A cascade of raindrops pattered on the tile rooftop that adorned a drab house, the soft yet pronounced sound diverting all thought to it's presence. The lone occupant, a young man of twenty-one years old, stared blankly at the marks on his arms. Some still bled, while others had scarred into permanence long ago. The marks looked like elegant gibberish, but to his trained eye, told a haunting tale. The razor edged blade that had etched this tale lay on the table in front of him, thoroughly coated in his blood. He never felt the bite of the knife, nor the weakness in his legs as the blood left his body. He only felt the desire to be rid of the voices. The horrid voices.
The only way he had found to quiet them was to inscribe their bantering into his flesh. His hands drifted towards his throat, where a long ragged scar lay raised around his neck. He should be dead.
He had wanted to die.
He had tried to die.
But he couldn't.
The voices wouldn't let him.
His name was.... He had forgotten. He blinked confusedly for a moment. He knew it was here somewhere. He glanced at the wall and he could see it, carved into the sheetrock a thousand times. He had trouble focusing on it, his eyes twitching violently as he tried to hold onto a thread of his former self. He shut his eyes tight. He took a deep breath, feeling the icy bite in his lungs as he did. He focused on the cold and pushed the voices back into submission, if only for a moment. He opened his eyes and focused on one single name.
Adrian.
His name was Adrian.
For the first time in a long time, Adrian felt his heart beating. He started shaking. His heart beat faster and harder, almost painfully so.
The voices were breaking through again. Their cacophony of shouts was deafening.
Adrian couldn't hold them back. He had to let them free.
His heart stilled once more and he felt his consciousness fade as thousands of claws swallowed his psyche again.
He stood, following an almost robotic motion. He stepped towards the open window.
No. It wasn't open. It was broken. Blood had caked over the jagged edges. The rain was pouring in. Though by the look of the floor, it had rained through the window for quite some time. The floor sagged under the window, threatening to send Adrian through to the lower floor.

Adrian slowly reached a hand through the window, letting the rain rinse the blood from his arms. He could feel the dull ache as the jagged cuts continued to pulsate blood to the surface. He shut his eyes and leaned forward, ignoring the groaning wood beneath him. His eyes shot open as he felt the floor shift beneath him.
One voice screamed louder than the others, "MOVE ******!"
Adrian panicked and tried to step back, but it was too late. The rotten floor fell out from under him. As he fell, his forearm raked across the shattered glass in the window, one large shard piercing all the way through his arm. He hung there as the shard suspended him in place, screaming as he felt the razor edges tearing clean through his flesh. His vision went completely black for a moment as he faded in and out of consciousness. The screaming voices thundered in his ears and he felt tears streaming down his cheeks. The pain was unbelievable.
Just as he thought he might pass out from the pain, the shard snapped, leaving him to fall to the lower story. He landed on a splintered beam, the impact hard enough to break his wrist as he tried to break his fall. He collapsed, defeated. The voices demanded him to stand, but he ignored them. Adrian lay there, broken, bleeding, wishing more than ever for death to overtake him. He knew he should be dead. He could feel the long sliver of the splintered beam passing straight through his heart, yet he couldn't die.
He cried.
He just wanted this to be over.
Please.
He just wanted to die.
Adrian forced himself to stand, pushing against the beam. He cried out in agony as the shard piercing through his arm and the stake embedded in his chest both cut deeper.
Feeling weakness overtaking him, he took hold of the pane glass shard in his arm, yanking it out swiftly. A spray of blood spewed from his arm before quickly subsiding. He watched in panicked horror as his flesh began to knit itself back together. "No no no just **** me!!!"
He started to hyperventilate as he took hold of the stake with both hands and slowly pulled, feeling smaller splinters digging into his skin. His face contorted into an agonized grimace, letting out a pained gasp as the wood was freed from his chest. He threw the stake away from him, shaking violently.
His clutched his head in his hands as he fell to his knees. When would it end? How much longer would he have to endure?
The voices were quiet. Adrian looked around, still shaking, and realized where he was.
The lower floor.
He shouldn't be here.
The voices said to stay away.
The smell.
How long had these bodies been here?
Adrian stood slowly, seeing with newfound horror where he was. This was evil.  The grotesque, contorted bodies lay scattered haphazardly across the whole floor. Their decomposing flesh had attracted hordes of flies and other carrion creatures.
Adrian threw up.
It was too much.
Had he killed all of these people?
There must have been thirty.
Maybe more.
The taste of ***** brought him back to his senses and he quickly looked for an exit. This was the ground floor, there had to be a door.
He looked around, seeing nothing but the tormented faces of the deceased around him.
Wait.
No. Directly behind him.
It was just barely there.
A void in the corpses.
He sprinted to the opening. The voices told him to stop.
Adrian pushed them aside, focusing on escaping this hell. As he broke through the void, he felt a rush of cold air and he blinked. He was looking at a brick wall, but it wasn't from the building he had been stuck in. No this was... An alley.
Adrian looked behind him, expecting to see the corpse room, but to his surprise, there was nothing. Just another brick wall.
Free.
Finally free.
He hoped.
He sat against the wall and wept, both for joy and in fear.
What would happen to him now?
----------





