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 Aug 2023 M Vogel
irinia
let me tell you stories about stories
let me touch you with the pure joy of touching,
the eclipse of emptiness or
spicy details on the trajectory of sight

some sorrows make for an obsession without identity

we can invent a sign language
for nobody else to understand
this unfinished text, the singularity of clarity,
the sweetness of fingers

no shame in shade
let me touch you with a heresy
haunted by silence
 Jul 2023 M Vogel
irinia
finally this moment is here, I've been watching
and waiting, I've been hearing it all along
in between your words, in the center of the stories
you tell so eloquently, so clever, so wise

there is light in your right eye, some shadow in your left eye
the evening light is sweetly illuminating the magnitude of loneliness
some feelings need at least two people in order to be bearable

you sat and listened you looked deeper into your body
language receded, obscured itself like the moon
sometimes there is no need for words
something more important needs to be created
in between bodies and minds,
the flow of connection, of true partnership

the waves started, the waters of loneliness surfacing
you cried your tears and I cried mine
as I listened to the silence of tears I understood: this was the moment for a few simple words: I see you, I am here
there is no falling deeper than this for now
truth, this scarry creature, was there in your flesh and in mine
your loneliness was like a sea without horizon but the shiver of depth  like a voice without screaming, a bird without flight

perhaps this tango with tears will fill your lungs with innocence
as you imagine a new horizon, a new architecture for happiness
This is a series of poems about meeting people, about how people pass through my body, my heart and my mind.

"Thus, if a resistance is in operation, it indicates that one is experiencing his or her thoughts or feelings as a danger."
 Jul 2023 M Vogel
Azaria
i have been trying to make
peace with some things
i have been trying to
let go of lately
i have held on so
dreadfully/delightfully
to the essence of all
that becomes you
it sits in my heart
the place i go to
when i think about the end
a rocking chair on a quiet
porch
this momentum will
last forever
you’ll have the version of
me from last october
until loyalty becomes
a conflict
i want shared custody of
the versions of us we bore
together
 Jun 2023 M Vogel
Amelia of Ames
Sometimes when I'm tired,
I'll think that I don't want to exist
This life is suffering, striving,
And why should I continue
I hate the life I've made.

But there are other things
There are dreams
There is presence
There is support
There is beauty

When I'm in these things,
I don't think life is suffering.
I think issues can be managed
I don't think, really.
I just love.
 Jun 2023 M Vogel
jolly
the artist
 Jun 2023 M Vogel
jolly
her body soothes my rotting skin
her flesh dissolves into it
my brain cannot resist the poisonous remedy injected
i know you have good intentions dear but i
i dont have them

spent the year sick and in your bed
blood stained sheets from every mess that i regurgitated
sickness strewn about your halo'd head
greenish tint staining the rim

and when i lift mine i feel
dizzying aches
strain to look out to the garden, lay still to see your face
do you regret everything you've ever said
my love, my everything
dear mother *****

everyone who ever knew me,
outside your mending gaze
anyone who ever told me
things i don't believe
who needs them anyway
just dig deeper into my skin
and i forget, when i wince
feels like heaven in your grip
my love
my love don't forget me don't
regret
  
everything i can't resist
bleeding in your makeshift replacement for everything missing, this mattress
can't take away the incessant aches
her fingers dig and dig and
she takes a break for a day
or three and i can't wait
crawling in every single inch of my skin
waiting for you to begin again
hanging on every word you say
my brain cannot resist the poisonous remedy injected
waiting for her to begin
again

and i can't wait

lying in silence




quiet



there's a dead poet, lying in the garden, lying in




silence

thirsting for anything, buried deep beneath the overgrown weeds of your garden

the artist
is dead.
the artist is dead
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