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  Jun 2021 Bijan Rabiee
Frances Raeburn
Don’t play
with the real people
in your life
they really are
  May 2021 Bijan Rabiee
I confess to the moon
The object that got me fly
On repeat to the sky
I called out my name
If she's still excite,
Of the things she embrace the most
I confess to the moon
Where the stars locate
My heart that beats
The beads to my soul
I confess to the moon
If ever your far away from me
Let me hold your hands
When it's cold
Because of winter and spring
  May 2021 Bijan Rabiee
guy scutellaro
little purple flower
In a desert of scree
waits for a butterfly

     (me, too)
  Mar 2021 Bijan Rabiee
guy scutellaro
the red glow of her cigarette.
the fingers of her left hand
yellow  with nicotine
clutching dying flowers

"buy a rose for your lover," she says,
"buy one for your wife. buy 2."

"the flowers are wilted."

"maybe it's your eyes that are wilted.

she had black hair
black as the night
the violent night
and gray eyes
the shade of ***** ice

"you must love
some of the time, no?
put a rose on
your father s grave, then"

"love is like lost pennies
falling from a broken jar"

she smooths her hair with one pale,
long, fingered hand, "you re crazy,"

"my mom says so."

i was born to
have adventure

I followed her up the steps

i was born to chase the night
through the forest
of dead roses
  Mar 2021 Bijan Rabiee
Stephen E Yocum
I peck the keys with one
finger of one hand as the new
Christmas kitten lays content
and warm curled upon my
chest and folded into the crook
of my left arm, his purr motor
at full rev, this his preferred napping
perch whenever I sit at my computer,
little hedonist that he is.

And who am I to object to these
moments of shared warm affection?
It takes longer but I am
getting pretty good at
one hand one finger typing.
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