Thunder shook the windows of a lone white sedan as it puttered to a halt at the side of the road. The sky was black over northern Washington, and the shadows beneath the towering pines cast a forbidding darkness in  all directions. The heaviest rain of the storm had just begun, and the wind rocked the car back and forth like a boat in a hurricane. Each drop of ice cold rain was like a bullet against the car.
Black smoke billowed from under the hood as the car met it's final resting place. From the back seat came a low groan of distress. "Stupid... *******..."
Lilya grimaced as she spoke. She was clutching her chest, covered in a blood soaked blouse. "This was... my favorite shirt..."
Lilya's sapphire eyes were shimmering with tears as she glanced out the window. "I guess we won't be making it to that doctor, huh?"
She was laying across the back seat, her head in the lap of her best friend, Soryn. He was stroking Lilya's raven hair, his fingers trembling. "We'll get there, Lil. It's not far."
Soryn's green eyes met hers and she gripped his hand. Her touch was ice cold. She pushed a lock of his blonde hair out of his face and whispered, "You're... A terrible liar, Ryn. Always were."
The front passenger door opened and Malyk stepped out into the freezing rain. His trimmed black hair was instantly soaked, along with his shirt and jeans. Malyk shivered and opened the hood, letting even more smoke rise into the air. He coughed violently as the stench of melting plastic and warped metal stabbed his lungs and mouth. He slammed the hood shut angrily, returning to his seat and closing the door.
Soryn's looked to him, but Malyk simply shook his head. They turned to see Ruby, the driver, gripping the steering wheel hard, her knuckles turning white.
"This is all my fault." Ruby's voice was shaky, as if she were about to cry. She looked at her bloodied hands and she couldn't hold it back anymore. "IT'S ALL MY FAULT!!" Thunder rocked the car again as she screamed, her firey red hair shaking with her body.
Tears streamed from Ruby's yellow eyes, pattering against her skirt. Malyk put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You couldn't have known. Stop blaming yourself."
Lilya's breath had become more ragged and her skin was beginning to pale. Soryn whimpered, "We need to find help. Now."
Malyk nodded and his eyes snapped to the rear view mirror, where a glimpse of light shine in the darkness.
"Another car! We have a ride." Malyk scrambled out of the car, tossing his wet shirt to the floor board.
Soryn's eyes widened, "No no no, Malyk don't do what I think you're-...."
He was answered by screeching tires and the shrill screams of the other car's driver. Soryn and Ruby looked out into the darkness but could see no trace of Malyk, only the headlights of the vehicle behind them. Suddenly, Soryn's door opened and a shadowy hand gripped Lilya's, pulling her out of the car gently.
A raspy voice echoed, "Let's not waste time. Come on!" The shadowy figure ran to the stopped vehicle. There was a large blood spatter across its hood. Soryn and Ruby were close behind, being pelted by the icy rain as they ran. Soryn slid into the back seat, and the shadow figure laid Lilya across his lap. Soryn glanced at him, "You shouldn't have used your powers. It's dangerous."
Malyk growled, his face lit by a flash of lightning. A nasty row of fangs were accented by the brief fash, along with a pair of curling horns. His skin was shrouded in armored scales, splashed with blood and smoke. Malyk's forked tongue danced between his fangs as he spoke, "Losing her is even more dangerous. I'd say it's worth the risk."
Ruby revved the engine, "Hurry the **** up!"
Malyk ran to the passenger door, his beastly features already fading away. As soon as the door locked, Ruby floored the gas pedal, squealing the tires as she drove off.
The trees began racing by at breakneck speed, their destination still miles away. Soryn ran his fingers over Lilya's wound and she whimpered, biting back tears.
Soryn frowned, "The cut is really deep, and the infection is already setting in."
Malyk glanced at Ruby, who kept the pedal to the floor. "Two minutes, Soryn."
Lilya coughed, spraying her clothes and Soryn's cheek with more blood. "She may not have two minutes, Malyk."
Lilya smiled and whispered, "You worry too much, Ryn." She reached up to him and forced him to look at her, her eyes now a dim shadow of their former beauty.  "Soryn. I need you to promise me something."
Soryn shook his head, "No. None of this promise ****. You're making it through this."
She shut her eyes and ignored him, "If I don't, I want you to sacrifice me. Free yourselves."
Soryn gripped her hand tight. "No. You're going to make it. I won't let you die."
Ruby gripped the steering wheel tight, "Hold on!" She whipped the wheel around to the right, swinging the car wide down a muddy path. Soryn protected Lilya's as the car bucked and swerved.
Malyk swore as he hit his head on the door. "****, Ruby!"
Ruby snarled and ignored him, speeding down the driveway, blaring her horn as she saw a house atop a wooded hill. "There it is! The doctor should be inside."
The lights in the house came on as the commotion was heard. Ruby slammed on the brakes and brought the car skidding to a halt at the front door. Soryn lifted Lilya effortlessly, cradling her like a child. Lilya weakly clung to Soryn's shirt, panting softly. She looked absentmindedly at the house, laughing softly. "This place... I remember this place."
Lilya's body began to shake as she fought for control of her own mind. Her eyes dilated and the whites of her eyes turned a deep onyx color. "**** me... Please **** me... Don't let it out."
Her body was ice cold against Soryn's and he started to panic. She closed her eyes and he could see her reeling from an unseen battle raging in her mind.
Soryn walked up the creaking wooden steps and onto the covered porch. The door swung open and Soryn was greeted by a gun barrel swinging up towards his head. He flinched but held his ground. The gun wielder was a young woman, in her late twenties, clad only in her silk robe. She had the eyes of someone without fear. Soryn cleared his throat, "We need help. Our friend..."
He glanced down at Lilya, who was barely holding on to him. "Our friend is dying."
The woman glanced at Lilya, a spark of recognition in her eyes. She lowered her gun to her side and gestured for Soryn to bring Lilya inside. Malyk and Ruby remained outside out of respect for the stranger's privacy. Ruby sat next to the door while Malyk paced back and forth along the porch.
The decor inside was quaint, but the furnishings had a modern functionality, like two worlds lived in this one house. Soryn had no time to admire the scene as he clutched the seemingly lifeless form of his friend. The woman walked to the basement door, flipping the light switch to the dark stairway. The tungsten lights buzzed to life, casting a blinding glare on everything. Soryn  blinked and let his eyes adjust before continuing  down the flight of stairs. The cold stone bit into his heels, but he couldn't worry about that. Soryn followed the silk-clad woman down to a large room that looked extremely out of place, like it should have been in a  hospital instead of a basement. Once inside, Soryn saw a polished operating table and surgical tools beneath a bright dome light. Soryn swallowed hard and lay Lilya on the table gently. The woman tied her blonde hair back in a ponytail and shrugged her shoulders, letting her robe fall to the floor. Soryn's heart skipped a beat as he looked at her exposed form. Her body was supple and each curve was exquisitely defined, with symmetrical tattoos like tiger stripes on either side of her stomach, legs, and arms.
Something about her confidence and finesse intrigued him. She was the kind of girl that most men would **** to have one night with.
Then it dawned on him. She looked exactly like Lilya. He could feel his cheeks flush at the thought of them. The woman glanced at him and he looked down at the table, flushing completely. She smirked, "If you want to stare at my **** go ahead. If I wasn't okay with it I wouldn't have you down here."
Soryn cleared his throat, his gaze automatically drifting towards her chest before he shook himself. "Sorry, doc. It's just, you remind me of someone else."
He thought he could hear her mutter, "I wonder who."
Whatever insecurity she had was hidden, as she went straight to work on Lilya. Soryn stood at one side of the table, while the woman stood on the other.
Her hands moved swiftly, expertly, focused on mending the dying girl. The woman's hand slid under the table, only  to return with a pair of surgical shears. Starting at the collar of the blouse, the doctor began cutting away. Soon the fabric fell away, followed by Lilya's bra, shorts and *******.
Lilya's clothes were now non-existent, and Soryn blushed as he looked at his naked friend, feeling an all too familiar urge. How many times had he wished to caress her most intimate parts, to feel her warm cleft around him.
Lilya's body was covered in serpentine tattoos, the ink scales winding over her limbs and torso. Soryn's favorite part was a scaly tail that wrapped around her leg. Oh how he had longed to trace the tail up to it's base.
His mind drifted to his fantasies of making love to her and his heart started racing. He bit his tongue. No. Now was not the time to be ogling her. He berated himself for being so selfish. She was near death and all he could think of in the moment was how he wanted to **** her.
The doctor broke the silence with two accusatory words, "What happened?"
Soryn's heart sank, "Lilya and Ruby were looking for someone, and when they tried to sum-..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling more naked than she was. How did he know he could trust her? Ruby obviously knew about her but not much.
The woman rolled her eyes. Her voice was sultry, airy even, as she retorted, "Yes, she tried to summon a Seeker. What happened?"
Soryn's mouth moved to form words, but he couldn't force them out. This doctor knew of his kind. Well enough to know that Lilya was a Bound Soul.
The woman slammed a fist into the table, jarring him, "Spit it out, ******, I need to know so I don't e

“Welcome,” the Devil said, smiling.

An unclothed man of pale skin and toned muscles stood feet away from a teenage boy with black, ashy, hair. The boy was wearing a simple outfit; white linen with black buttons, dark pants. Confidently, the boy stepped forward. Inches shorter than the still heavily breathing man, he put his hand on the strong shoulder and looked up into dark, untrusting eyes.

Hell wasn’t anything like Adrian thought it would be. He didn’t doubt it though, this was Hell alright. Whiteness was everywhere, almost blindingly bright. Exhausted from the fight, the shock of getting hit, the running and tumbling, he breathed loudly through his nose. His body was as it was on Earth. His scars, sweat and blood were all identical to how it was in the fight only minutes ago. There was a gaping hole about the width of his extended hand through his chest; his heart was mangled and torn but somehow still pumping.

“You died, Adrian. And God doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

“You probably think that your life on Earth was righteous enough to make it to Heaven, to meet God. And you’re right, really, you lived well. Your final moments alone should be enough to give you an ivory throne, but no. Nobody gets into Heaven.

“I’m sorry, Adrian.”

The Devil slid his hand down, off of Adrian’s shoulder and turned around. The fatigued in and out of the fighter’s breath was the only sound in the air.

“I’m feeling generous today,” Adrian could feel a cool gust of wind behind him. The boyish Devil walked forward and placed his hand onto the man’s chest. Slowly, he could feel the hole filling up; a numbing warmth filled his rib cage, a new vitality. “Have a good life, Adrian. Enjoy your gift.”

The Devil shoved Adrian backwards. He gasped.

i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.

Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?

