Hope.
We all need this. For many it seems to be the only way that they can cope.

It pushes us through the dark, helps us to see the light.
It coddles us when we are scared at night.
It is the beacon that we are always aiming for, big and bright. 

Sometimes you may feel that it is shrinking, this is only a natural way of thinking.
But the thing you must try to keep in mind is that so is a renewable source.
An unstoppable force.

It will continually regrow.
You may ask me how but my answer is always simple: "I do not know."

It's just a feeling.
That aids human healing.
It is the medicine that I find most appealing.

Now that we are lungs of our own,
no longer governed by each other
or good-humored light,
angled to make us beautiful;
I leave, tightly grappled within,
as if still in genuflect
still spinning
inside our billowing confessions,
two bodies conquered by cool
curious, cunning damnation...

A friend,
in her venues of Valentines,
a countess of stones thrown
proffers me the hangman's colloquial
"You still feel him...?"
nodding, I recall
the contours & colors of love's collision
"You just keep feeling it,
however much you wish it stop.
Feel it--feel it all,
there's no prompt drug
to make it go away..."

She coddles my sloth of shoulders
with ginger wisdom of grandmothers.
Nodding, I give in
to the germinating futility...

I still remember him
blowing out the candles
at our small table
with our unfinished meal;
how we thatched anger-strangled hearts
with saffron sauces of exasperation...
each etching kiss
close to a divine cure,
each curve of our crude pose
close-captioned
for the appetite-impaired...

Each saline scurrying tear,
each lonely-wilderness of day,
I force a sort of Nut-*******'s strength
not to feel
that barrel-hollow loss
that gallery of Use-To-Be's

and my friend,
in her Carmen wisdom,
is surgeon savant
stitches me up,
I am less in swarms of his tangibility;
I breathe less of his fetch
flooding
I am slowly becoming
just a single prefix,

my own word and crutch
no matter how often I recall
the music of his touch
or all the colors  

we felt so much...

Everyone has a story:
An accomplished dream,
A shattered dream,
A dream in the works!

Everyone has a story:
A battle won,
A battle lost,
A battle that is unfolding!

Everyone has a story:
An old wound,
A bleeding wound,
A scar that is healing!

Everyone has a story:
Life indulges you with its joys,
Coddles you with security,
Stretches you thin with its sorrows!

Everyone has a story, yet it is up to
You to ascend to victory in your
fight against agonies,
So you can write the last chapter of your story!

Hussein Dekmak

Man, all you ******* start out the same
Oh honey I can appreciate you, is all you claim.
Where’s the chivalry, why can’t y’all be gentlemanly. It’s such a shame
Can’t even walk around without being hounded by one of these ******* lames

Yes I said hounded cause y’all can be bunch of dogs.
If I look good, politely let your glasses fog
Try not to stare, a quick glance, don’t stare maybe you’ll have a chance, that’s fair.
I don’t expect perfect Prince Charming
But the lack of manners is ******* alarming

Ask me how I am, whatever you do dion’t say how you can give it to me
Or how you can make my day.
A nice conversation can go a long way.
Don’t ask me about my man, or why I don’t have one
All I’m gonna say, this would of been nice but now that fool won.
If he was putting it down I wouldn’t be hanging around.
If he asked how my day was
Id be all kisses and hugs
Yes I have a man but his selfishness
******* bugs
I thought I wanted a sweet man
Now I’m more attracted to thugs
At least now Im familiar with the ***** made
I don’t even feel right throwing his mama shade
She treats him like he’s a gift from god
The way she coddles him makes me ******* nod.
I’m done talking about this!
**** is making my sob.

love keeps you going..
it frees you… releases you… turns your world around…
coddles you…  nurtures you…  makes you glee…
love keeps you going…
it transforms you… converts you.. till you forget yourself…
slowly engulfs you… wraps you tight.. till u can't breathe..
love keeps you going…
torments you.. encumbers you…. makes you desperate…
breaks you…. hurts you… makes you bleed inside…
and still…. only love  keeps you going….

