the streets with
my Sancho,
no more
beating the heat with
stolen wine in the  
summer slick shade by
the river,
trying to save the
last sliver of our  
humanity—only to walk head
long into a ****** up
destiny.
Providence can be a
punk *** ***** when it
wants to be.
See,
I’m not fooled by
life’s strong arm tactics,
one day my friends are fine;
the next,
they’re in caskets—and I’ll  
be a basket case when it’s
all said and done.
****
standing still and
****  
the sun.
**** the
moon and the stars
and the ******
and the bars.
****
This silly world
I’m done.
  Mar 2023 Bardo
Maddy
Mom's unveiling was almost a year ago
All I could do was hug your monument at the cemetery
Didn't want to let go.
Hate visiting there.
You should know that because other than once you visited.  
Mt. Hebron to visit your father.
You never returned as far as I know.
You have missed so much and I miss you more than any poetry books I will write.
Daddy, I am a published writer.
The tears are falling harder this year because your 95th birthday just passed and we can't celebrate or spoil you
Taken from us far too soon fifty years ago when you were
Forty-five
Still need a community to be a writer
Thought I found it but still unsure.
A platform for exchange is needed but not my decision or choice.
You taught me never to believe or use the words I can't in a sentence or my mind.
Still, sometimes that fifteen-year-old girl talks to a stone.
Hoping you hear me because her father died from a heart attack as she watched it happen.
That little gray dove on the railing this morning sat there as if it was hugging me and drying my tears.
Was it you?

C@rainbowchaser 2023
Ill evervwritr
  Mar 2023 Bardo
𝙰𝚗𝚗𝚎
"there are people waiting to meet you.
people waiting to love you.
there are places that stand still
until you've stepped foot in them.
something really beautiful
could happen for you in the morning.
there is so much waiting for your arrival.
arrive there."

- brianna pastor
i feel like i have to share this excerpt that made me feel positive about moving forward with life. i hope whoever reads this to have a good day!
  Mar 2023 Bardo
guy scutellaro
a shadeless lamp
lit her face

" i'll teach you how to dream,"
she told me in her room

broken and beautiful
she was 32
red hair
she had freckles
on her *******
and lost eyes
desperate grey
eyes
like a coming storm
offered heartache held in the palm of her hand

her name i can't remember
it was a kind of whiskey
she loved whiskey

she said it again
"i'll teach you how to dream"

but i had surrendered
many times
many years ago
somewhere along
the road
to nowhere

and she passed out during the act
and the rabbit
was dancing in the ditch
and
so i finished

"don't you get it," i whispered
through her snoring

"we were faded
broken

a long
long

time ago"

walking out trailor
the saddest place on earth
is sante fe at sunrise
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