Elegy for the Forgotten Oldsmobile**

July 4th and all is Hell.
Outside my shuttered breath the streets bubble
with flame-loined kids in designer jeans
looking for people to **** or razor.
A madman covered with running sores
is on the street corner singing:
O beautiful for spacious skies…
This landscape is far too convenient
to be either real or metaphor.
In an alley behind a 7-11
a Black **** dressed in Harris tweed
preaches fidelity to two pimply ******
whose skin is white though they aren’t quite.
And crosstown in the sane precincts
of Brown University where I added rage
to Cliff Notes and got two degrees
bearded scientists are stringing words
outside the language inside the guts of atoms
and I don’t know why I’ve come back to visit.

O Uncle Adrian! I’m in the reservation of my mind.
Chicken bones in a cardboard casket
meditate upon the linoleum floor.
Outside my flophouse door stewed
and sinister winos snore in a tragic chorus.

The snowstorm t.v. in the lobby’s their mother.
Outside my window on the jumper’s ledge
ice wraiths shiver and coat my last cans of Bud
though this is summer I don’t know why or where
the souls of Indian sinners fly.
Uncle Adrian, you died last week—cirrhosis.
I still have the photo of you in your Lovelock
letterman’s jacket—two white girls on your arms—
first team All-State halfback in ’45, ’46.

But nothing is static. I am in the reservation of
my mind. Embarrassed moths unravel my shorts
thread by thread asserting insectival lust.
I’m a naked locoweed in a city scene.
What are my options? Why am I back in this city?
When I sing of the American night my lungs billow
Camels astride hacking appeals for cessation.
My mother’s zippo inscribed: “Stewart Indian School—1941”
explodes in my hand in elegy to Dresden Antietam
and Wounded Knee and finally I have come to see
this mad *** nation is dying.
Our ancestors’ murderer is finally dying and I guess
I should be happy and dance with the spirit or project
my regret to my long-lost high school honey
but history has carried me to a place
where she has a daughter older than we were
when we first shared flesh.

She is the one who could not marry me
because of the dark-skin ways in my blood.
Love like that needs no elegy but because
of the baked-***** possibility of the flame lakes of Hell
I will give one last supper and sacrament
to the dying beast of need disguised as love
on deathrow inside my ribcage.
I have not forgotten the years of midnight hunger
when I could see how the past had guided me
and I cried and held the pillow, muddled
in the melodrama of the quite immature
but anyway, Uncle Adrian…
Here I am in the reservation of my mind
and silence settles forever
the vacancy of this cheap city room.
In the wine darkness my cigarette coal
tints my face with Geronimo’s rage
and I’m in the dry hills with a Winchester
waiting to shoot the lean, learned fools
who taught me to live-think in English.

Uncle Adrian…
to make a long night story short,
you promised to give me your Oldsmobile in 1962.
How come you didn’t?
I could have had some really good times in high school.

Kamusta kana?
Ilang taon na ang nagdaan nuong ika'y aking nakilala.
Mahigit kumulang na rin ang luhang lumabas sa aking mga mata
Nuong ako'y iniwan **** nag-iisa.

Nuon pag ika'y naaalala nagwawala dahil sa nadarama.
Ngayon ako'y napapangiti na lamang sa twina.
Akala ko dati ay di ko makakaya,
ngunit heto unting unting sumasaya kahit wala ka.

Mahirap sa umipsa,
Pero nakaya
Mahirap sa umpisa, oo
Parang nilibing at hinampas ng troso.
Ako'y litong lito
hindi alam kung bakit ganito
Kung bat nilisan mo...

"Sana pala pinigilan kita
para ngayon para ika'y kasama parin
at nasa tabi ko padin."
Yan ang aking hiling sa unang linggong
ika'y hindi kapiling.
Ako'y humihiling sa bituin na sana ika'y bumalik sa akin
Ngunit tila ba'y hangin ang sumagot at hindi ako pinansin.

Mahal wag mag-alala
kasi kaya ko na ang mag-isa at wala ka.
Mas malakas na ako
kaysa sa dating nakilala mo.
Hindi na ako umiiyak pagnag-iisa
Mas kaya ko na.

Alam mo minsan ang ang tanong sa sarili ko
"paano kaya ikaw parin ay nandito?"
"Magiging kompleto kaya ang araw ko?"
Pero ang sagot ng isip at puso
"Mas mabuting ika'y nilisan kaysa minahal sa kasinungalingan.
Naging malakas ka nang ikaw ay iniwan.
Naging makata ka paminsan minsan."
Kaya alam ko sa sarili na mas maayos na na ako'y iyong binabayaan
Pero mas masaya at buo parin ang aking puso kong hindi mo iniwan sa kadiliman.

Sana, iyong malaman na ika'y aking minahal ng lubusan,
"Huwag **** pabayaan ang iyong kalusugan"
Aking huling habilin bago ka lumisan.

Tinanong ko parin ang aking sarili minsan,
"Ako ba'y may pagkukulang? O sadyang ako lang ang nagmahal sa aming pag-iibigan?"
Maraming tanong ang tumatakbo sa aking isipan pag alaala ay naalala paminsan-minsan.
Ngunit lahat ng yon ay di mo masasagot at aking  na lamang dinagdag sa tulaan.

Lahat na ata'y aking nakwento sa tulang ito.
Ito, itong tula na ito ang tanging paraan upang malaman mo
Ang pagdurusang pinagdaanan ko
nang mawala ka sa piling ko.
Ang mga pangakong binitawan mo
para bang naglaho
Pero kahit masakit ang ginawa mo
Hindi kita masisisi sa pagkukulang nagawa ko
Hindi ko masisi ang tadhana kung hindi tayo para sa dulo.

Kahit na ganito, ikaw ang nagparamdaman ng pagmamahal
Kaya hindi ko kita malimut-limutan kahit tila ba'y ako ay sinasakal.
Sadyang ikaw lamang ay minahal
kahit na isang malaking sampal
na ako'y iyong iniwang luhaan at puso'y nagdurugo sa daan
na kahit pa'y ikaw ay may iba ng mahal
kahit pa na naubusan na ang luha at letra sa aking isipan.

At heto ako ipinagdiriwang ang ating kaarawan kung saan nagsimula ang ating pagmamahalan.
Sana'y iyong malaman,
na ako'y hindi nakakalimot sa ating tagpuan at mga kasiyahan.
Sana rin iyong malaman,
ang pangalan ng ating anghel ay Adrian.

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea’s hills the setting Sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light;
O’er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows;
On old ægina’s rock and Hydra’s isle
The God of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O’er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious Gulf, unconquered Salamis!
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

  On such an eve his palest beam he cast
When, Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.
How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murdered Sage’s latest day!
Not yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonizing eyes,
And dark the mountain’s once delightful dyes;
Gloom o’er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
The land where Phoebus never frowned before;
But ere he sunk below Cithaeron’s head,
The cup of Woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;
The soul of Him that scorned to fear or fly,
Who lived and died as none can live or die.

  But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain
The Queen of Night asserts her silent reign;
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And bright around, with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o’er the Minaret;
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide,
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,
And sad and sombre ’mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus’ fane, yon solitary palm;
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye;
And dull were his that passed them heedless by.
Again the ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war:
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold,
Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle
That frown, where gentler Ocean deigns to smile.

  As thus, within the walls of Pallas’ fane,
I marked the beauties of the land and main,
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore,
Whose arts and arms but live in poets’ lore;
Oft as the matchless dome I turned to scan,
Sacred to Gods, but not secure from Man,
The Past returned, the Present seemed to cease,
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece!

  Hour rolled along, and Dian’******on high
Had gained the centre of her softest sky;
And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod
O’er the vain shrine of many a vanished God:
But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate’s glare
Checked by thy columns, fell more sadly fair
O’er the chill marble, where the startling tread
Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead.
Long had I mused, and treasured every trace
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race,
When, lo! a giant-form before me strode,
And Pallas hailed me in her own Abode!