Here I find myself
In a semblance of an assembly
A spineless lizard
Lazing with a sheet
He tells me sweet acrimonies
About balancing his shelves
Appoints himself a wizard
Over anybody else

Tells me of obligations
Within a life on parole
Upholds his occupation
In an insulated hole
Bestows us something he don’t hold
And demands we give it back
Sanctifies the mold
That is soon to shape our tracks

Hollow hands for thankless kings
That pull no gratitude
He wears a tune he doesn’t sing
Dares to worry of our food
He patronizes a choir
He grasps the open sea
And says “I have the fist of salt
That will lead to unity”

Coddles us like Cain
Treats this brick like a stable
Life doesn’t drive in lanes
Elastic minds are able
If you’ve gone to deride us
You wear it on your form
Don’t brave an iron suit
You don our skin, Norm

You read your your books on nature
You’re bred to expect rain
Yet waste a breath to nurture
Some other person’s reigns
Dread a life that keeps you well-
Beholden to the rule:
That life is tethered to a bell
Engulfed in packless mules

I've got to get her out of my brain
But how do you stay dry naked in pouring rain;
Can't go a minute without a thought of her
Can't make it even if I've gotten this far as it were
She's got doubts about me
She won't trust me with her key;
Won't give me a chance to clear myself
She's just putting me high on a shelf,
Would she even think of me again?
I can't imagine how long until then;
That I can speak to her once more,
Like in my face she slammed a door;
I'm sad; depressed and distressed,
The turmoil is killing me who would have guessed,
That's she'd get to me this way;
I hope with my feelings she's not trying to play,
This is just torture
It can't end without closure;
I'm knee deep in needles and bottles,
But no drug or liquor can they my angst coddles,
I have no choice but to weather this storm;
Glad no one can see the tears in my eyes form...
©okpoet

fresh peaches in lined baskets, ordered
apples in individual grooves,
potatoes at three dollars for a one pound
bag. a mom pushes a wobbly cart as her
toddler reaches for
and grabs whatever is in front of her
Honey, no
but she doesn't get discouraged. An onion
floats into het hands while mom grabs and
bags green beans, and the toddler takes a
bite.
She launches the 7/8ths disgusting
as far as she can throw,
it crashes at the feet
of an older man with a walker. He looks
up, angry, then laughing
a skin crawling scream
fills the produce section, the mom
coddles her bundle of tears,
and they don't really subside
til she's home, snacking on apple slices
and watching tv while mom
puts away groceries and cooks
roast beef in a bed of garlic, onions, and
peaches, a family recipe

If Webster could have found a way,
   defining just your love;
He'd had to paint the closest thing:
   our love from God above!

It's more than kind, far more than pure,
   formed of the rarest breed;
A simple love none else could feel,
   yet everything I need!

It's shown the best through anything,
   just knowing that you care;
It coddles close this heart of mine,
    to feel your presence near!

To see you in my dreams each night,
   to wake up by your side;
Fulfilling now once lonely heart,
   in love I now abide!

Now tryin' to find if just one way,
   to put your love to words;
To tell the truth I'm still at loss,
   your love makes words absurd!

SUN);

                       you are colours brightest
                       in every lash
                       glowing tremendous
                       hair
                                                                                                             this only
                                                                                                             is such a fine
                                                                                                             it's unpractical
                                                                                                             and perfectly
                      even in the
                      fastest darkness
                      you are said more
                      loudly
                      roaring
                      to my eyes
                      every crumb
                      hot and naked
                                                                                                             creeping
                                                                                                             you up into
                                                                                                             my soul
                                                                                                             i steal
                                                                                                             briefly
                                                                                                             (prometheus too)
                                                                                                             some little
                                                                                                             blush
                     from on your cheeks
                     blooms
                     some hot neon
                     fire
                     (in the very deepness
                      darkness coddles
                      hushed lips)
                      and it is
                                                                                  love(

When I close my eyes and look into the darkness
I see the reverse image of swirling time
Glimpses of you, but you are not there
Like Schrödinger's cat, you are alive and dead
But all it takes is a potion
And my eyes will remain closed for eternity
The ease of which, has its own damnation
For this life still coddles and excites
And allows me to weep and moan
When I close my eyes and see you in the darkness

Ah, the numbness has returned
and it hugs me like an old friend,
here to take me home.