  Yes,’twas Minerva’s self; but, ah! how changed,
Since o’er the Dardan field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form appeared from Phidias’ plastic hand:
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle ægis bore no Gorgon now;
Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance
Seemed weak and shaftless e’en to mortal glance;
The Olive Branch, which still she deigned to clasp,
Shrunk from her touch, and withered in her grasp;
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears bedimmed her large blue eye;
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourned his mistress with a shriek of woe!

  “Mortal!”—’twas thus she spake—”that blush of shame
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name;
First of the mighty, foremost of the free,
Now honoured ‘less’ by all, and ‘least’ by me:
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found.
Seek’st thou the cause of loathing!—look around.
Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,
I saw successive Tyrannies expire;
‘Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both.
Survey this vacant, violated fane;
Recount the relics torn that yet remain:
‘These’ Cecrops placed, ‘this’ Pericles adorned,
‘That’ Adrian reared when drooping Science mourned.
What more I owe let Gratitude attest—
Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest.
That all may learn from whence the plunderer came,
The insulted wall sustains his hated name:
For Elgin’s fame thus grateful Pallas pleads,
Below, his name—above, behold his deeds!
Be ever hailed with equal honour here
The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer:
Arms gave the first his right, the last had none,
But basely stole what less barbarians won.
So when the Lion quits his fell repast,
Next prowls the Wolf, the filthy Jackal last:
Flesh, limbs, and blood the former make their own,
The last poor brute securely gnaws the bone.
Yet still the Gods are just, and crimes are crossed:
See here what Elgin won, and what he lost!
Another name with his pollutes my shrine:
Behold where Dian’s beams disdain to shine!
Some retribution still might Pallas claim,
When Venus half avenged Minerva’s shame.”

  She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply,
To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye:
“Daughter of Jove! in Britain’s injured name,
A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim.
Frown not on England; England owns him not:
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot.
Ask’st thou the difference? From fair Phyles’ towers
Survey Boeotia;—Caledonia’s ours.
And well I know within that ******* land
Hath Wisdom’s goddess never held command;
A barren soil, where Nature’s germs, confined
To stern sterility, can stint the mind;
Whose thistle well betrays the niggard earth,
Emblem of all to whom the Land gives birth;
Each genial influence nurtured to resist;
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist.
Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain
Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain,
Till, burst at length, each wat’ry head o’erflows,
Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows:
Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride
Despatch her scheming children far and wide;
Some East, some West, some—everywhere but North!
In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth.
And thus—accursed be the day and year!
She sent a Pict to play the felon here.
Yet Caledonia claims some native worth,
As dull Boeotia gave a Pindar birth;
So may her few, the lettered and the brave,
Bound to no clime, and victors of the grave,
Shake off the sordid dust of such a land,
And shine like children of a happier strand;
As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place,
Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race.”

  “Mortal!” the blue-eyed maid resumed, “once more
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore.
Though fallen, alas! this vengeance yet is mine,
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine.
Hear then in silence Pallas’ stern behest;
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest.

  “First on the head of him who did this deed
My curse shall light,—on him and all his seed:
Without one spark of intellectual fire,
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire:
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace,
Believe him ******* of a brighter race:
Still with his hireling artists let him prate,
And Folly’s praise repay for Wisdom’s hate;
Long of their Patron’s gusto let them tell,
Whose noblest, native gusto is—to sell:
To sell, and make—may shame record the day!—
The State—Receiver of his pilfered prey.
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West,
Europe’s worst dauber, and poor Britain’s best,
With palsied hand shall turn each model o’er,
And own himself an infant of fourscore.
Be all the Bruisers culled from all St. Giles’,
That Art and Nature may compare their styles;
While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare,
And marvel at his Lordship’s ’stone shop’ there.
Round the thronged gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep
To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep;
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh,
On giant statues casts the curious eye;
The room with transient glance appears to skim,
Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb;
Mourns o’er the difference of now and then;
Exclaims, ‘These Greeks indeed were proper men!’
Draws slight comparisons of ‘these’ with ‘those’,
And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux.
When shall a modern maid have swains like these?
Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules!
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew,
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view,
In silent indignation mixed with grief,
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief.
Oh, loathed in life, nor pardoned in the dust,
May Hate pursue his sacrilegious lust!
Linked with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome,
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb,
And Eratostratus and Elgin shine
In many a branding page and burning line;
Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed,
Perchance the second blacker than the first.

  “So let him stand, through ages yet unborn,
Fixed statue on the pedestal of Scorn;
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait,
But fits thy country for her coming fate:
Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son
To do what oft Britannia’s self had done.
Look to the Baltic—blazing from afar,
Your old Ally yet mourns perfidious war.
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid,
Or break the compact which herself had made;
Far from such counsels, from the faithless field
She fled—but left behind her Gorgon shield;
A fatal gift that turned your friends to stone,
And left lost Albion hated and alone.

“Look to the East, where Ganges’ swarthy race
Shall shake your tyrant empire to its base;
Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head,
And glares the Nemesis of native dead;
Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood,
And claims his long arrear of northern blood.
So may ye perish!—Pallas, when she gave
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave.

  “Look on your Spain!—she clasps the hand she hates,
But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates.
Bear witness, bright Barossa! thou canst tell
Whose were the sons that bravely fought and fell.
But Lusitania, kind and dear ally,
Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly.
Oh glorious field! by Famine fiercely won,
The Gaul retires for once, and all is done!
But when did Pallas teach, that one retreat
Retrieved three long Olympiads of defeat?

  “Look last at home—ye love not to look there
On the grim smile of comfortless despair:
Your city saddens: loud though Revel howls,
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowls.
See all alike of more or less bereft;
No misers tremble when there’s nothing left.
‘Blest paper credit;’ who shall dare to sing?
It clogs like lead Corruption’s weary wing.
Yet Pallas pluck’d each Premier by the ear,
Who Gods and men alike disdained to hear;
But one, repentant o’er a bankrupt state,
On Pallas calls,—but calls, alas! too late:
Then raves for’——’; to that Mentor bends,
Though he and Pallas never yet were friends.
Him senates hear, whom never yet they heard,
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd.
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog,
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign ‘log.’
Thus hailed your rulers their patrician clod,
As Egypt chose an onion for a God.

  “Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour;
Go, grasp the shadow of your vanished power;
Gloss o’er the failure of each fondest scheme;
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream.
Gone is that Gold, the marvel of mankind.
And Pirates barter all that’s left behind.
No more the hirelings, purchased near and far,
Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war.
The idle merchant on the useless quay
Droops o’er the bales no bark may bear away;
Or, back returning, sees rejected stores
Rot piecemeal on his own encumbered shores:
The starved mechanic breaks his rusting loom,
And desperate mans him ‘gainst the coming doom.
Then in the Senates of your sinking state
Show me the man whose counsels may have weight.
Vain is each voice where tones could once command;
E’en factions cease to charm a factious land:
Yet jarring sects convulse a sister Isle,
And light with maddening hands the mutual pile.

  “’Tis done, ’tis past—since Pallas warns in vain;
The Furies seize her abdicated reign:
Wide o’er the realm they wave their kindling brands,
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands.
But one convulsive struggle still remains,
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains,
The bannered pomp of war, the glittering files,
O’er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles;
The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum,
That bid the foe defiance ere they come;
The hero bounding at his country’s call,
The glorious death that consecrates his fall,
Swell the young heart with visionary charms.
And bid it antedate the joys of arms.
But know, a lesson you may yet be taught,
With death alone are laurels cheaply bought;
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight,
His day of mercy is the day of fight.
But when the field is fought, the battle won,
Though drenched with gore, his woes are but begun:
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name;
The slaughtered peasant and the ravished dame,
The rifled mansion and the foe-reaped field,
Ill suit with souls at home, untaught to yield.
Say with what eye along the distant down
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town?
How view the column of ascending flames
Shake his red shadow o’er the startled Thames?
Nay, frown not, Albion! for the torch was thine
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine:
Now should they burst on thy devoted coast,
Go, ask thy ***** who deserves them most?
The law of Heaven and Earth is life for life,
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife.”