There’s something addictive about sadness.
It embraces you
and coddles you
and it’s coldness feels like freedom.
There’s comfort in that hurt.

I found more comfort
sinking into my bed
in my room alone,
missing you,
then I ever found
when I was with you.

I longed for the pain of our end
to be back with the pain in my head.

Walk on babe, the night will find you soon enough. But, do not give in so kindly- it seeks to play with you for 100 hours, or 100 years; perhaps 100 years and 100 hours, I don’t know…. my glasses fell off. The best way to say it: if the day is temporary, so are you, and the night will swallow everything, from common skin to rare hues.
Don’t pull your punches with nature! Don’t let that primeval smell defeat you or good God- get a kick out of you. Nature is the piece of furniture that you bought, not the other way ‘round. So, how do you feel? Icicle fingers, sap bearing veins, rebar arms, tenderloin body, washboard neck, prison gate mouth, airstrip nose, typhoon eyes, telephone ears, coniferous hair, freedom’s mind. You owe it to nature, she coddles you.
A funny thing, then: the lifetime of a dream. Where love, bliss, sorrow, *** are not unknown, but as uncanny as they can be. Old friends may sleep it off and give you a cheque and a kick out the front door, but don’t you know what you were in their beds for? It was something true, and if you were the only one to find it in that pile of quick/messy lovers, it is truer still. So walk on babe, the technicolour night has left you, but in its hazy laboured breath, it promised to return. It swore to explode all over you- what can you do in return?

I WAS LOST,I WAS ALONE
           WHEN YOU CAME
     LIKE A  TWINKLING STAR
      INTO MY DARK NIGHTS
       AND I FOUND MYSELF
       AGAIN INTO MY GOOD
              OLD CLONE //

                      
     BUT I WAS NOT THAT LUCKY
         NOT THAT FORTUNATE
             BECAUSE LIFE HAS
          ALWAYS BEEN MURKY
                 AND CRUEL
          WITH ME AND MY FATE /
                
                
BUT NOW I WILL LIVE FULLY
                     BECAUSE
   YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO BE
                   HAPPY
   MAYBE I WAS NOT YOURS
        OR YOU WERE MINE
  STILL I WILL SAY IT AGAIN
        YOU CHANGED ME//
              
ITS YOUR AURA THAT MADE ME
                     THINK
LIFE IN  NEW WAYS AND LOOKS
ITS  YOUR THOUGHT MADE MY DAYS   THAT IS WHY WHEN I RECOLLECT
                        YOU
         I CAN SEE  MY SOUL
                 THAT SAYS
         JUST LET IT HAPPEN
  JUST LET IT GO AS SHE WISHES /

IF I AM THAT ROSE YOU ARE
              THE PLUCKER
            WHO  DONT JUST
PLUCK BUT  CODDLES THE FLOWER,
MY DEAR MAYBE I AM NOT YOUR
                        LOVE
AND YOU ARE  MY NONE BUT  FOR
                        SURE
WE ARE LIKE SOME MYTHICAL  
        PIGEON AND DOVE//

I WISH ONE DAY I WILL MEET YOU
                        AGAIN
                         WHEN
       I WILL BECOME YOUR PAST ,
             BUT I WILL ALWAYS,
    REMEMBER YOU FOR MUST
THAT DAY IS NOT THAT FAR WHEN
                       YOU AND  
  I WILL BE ONE, AS MARRIAGES ARE  
               MADE IN HEAVEN
NOT HERE ON THIS MUNDANE
                        EARTH/

     PEOPLE  SEE LOVE STORIES  HERE
                    AND THERE
    BUT OUR BOND IS NOT SOMETHING
       ONE WILL  FIND EVER IN THIS
                         WORLD//

    IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT OR MINE
         ITS OUR FATE THAT DREW
            THAT INDELIBLE LINE
       I PROMISE I WILL VISIT YOU
                     ONE DAY
  WHEN YOU MAY NOT BE MINE
      BUT OF SOME OTHER MAN
YOU WILL HESITATE ,YOU WILL CRY
BELIEVE ME DEAR, I WILL TRY NOT  
                       TO CRY/
    
PAIRS ARE  MADE ABOVE IN THE SKY
                      NOT EARTH
   ITS NOT OUR FAULT BUT THEIR'S
     WHICH KEEPS TELLING THEM
          TO KEEP SAFE THEIR
             MYTHS AND LIES//

    I WISH WE WILL MEET AGAIN
         SOMEWHERE ELSE
            NOT THIS EARTH
   WHERE EXIST NO BARRIERS
      AND NO SUCH BARS/

MAYBE WE WILL NOT BECOME ONE
           HERE ON THIS   EARTH
           BUT  MY DEAR SURELY
   THERE  IN SOME  AFTERWORLD
IT DOES NOT  MATTER  BECAUSE  YOU
                       TOLD ME
       PAIRS ARE MADE IN HEAVEN
                  NOT HERE  ////

SURAH 910
The psittacists of the malaxage of malabathrum attempts at covvengerized metensomatosis defile the very flombricks of the plasmamium cracking at the unseemly phememes of specious paraselenic polkamania at the pelargic wricks of the wroth and wrox of yeltings denouncing the meroscopic moulins of freggetted ragtagger paynimry metapolitical wegotism of parietal paroxytone pteropine qwartion designed indelibly in the maltelasse of the repined pantography against the megistothermic kenomanicaphobia of the dutiful demarche from the porriginous portfire that crassifies every polder into periblebses of volcanic tirades of mofette because of the mows of moya recriminated around circumducted poikilothermic vindictivolence because the reremouches of guarded sotissiers flaunting their praxinoscopic perenendoscopic maltsters of privvy theatromania might vauntlay themselves among the vanguard for the wirewoven fabric never of mendaciloquent fabrications of prosopographilalia always done in ventose conceit of megalomaniacal desperation by the earwigs of dikephobia that they might taste the torment of the day they are denied of their proper brevets of flargentum and instead reasted upon the stew of the murengers of yeltings that bratingly reject frikmag upon prima facie cogitabund and meditabund fanciful whimsy in the anemocracy that agrunters of their prisoptometers of recalcitrance they might taste the stain of their acrimony rather than the recidivism of mugient morigeration that storges never an enmity and always a tympany of alveolate harmonization of the synectic broods of eutrapely. In the kaleidophones of the komatik herculean viragos of webster heroism despite their foisted epigones of pseudogyny in attempts at dethroning maritodespotic phallocracy wirewoven into the resofincular audacity of the chomage of the chirked swirk of forswinked frustraneous endeavors lewdly cadging and roodging the hypesters of wegotist flargentum in ergotall chantage wormcast beyond the woonerf of the rackrent Rabelaisian ebriection of the wretchocks of wayspayed dormitage redundant in its canter of verisimilitude in the echopraxia of the enviable by the envied that they might understand that the yelting murengers of murage belong in sacrosanct harmony with the eutrapely never of wallfish walleteers domineered by the lability of their wambling stature jengadangled upon the precipice of astroud asterongue notoriety expounded by the plasmamium of recoil and the covvengers of modest modicum earned by the machinules of their coerced decorum that the nanciful prance of the cakewalk of prurience might be recorded by the Master Record of Al-Muhaymin as the subterfuge of pralltriller tropoclastic obrogation of existent statute bowdlerized by the ptochony of the puericulture of dormant wayspayers obsessed with viraginous wesperm because of herculean deficits in retchination because of cynosures of cyesolagnia of tympany that might become a retched mistetch of the serendipity of melodikon that despises the plankwise pillory of wertfrei in the mangonel of those desperate to find a mittimus against the plenipotentiary by the jengadangle of aleatory finitism in prescriptivists who flout based on their cecutiency of immoralism that the gladiatorial edge and brazen zugzwang might backfire in enormities upon the jemadar of the serpentine slither of hederaceous pointillism in Freudian surrealism of the mascon of pretended indemnity personified by the mongery of the hipped hobohemia of jerboas incapable of jiboya that fewer mugient hypertrophies of exaggerated parabolaster find findrouement in their recalcitrance rather than their mountenance and that their bluepomp redstrall might stumble in fliction rather than in rancid frinteran scams of jazzbos of emasculated pandora flummoxed by a bewildered scorn of sentinel machinules exasperated of the ploys of kakistocracy. The registry of the moffets of kalabothron that ingeminates refines corrugates and snatches never from the perjury of eidolon the perfectable mantissa of the