Si può o non può avere sentito un po 'di qualcuno di nome Kelly Clarkson sono sposati lo scorso fine settimana .E il suo matrimonio?Total .TOTALE .Svenire .Le nostre LBBers talento ultra dietro Archetype Studio Inc. ha fatto gli onori di catturare il giorno e stanno dando a noi anatre poco fortunati una sbirciatina a tutti la bella .


e dire la verità .un piccolo sguardo a Tennessee fattoria matrimonio di Kelly è tutto quello che dobbiamo sapere che siamo con tutto il cuore in amore .Non siete d'accordo



?
Fotografia : Archetype Studio Inc. | Abito da sposa: " Jessamine " by Temperley London | Anelli : Johnathon Arndt | capelli: Robert Ramos | Vestito dello sposo : John Varvatos | Fascia : Maria Elena | Trucco : Ashley Donovan | Stylist : Steph Ashmore| Luogo: Blackberry Farm

Prima di testa fuori nel fine settimana .abbiamo pochi vincitori super speciale !

Emily R abiti da sposa 2014 portato a casa un paio di Wedgewood Vera **** abiti da sposa 2014 Amore Nodi tostatura flauti da Secrets abiti da sposa corti Puerto Los Cabos Golf \u0026Spa Resort !Woohoo!

E complimenti a Fiona McGregor \u0026Nick Connellan .che hanno vinto una sessione impegno libero da Adrian Tuazon Fotografia !

Buon fine settimana !xoxo SMPTemperley London è un membro del nostro Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui .Archetype Studio e Adrian Tuazon Fotografia sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Archetype Studio Inc. vedi portfolio Adrian Tuazon Fotografia VIEW
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(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration)

In a dim corner of my room for longer than
my fancy thinks
A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me
through the shifting gloom.

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she
does not stir
For silver moons are naught to her and naught
to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of
moonlight ebb and flow
But with the Dawn she does not go and in the
night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and
all the while this curious cat
Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of
satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the
tawny throat of her
Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her
pointed ears.

Come forth, my lovely seneschal! so somnolent,
so statuesque!
Come forth you exquisite grotesque! half woman
and half animal!

Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx! and
put your head upon my knee!
And let me stroke your throat and see your
body spotted like the Lynx!

And let me touch those curving claws of yellow
ivory and grasp
The tail that like a monstrous Asp coils round
your heavy velvet paws!

A thousand weary centuries are thine
while I have hardly seen
Some twenty summers cast their green for
Autumn’s gaudy liveries.

But you can read the Hieroglyphs on the
great sandstone obelisks,
And you have talked with Basilisks, and you
have looked on Hippogriffs.

O tell me, were you standing by when Isis to
Osiris knelt?
And did you watch the Egyptian melt her union
for Antony

And drink the jewel-drunken wine and bend
her head in mimic awe
To see the huge proconsul draw the salted tunny
from the brine?

And did you mark the Cyprian kiss white Adon
on his catafalque?
And did you follow Amenalk, the God of
Heliopolis?

And did you talk with Thoth, and did you hear
the moon-horned Io weep?
And know the painted kings who sleep beneath
the wedge-shaped Pyramid?

Lift up your large black satin eyes which are
like cushions where one sinks!
Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me
all your memories!

Sing to me of the Jewish maid who wandered
with the Holy Child,
And how you led them through the wild, and
how they slept beneath your shade.

Sing to me of that odorous green eve when
crouching by the marge
You heard from Adrian’s gilded barge the
laughter of Antinous

And lapped the stream and fed your drouth and
watched with hot and hungry stare
The ivory body of that rare young slave with
his pomegranate mouth!

Sing to me of the Labyrinth in which the twi-
formed bull was stalled!
Sing to me of the night you crawled across the
temple’s granite plinth

When through the purple corridors the screaming
scarlet Ibis flew
In terror, and a horrid dew dripped from the
moaning Mandragores,

And the great torpid crocodile within the tank
shed slimy tears,
And tare the jewels from his ears and staggered
back into the Nile,

And the priests cursed you with shrill psalms as
in your claws you seized their snake
And crept away with it to slake your passion by
the shuddering palms.

Who were your lovers? who were they
who wrestled for you in the dust?
Which was the vessel of your Lust?  What
Leman had you, every day?

Did giant Lizards come and crouch before you
on the reedy banks?
Did Gryphons with great metal flanks leap on
you in your trampled couch?

Did monstrous hippopotami come sidling toward
you in the mist?
Did gilt-scaled dragons writhe and twist with
passion as you passed them by?

And from the brick-built Lycian tomb what
horrible Chimera came
With fearful heads and fearful flame to breed
new wonders from your womb?

Or had you shameful secret quests and did
you harry to your home
Some Nereid coiled in amber foam with curious
rock crystal *******?

Or did you treading through the froth call to
the brown Sidonian
For tidings of Leviathan, Leviathan or
Behemoth?

Or did you when the sun was set climb up the
cactus-covered *****
To meet your swarthy Ethiop whose body was
of polished jet?

Or did you while the earthen skiffs dropped
down the grey Nilotic flats
At twilight and the flickering bats flew round
the temple’s triple glyphs

Steal to the border of the bar and swim across
the silent lake
And slink into the vault and make the Pyramid
your lupanar

Till from each black sarcophagus rose up the
painted swathed dead?
Or did you lure unto your bed the ivory-horned
Tragelaphos?

Or did you love the god of flies who plagued
the Hebrews and was splashed
With wine unto the waist? or Pasht, who had
green beryls for her eyes?

Or that young god, the Tyrian, who was more
amorous than the dove
Of Ashtaroth? or did you love the god of the
Assyrian

Whose wings, like strange transparent talc, rose
high above his hawk-faced head,
Painted with silver and with red and ribbed with
rods of Oreichalch?

Or did huge Apis from his car leap down and
lay before your feet
Big blossoms of the honey-sweet and honey-
coloured nenuphar?

How subtle-secret is your smile!  Did you
love none then?  Nay, I know
Great Ammon was your bedfellow!  He lay with
you beside the Nile!

The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when
they saw him come
Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with
spikenard and with thyme.

He came along the river bank like some tall
galley argent-sailed,
He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty,
and the waters sank.

He strode across the desert sand:  he reached
the valley where you lay:
He waited till the dawn of day:  then touched
your black ******* with his hand.

You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame:
you made the horned god your own:
You stood behind him on his throne:  you called
him by his secret name.

You whispered monstrous oracles into the
caverns of his ears:
With blood of goats and blood of steers you
taught him monstrous miracles.

White Ammon was your bedfellow!  Your
chamber was the steaming Nile!
And with your curved archaic smile you watched
his passion come and go.

With Syrian oils his brows were bright:
and wide-spread as a tent at noon
His marble limbs made pale the moon and lent
the day a larger light.

His long hair was nine cubits’ span and coloured
like that yellow gem
Which hidden in their garment’s hem the
merchants bring from Kurdistan.

His face was as the must that lies upon a vat of
new-made wine:
The seas could not insapphirine the perfect azure
of his eyes.

His thick soft throat was white as milk and
threaded with thin veins of blue:
And curious pearls like frozen dew were
broidered on his flowing silk.

On pearl and porphyry pedestalled he was
too bright to look upon:
For on his ivory breast there shone the wondrous
ocean-emerald,

That mystic moonlit jewel which some diver of
the Colchian caves
Had found beneath the blackening waves and
carried to the Colchian witch.

Before his gilded galiot ran naked vine-wreathed
corybants,
And lines of swaying elephants knelt down to
draw his chariot,

And lines of swarthy Nubians bare up his litter
as he rode
Down the great granite-paven road between the
nodding peacock-fans.

The merchants brought him steatite from Sidon
in their painted ships:
The meanest cup that touched his lips was
fashioned from a chrysolite.

The merchants brought him cedar chests of rich
apparel bound with cords:
His train was borne by Memphian lords:  young
kings were glad to be his guests.

Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon’s
altar day and night,
Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through
Ammon’s carven house—and now

Foul snake and speckled adder with their young
ones crawl from stone to stone
For ruined is the house and prone the great
rose-marble monolith!

Wild *** or trotting jackal comes and couches
in the mouldering gates:
Wild satyrs call unto their mates across the
fallen fluted drums.

And on the summit of the pile the blue-faced
ape of Horus sits
And gibbers while the fig-tree splits the pillars
of the peristyle

The god is scattered here and there:  deep
hidden in the windy sand
I saw his giant granite hand still clenched in
impotent despair.

And many a wandering caravan of stately
negroes silken-shawled,
Crossing the desert, halts appalled before the
neck that none can span.

And many a bearded Bedouin draws back his
yellow-striped burnous
To gaze upon the Titan thews of him who was
thy paladin.

Go, seek his fragments on the moor and
wash them in the evening dew,
And from their pieces make anew thy mutilated
paramour!

Go, seek them where they lie alone and from
their broken pieces make
Thy bruised bedfellow!  And wake mad passions
in the senseless stone!

Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns! he loved
your body! oh, be kind,
Pour spikenard on his hair, and wind soft rolls
of linen round his limbs!

Wind round his head the figured coins! stain
with red fruits those pallid lips!
Weave purple for his shrunken hips! and purple
for his barren *****!

Away to Egypt!  Have no fear.  Only one
God has ever died.
Only one God has let His side be wounded by a
soldier’s spear.

But these, thy lovers, are not dead.  Still by the
hundred-cubit gate
Dog-faced Anubis sits in state with lotus-lilies
for thy head.

Still from his chair of porphyry gaunt Memnon
strains his lidless eyes
Across the empty land, and cries each yellow
morning unto thee.

And Nilus with his broken horn lies in his black
and oozy bed
And till thy coming will not spread his waters on
the withering corn.

Your lovers are not dead, I know.  They will
rise up and hear your voice
And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to
kiss your mouth!  And so,

Set wings upon your argosies!  Set horses to
your ebon car!
Back to your Nile!  Or if you are grown sick of
dead divinities

Follow some roving lion’s spoor across the copper-
coloured plain,
Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid
him be your paramour!

Couch by his side upon the grass and set your
white teeth in his throat
And when you hear his dying note lash your
long flanks of polished brass

And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber
sides are flecked with black,
And ride upon his gilded back in triumph
through the Theban gate,

And toy with him in amorous jests, and when
he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,
O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise
him with your agate *******!

Why are you tarrying?  Get hence!  I
weary of your sullen ways,
I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent
magnificence.

Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light
flicker in the lamp,
And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful
dews of night and death.

Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver
in some stagnant lake,
Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances
to fantastic tunes,

Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your
black throat is like the hole
Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic
tapestries.

Away!  The sulphur-coloured stars are hurrying
through the Western gate!
Away!  Or it may be too late to climb their silent
silver cars!

See, the dawn shivers round the grey gilt-dialled
towers, and the rain
Streams down each diamonded pane and blurs
with tears the wannish day.

What snake-tressed fury fresh from Hell, with
uncouth gestures and unclean,
Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen and led you
to a student’s cell?

What songless tongueless ghost of sin crept
through the curtains of the night,
And saw my taper burning bright, and knocked,
and bade you enter in?

Are there not others more accursed, whiter with
leprosies than I?
Are Abana and Pharphar dry that you come here
to slake your thirst?

Get hence, you loathsome mystery!  Hideous
animal, get hence!
You wake in me each ******* sense, you make me
what I would not be.

You make my creed a barren sham, you wake
foul dreams of sensual life,
And Atys with his blood-stained knife were
better than the thing I am.

False Sphinx!  False Sphinx!  By reedy Styx
old Charon, leaning on his oar,
Waits for my coin.  Go thou before, and leave
me to my crucifix,

Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches
the world with wearied eyes,
And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps
for every soul in vain.

Animula! vagula, Blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in Loca—
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?

TRANSLATION.

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav’ring Sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!
  To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,
  But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

The African American Blonde Bombshell on ya TV screen. It is I, ya younger victim of the bullying you caused me to suffer in our younger years together and now I am the #WCW on ya Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. She's bad huh. Too bad you lost ya chance with her and if only you knew her top secret. Maybe I should give u a chance to apologize and give me the love and respect you wouldn't give Adrian. Now that I am Alexis you want to cater to me and get my ******* down to my ankles. You want me to be ya main chick and you wanna put a ring on it. Well little do you know I am the Transgendered Barbie I always wanted to be. Oh now your surprised. Didn't know I was born a man.......or should I say your punching bag because you loved to use me to hide your real sexuality. Now the jokes on you.

Qué sería de mí si no me hubieras alcanzado
Dónde estaría hoy si no me hubieras perdonado
Tendría un vacío en mi corazón
Vagaría sin rumbo, sin dirección

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Sería como un pájaro herido que se muere en el suelo
Sería como un ciervo que brama por agua en un desierto

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Qué sería de mí si no me hubieras alcanzado
Dónde estaría hoy si no me hubieras perdonado
Tendría un vacío en mi corazón
Vagaría sin rumbo, sin dirección

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Sería como un pájaro herido que se muere en el suelo
Sería como un ciervo que brama por agua en un desierto

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Sería como un pájaro herido que se muere en el suelo
Sería como un ciervo que brama por agua en un desierto

Si no fuera por tu gracia y por tu amor

Sentado en su trono rodeado de luz
A la diestra del padre gobierna Jesús
Con ojos de fuego con rostro de sol
Cuando abre su boca es trueno su voz

CORO
Poderoso en majestad y reino poderoso
Poderoso en potestad de imperio poderoso

Un gran arco iris corona su ser,
él es el cordero que pudo vencer
Él es el primero él es el postre,
y arrojan corona delante de él

Have you ever had your heart broken?
Me neither
It would have been a privilege to have my heartbroken by him,
But he can’t break my heart if he never accepted it in the first place – never acknowledged it.
In itself that is a form of heartbreak – a bereaved, falsified form
that keeps you from listening to the song you listened to when he looked you in the eyes,
you sat on his lap,
and he called you pretty.
8 months of changing the radio station
You should have gone home

What do you say,
Till tomorrow in Paris,
But tomorrow never comes,
Grammar lessons were wrong,
Not ever sentence has a period,
Some people are like songs,
They are here,
We enjoy them,
We try to interpret,
It ends the same way every time,
They don’t continue on and on,

I will miss you my friend.

She’s a monstrosity
A fire in my sky
More now than she used to be
All my rivers running dry
Defying gravity although
She claims to have created
I am the earth and she… Is all I never knew I hated
In my head, a crescendo
“Shut up, shut down, take a seat, not a sound”
Trying to make myself just
Shut up, shut out, and take my place under the ground
This summer started like a poison
Seeping slowly as I let it take control
A tiny pill and one small breath
Is all it took to swallow me whole
It started like a drum,
A quiet pounding in my chest
A steady tempo as I gasp
To take each shallow breath
It started like a storm and heavy throbbing in my brain
Taste metal on my tongue
With every drop of acid rain
It crashed inside me like a virus,
A nightmare under sedation
And from me took my voice,
Eyes in and out of focus
Losing myself, I feel the change
Her smile pulls me back,
But still the pain remains
Losing myself, learning how to hate
Myself… letting go of my restraint
Cut the noose that holds me up
Freedom is just a fall away
Keep cutting because now I know
That I cannot make her stay
This summer began in flames,
A fire to light the dark
It will all end in rain,
A flood to drown my heart
There is no escape; I’ve no place to run
The fire now cowers behind dark clouds
My life to come undone
When did forever end?
How was it that I missed the boat?
The sky is falling fast and I cannot keep the sun afloat.

Every other guy before you,
somewhere between midnight conversations, interrupted by coffee stains and the dreams that woke me up to talk to them, I fell in love.  One listened to history podcasts to fall asleep. One made me skip class so he could drive me two hours out of town and show me the home he grew up in. Another, used to draw my hands on pamphlets hidden under the pews at the back of the church. And each of these things is the seed, sun, and soil for my affection which maybe you understand, because someone does something you respect, admire, and want and all of a sudden, bam, they're so much more than they were before. And with every single person, I realized. I realized I was in love with the presence of their words and the feel of their existence.
But I did not love them.
I met you, and you wrote love stories on my flesh with your finger tips, and I saw your eyes groan with exhaustion in the morning, and you taught me how to be a bigger, better, stronger person. Every day with you feels like a Sunday morning with crisp bedsheets and lazy smiles, and you took me until my life wasn't mine anymore. You took me as a hostage, you got inside my head, piece by piece you disassembled my suit of armor and showed me how to love a person, rawly and deeply and I could never be the same after that. I loved who you are. The way your hands held my hipbones and your lips stole the end of my sentences, when we would drive home from the beach in your car the sunset would be blossoming with love. I don't know what to tell you, other than a giraffes heart ways 22 pounds, and when flies fall in love their entire brain is rewired to only knowing loving each other, and when one dies their memory goes blank. And my loving you was never about what I could get out of it, or what you could make me, but how full I could make you. And if I can't love you as a lover, I will love you as a friend, or however the song goes. But I know what I need in this world, and it's hidden behind your knees and in your hair and sometimes sits between your shoulder blades. And I know sometimes you can't decide if you want to *******, break down and cry, or eat a whole pizza but the entire spectrum of who you are reflects all the pages I could fill with the reasons why you are a spectacular person, Adrian, and you are the one, sealed with a kiss, you are my sun and stars, my stormy night, and you are stained onto my skin like the scar on my knee.

And with my ****** and romantic "experience," that you think I have more of, I promise you no one could fill the space you left. And even though what I gave you and how I loved you might not be what you want, I can also promise you no one will feel like that about you ever again. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, you decide. And even if I don't have you, I will have every single memory. I will have the drive-in, I will have the row, I will have lying in the grass outside my house, holding you. And I will never forget what you made me.

Nails the length of javelins click on countertop
with the speed of a coked-up woodpecker
as this goddess of the night with bullets
of caked foundation sweating from her forehead
awaits her fifth free Long Island of the night.

Safe to say, she's a little high maintenance,
like all treasured centerpieces
of a local museum deserve to be.

She is your generation's Mona Lisa, trust.
Her sneezes will be dissected for coding.
Like the rust on buried Babylonian armor,
she lives sandwiched between myth and reality.

A Frankenstein of queer iconography,
door-knocker earrings designed by Adrian.

Stilts for heels clack on blinking dancefloor,
balancing a hermaphroditic echo
that charges through hieroglyphic binaries
with a four-on-the-floor precision.

Peter got a sandwich for you.
mama went shopping ,
Gabriel needs a carwash,
Cristen choked on his ***** ,
Iris sailed the oceans,
Blake died of ennui.
Martha blew her neighbour,
Adrian stole her *******.
Beth went out of liquor,
Walter cooked a new batch.
Marla is a ******,
Gambit dealt a new pack.
And so and so they pass by
All these million names.
Who cares to blink twice
At a facecless face?
And then came eh...! wry dry, Dont **** Me, " ... " I can't even
Say his name.
It's like this name
Blew my heart out with a shotgun
right through my rib cage.
And these are the names
Which pierce your heart
And make you breathless
Because they hold stories
That you always hid in darkness.
And
You have skeletons In your
Closet
Like thats not enough
To give you the brain flu!
But the salt on the wound
Is that-
so does your wife,
Your mistress,
And everyone around you.
(gunshot)

We grow up, grow old
So much they'll ask that can't be told
Waiting for our train,
I'm waiting in vain
The tracks are rusted
And I'm getting cold
Can I just write a note,
And let the ink do the talking?
Is it too soon for stopping?
Can you hear my cells popping?
You be the pin, you're sharp as it is
So this is it
No cure for headsick

I am scared!
Scared of this world

Robert Godwin Sr
Alyssa Elsman

How many more have to die?
By my kind,
By their kind,
Because they blame some other kind
What ever happened to just being
kind?

Daniel Parmertor, Russell King, Jr., Demetrius Hewlin

Where were you when the World Trade Center went down?
It’s something everyone alive then will always remember
Never Forget! was our brand motto for American Pride

Krystle Marie Campbell, Lü Lingzi, Martin William Richard, Sean A. Collier, Dennis Simmonds

And now, the death of another is so commonplace
That we forget what and where.
It’s no longer personal enough to register where in our lives that it struck us
Only note that another life has been struck down
Add another tally to the equation
And still it does not add up

Trayvon Martin
Tamir Rice
Samuel DuBose
Delrawn Small
Philando Castile
Terence Crutcher
Heather Heyer

We are completely desensitized
And decentralized
We keep ourselves disconnected
(because we just can’t absorb,
Take,
Process it all)
It’s not us
It’s not me
It’s somebody else
Somewhere else.
Until it is
Then we care
How much can we take, before we break

Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman Singleton, Myra Thompson

The tragedy is the comedy
We laugh so we don’t cry
Sakia Gunn
Richie Phillips
Nireah Johnson, Brandie Coleman
Glenn Kopitske
Scotty Joe Weaver
Jason Gage
Michael Sandy
Sean William Kennedy
Duanna Johnson
Lawrence "Larry" King
Angie Zapata
Lateisha Green
****** August Provost, III
Mark Carson

I can’t say I’ve never thought of committing violence.
Hell, when my ex-wife cheated, it occurred to me
And I can’t say that I have never hit another
I’ve been a kid
My whole life is designed just to grow up
But, I’ve thought of killing myself far more often than the thought to harm anyone else have ever occurred to me
Because my problems are mine;
My fault,
And I am not seeking some scapegoat

Keenya Cook, Jerry Taylor, Million A. Woldemariam, Claudine Parker, Hong Im Ballenge, James Martin, James L. Buchanan, Premkumar Walekar, Sarah Ramos, Lori Ann Lewis-Rivera, Pascal Charlot, Dean Harold Meyers, Kenneth Bridges, Linda Franklin née Moore, Jeffrey Hopper, Conrad Johnson, 1 unnamed victim

I am not going to deny that being a white male hasn’t allowed me to sidestep a whole level of *******
One day, angry white males will be the minority
And we’ll have no one left to blame, but ourselves.
If we don’t **** everyone first
If we don’t **** ourselves first

Michael Arnold, Martin Bodrog, Arthur Daniels, Sylvia Frasier, Kathy Gaarde, John Roger Johnson, Mary Francis Knight, Frank Kohler, Vishnu Pandit, Kenneth Bernard Proctor, Gerald Read, Richard Michael Ridgell

Jonathan Blunk, Alexander J. Boik , Jesse Childress, Gordon Cowden,
Jessica Ghawi, John Larimer, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, Veronica Moser Sullivan, Alex Sullivan, Alexander C. Teves, Rebecca Wingo

The earth has already decided that we are a plague upon it
Maybe climate change is the natural response to the abuse of our gifts

Nancy Lanza, Rachel D'Avino, Dawn Hochsprung, Anne Marie Murphy,
Lauren Rousseau, Mary Sherlach, Victoria Leigh Soto, Charlotte Bacon, Daniel Barden, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Dylan Hockley, Madeleine Hsu, Catherine Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, Ana Márquez Greene, James Mattioli, Grace McDonnell, Emilie Parker, Jack Pinto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Benjamin Wheeler, Allison Wyatt

What is this world going to teach my son?
That he’s better because of how he looks?
Or what I’ve taught him:
You make yourself better.