soluble antipangamists of an age punctuated by pantography lassoed by the servile toadies of reremouches of redstrall demeaning in their every demarcation of mendacity done in wapenshaw and wapentake of the weighage of their perpended meldometers of radical incarceration because of phlogistons tone deaf to phocine regius regalia that they might find the touching spectacle of the calcimine yeltings a purpresture hortatory and peremptory enough to derail their attempted commenefaction of the filagersion of the flombricks of regurgitated efforts at pelargic hebephrenia obtained by polders of gid flajousting their way into the coddles of portentous infamy rather than insuperable fame of Parousia. We maraud in the whiggarchy of the wrepolis of one verberating with plangorous sempiternal evasion of pointed porbeagle mantissa deprived of the isonomy of the raltention of the halldorn ktenology rather than kymatology of supersensible moments etched into the fabric of indelible eternity that any perceptible hallswallop is already a hikkle and hibble of obganiation that endangers the pugient popocracy of the lackadays among the popjoys of the campanile febrile aristocratic latitude of presidential hearth outnumbering by the qualms of peremptory logodaedaly that never a plumbism encounters an elitism and never a plumeopicean piscifauna descends into the heyday of moffets of maidan madness in the viduity of the world from certain cynosure in sinecures of madefaction rather than exclusivity in the prescriptivism of a physicalist nihilism attempted by the morigeration of many a covvenger obsessed with wricks and suborned by wrox to become tumbleweeds that tritefully in platitude always denature the mesozeugmas of the topgallant asseveration of latitude rather than a perpended valetudinarianism. The nauclatic barnstorm of all potagers of the outmantled vicissitude of the echopraxia of pralltrillers of the rindkline of outmoded sondage in the sennet of the pertinacity of wegotists marauding against their paraselenic critics that always try to vauntlay because of moya that has mowed down entire generations of evergreen groundlings of the geotaxis of photophiles that spar against the rectiserial subaltern mountenance of the mottle of scaramouch metapolitics in retrenchment and retreat because of the sempiternal flabbergast of gentrified wroth and wrox of waldflutes that bemoan the hikkle of the rhadamanthine jumboism of misocleres of minatory subsultus in contrivance only perceptible to the thrombosis of cacidrosis that the petcocks and cockshies of elitism spurn with spindrifts of brinkmanship of the galvanized pseudogyny of bluestocking smardagine attempts to swallow the Earth whole by the singularity of the procrustean never the walleteer of the wallfish of tralleyripped jawholes of potamology that chirk their way about Simple Jack but never preternatural Julian because the asterongue meteoric meteromancy of the pretense of spurious spumid thrombosis calcimined by yeltings of wallbaggers rather than the hinderbaggle of recadency rectiserial in its gallywow prestige of polders fulminating in every exasperation to riotously remonstrate against paragons rather than congregate around flippant frivverscrabbles of frinteran ill-humor that never use proper cephaligation of morphaen cacidrosis waged upon the impavid intertesselation of the flombricks of glib triage foisted above rhotacism of the rhubarb crassified by the detritus of the alchemy of waldgraves attempting to resort to carnaptious deeds of vauntlay in villainy that spawn the retched errundle of the desultory tatamae of the vetust brocrawler fighting against the coalized recalcitrance of the paltripolitan pantapolis desperately yeuking in its intorted incivisms of inurbanity to posterize the cackling humdingers that shake entire centuries with qualms rather than traumatize with the yikkers of flashy torpindage attempting torpillage against the assailants of the plagated murenders that berate the chatoyant yeltings for their brayed assault against the chamois belonging originally to backwater champlaignes that asseverate their power dynamics with psychodynamic mesozeugma in the age of messianism despite the pelargic wegotists paraded in their verdure of foothot temerity too tempestive to survive the carracks and carnet of pantographs that become the mignons of the pantomnesia of the carousel of trumpery among the oppositive heelers that demand never a vindictivolence of moffets but always lapidate the vandykes of rhipidate and rhizogenic mottles of subversive metastrophe because of metapolitical allegiance to