Jamie Bishop, Jocelyne Couture Nowak, Kevin Granata, Liviu Librescu,  P
G. V. Loganathan, Ross Alameddine, Brian Bluhm, Ryan Clark, Austin Cloyd, Daniel Perez Cueva, Matthew Gwaltney, Caitlin Hammaren, Jeremy Herbstritt, Rachael Hill, Emily Hilscher, Matthew La Porte, Jarrett Lane, Henry Lee, Partahi Lumbantoruan, Lauren McCain, Daniel O'Neil, Juan Ortiz, Minal Panchal, Erin Peterson, Michael Pohle Jr., Julia Pryde, Mary Karen Read, Reema Samaha, Waleed Shaalan, Leslie Sherman, Maxine Turner, Nicole White

I work as a data analyst
So, I ran the numbers
But, these are more than numbers
These are people: sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, lovers.

Stanley Almodovar III, Amanda Alvear, Oscar A. Aracena Montero, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Alejandro Barrios Martinez, Martin Benitez Torres, Antonio D. Brown, Darryl R. Burt II, Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, Angel L. Candelario Padro, Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, Juan Chevez Martinez, Luis D. Conde, Cory J. Connell, Tevin E. Crosby, Franky J. DeJesus Velazquez, Deonka D. Drayton, Mercedez M. Flores, Juan R. Guerrero, Peter O. Gonzalez Cruz, Paul T. Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel A. Honorato, Javier Jorge Reyes, Jason B. Josaphat, Eddie J. Justice, Anthony L. Laureano Disla, Christopher A. Leinonen, Brenda L. Marquez McCool, Jean C. Mendez Perez, Akyra Monet Murray, Kimberly Morris, Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, Luis O. Ocasio Capo, Geraldo A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric I. Ortiz Rivera, Joel Rayon Paniagua, Enrique L. Rios Jr., Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, Christopher J. Sanfeliz, Xavier E. Serrano Rosado, Gilberto R. Silva Menendez, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane E. Tomlinson, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Luis S. Vielma, Luis D. Wilson Leon, Jerald A. Wright

I did research to try to find all the victims since I became abruptly aware 16 years ago
There are too many
I could not discover a single database that contained a comprehensive record
No one can keep track of it anymore
I know I’ve missed people
I know there are 1000’s of people now missing people
Even 1 was too much

Hannah Ahlers, Heather Alvarado, Dorene Anderson, Carrie Barnette, Jack Beaton, Steve Berger, Candice Bowers, Denise Salmon Burditus, Sandra Casey, Andrea Castilla, Denise Cohen, Austin Davis, Virginia Day Jr, Christiana Duarte, Stacee Etcheber, Brian Fraser, Keri Galvan,  Dana Gardner, Angela Gomez, Rocio Guillen Rocha, Charleston Hartfield,  Chris Hazencomb, Jennifer Irvine, Nicol Kimura, Jessica Klymchuk, Carly Kreibaum, Rhonda LeRocque, Victor Link, Jordan McIldoon, Kelsey Meadows, Calla Medig, James ‘Sonny’ Melton, Pati Mestas, Austin Meyer, Adrian Murfitt, Rachael Parker, Jennifer Parks, Carrie Parsons, Lisa Patterson,  John Phippen, Melissa Ramirez, Jordyn Rivera, Quinton Robbins, Cameron Robinson, Lisa Romero Muniz, Christopher Roybal, Brett Schwanbeck, Bailey Schweitzer, Laura Shipp, Erick Silva, Susan Smith, Tara Roe Smith, Brennan Stewart, Derrick ‘Bo’ Taylor, Neysa Tonks, Michelle Vo, Kurt Von Tillow, Bill Wolfe Jr.

and NOW I’ve run out of lines and time to read off all 2,977 people who died in 9-11
Isn’t that a tragedy?

It was threatening rain for a week or more
It was always threatening rain,
The Weather Bureau was always sore
When the threatening rain never came.
We’d hold an open air barbecue
Each time they said it would come,
‘Hey it’s gonna rain,’ said Oliver Payne,
‘What do they think, we’re dumb?’

But the Bureau Chief, one Adrian Reef
Said he was sick to the core,
Why wouldn’t the weather behave itself
Like it had done before,
‘It’s making us look like a laughing stock,’
He bitterly said to Jane,
‘I want you to ring up the airport now
And charter a small, light plane,’

He loaded the plane up with dry ice
And a generous load of salt,
And lugged along an elephant gun,
The plane took off with a jolt,
He peppered the clouds with ice that day,
He put his job on the line,
The last thing he wanted to have to say:
‘The weather is going to be fine.’

And down on the ground at the barbecue
We were sizzling snags and steak,
Having an ice cold beer or two
And trying to stay awake.
The sultry weather was drowsy then
We’d heard the report, in vain,
But just when the steaks were nicely done
It came down, bucketing rain.

We didn’t have time to pack it up,
We couldn’t save snags or steak,
In only a couple of minutes there
We were staggering round in a lake,
And Oliver’s esky floated away
With the rest of the beer we’d bought,
While we took shelter as best we could
Under cover of Maggie’s porch.

The water rose right up to our knees,
Our cars were afloat that day,
The chickens drowned and the old hearth hound
Was found seven miles away,
While on the Teev was the Bureau Chief
With a grin that was not quite sane,
He knew he’d won with his elephant gun,
‘The sky is threatening rain!’

David Lewis Paget

God is my master.
I love Him more than all in my life.
He is the Master of my mind, my body, my heart.
He is my Shepherd.
He is beautiful.
He is love.
He is perfect.
He loves me more than I can comprehend.

God is telling me to stay.
So I will stay.
I cannot leave my church.
I cannot leave my family.
I cannot leave my city.
This is where I belong.
This is where I belong.
This is where I belong.

I belong. I belong. I belong.

In God I am made pure.
In God I am made clean.
In God I am rinsed of my sin.
In God I am white as snow.

Countless second chances He has given me.
Dear Lord, I need another today.
Today - I ask You for forgiveness.
Make me clean again.

I pray for them.
Ryan Kimmy Chiso Becky Dave Iris Mom Dad Kellie Tim Grandma Tim Debbie Laura Grandpa Betty Cindy Lori Shea Asher John Al Brian Teri Pamm Louie Chris Michael Tristan Bailey Victor Nikkie Mailee Andrew The Zachary's Kylie Michael and Megan Jade Airika Allie Bill Moriah Madison Mike Lani Moriah Tori Lenni Todd Maddie Hilary Holly Bella Jamie JT Bella Abby Sarah Anna Rick Ashtin Aaron Aleasha Christian Brian Gus Abbie Jenn Alec Jean Lois Larry Ryan Jake Bud Erin Tyler Jasmine Launts Wendy Michael Bella Sam Tony Ryan Ian Deric Jen Sam Erin Hanna Jamie Chad Mia Laura Tony Alena Tyrus Jack Luke Jenny Greg Reagan Kennedy Wilson Konni Wayne Brian Cammy Trina Mike Kameron Kasey Nikki Lexi Jelly Harley Izzie Rosie DJ Lillian Adrian Avery Asher Tyler Heidi Dan Sarah Ryan Griffin Daniel Jessica Pax Cory Abel Chandra Dave Julia Bethany Chris Orion Lindsay Twila Tracy Brandon Nate Braeden Amanda Jonah Luke Crosby Charlie Mark Debbie Ian Joy Susan Catherine Jeff Jill Andy Anna Joel Jacquie Tracy Shelby Brenden Grace Bruna Brendan Jadan Ariel Rick Johnna Laila Becca Joren Skylar David Lovins Gettys Nanny Papa My Cousins Grace Wanda Lamont Michael Amy Stephanie Tyler Tim Jeff Anthony Mikayla Emily Emily Sabrina Thomas Caleb Rene Sabra Autumn Cort Riley Cole Kaylee Amber Eryn Christina Trinity Bethany Kati Ben Jacob Megan Megan

and so so many more

May God bless you and keep you
Amen

I think he already knows
Because I told him so
He just took what I said for granted
I thought I was all that he wanted

Ooh, I lost myself
Chasing after you
I lost myself
Looking for you

But then, you just ignored me
Yet you just seem uninterested in me
Oh, you wanted me to be
I never wanted to be

But I never lose you
You lost me
I never lost you
Cause you just let me

Go, oh, let me go
Oh, Adrian
You just let me go
Oh, Adrian