portfires of the tocsins of pretended alarmism rather than kenomanicaphobic brilliance sheening prefulgent in the ruffianized pullulation that berates itself for its pangamys of faltering panmixia and thereby corrugates itself upon the yestertempest of the attempts at youthquake that shatter the younkers of crotaline elitism sheepish of its own finifugal respite in podobromhydrosis created by the madefaction of humorous minimasque jannock janizary jokes that serenade for the gallivant of glory in the hidden thickets of plumage and plucky Herculean heroism against the hednons of attempted subversion that alluvions of hikkle and bilkey by machinules of masterate liturgy might always insulate from the purpresture of gerdoying gammerstang fulgurant percutient patibulary wormcasts deriding wertfrei and belonging to the maskirovka of the worsification of militarized envy seeking casualty where there is always repose and violence where there is always a sodality united for peaceful but precarious paciferation that averts the jimswingers of the jiboya of the jobbery of the jentacular threats of a braying menace of wrothing indolence centrobaric to all singularity and never consequent to any bleat of the pretense of temerity because of the viscidity never of a vaporetto of vacuefied stupefaction but always a beatific harmony of the serendipity of wordsmiths against the regal taunts of the skrimch of Potemkin hatred. We stagger in an astounding davering movement where delitescence is still a guarded murage of the wallbaggers that insulate the aristocracy from the thickets of the social mobility of macropicide against the yares of logodaedaly that vaunt God rather than vauntlay their enemies who dare with radical subversion in wretchocks of plumbism to deracinate the caterwauls of galeanthropy from their gradate punctatim attempts to create a serrated barrier of machairodont flarmeys of flargentum among the dense thickets of the yarzheit of apikoros giaours that fly-by-night in the boschveldt of borascos demanding a collective dementia in exchange for the machinules of radical harpricks bemoaned by the madefaction of gallantries of topgallant gambols rather than gambles with the safety and security of the broader world widely protected by never a vindictive word or never a sempervirent gambit for monopolylogues long ago assized and quantulated by putchers of gammon that they might perish in their assailed ratification of draconian flakes flapping their albatross wings in the deipotent glory of decrassification rather than galvanic attempts to revive the revenants of the heyday of gladiatorial spectacle to the demise of the wrox rather than the porcellanous attempts by coverthrow to demean or ratchet a grumbling mumpsimus of the fakest mittimus ever devised by the jemara of the moorganization of time for a peaceful coryphaeus to exhibit his magisterial eloquence on the platform of the barnstorm of eleutheropomania that always prattles in favor of the favor of delitescent mantissa and the guarded larithmics that corrugate in the favor of antipangamy that belongs to the hypestorm of never a capias but always an exonerated eutrapely of grandeur and hauteur without a hint of pompous chatoyant trucidation of lesser enemies and brittle redshort opportunism of delirifacient demur that becomes insulated from its own refrains that it provides impetus for liberation than a succinct meldometer of meleagrine and rhadamanthine physiognomancy that is too brazen in its weatherboards of wrathcheque to quivver in anything but the guarded tropism of those who understand the psychodynamic valor of exhibitionism in a jocular manner of regelation that the calcifuges never panic and the bonanzas never shrink in their blettonism of world triage for peaceful beatification that beams with the light of the prefulgent sun rather than heliofugal demiurges of recidivism potentiated by the aggravated grimace of gerdoying. The belletrist of the sondage of the morescos that vaunted themselves among the privileged because of the proband of forestalled generations of raillery rather than the rindstretch of the kobold subterfuge of armigerous enmity mobilized only in petty medicasters of iatramelia that the true enormity of congealed revalorization becomes that supernal and superlative beacon that prefigures all of destiny by the kymatology of the regnant resofincular retrocognitions of the phememes of intuitive plasmamium never paltry in paltripolitan values of a tottering demiurge that might be masticated in its semese because the density of the timocracy withstands all mettle and scores all veracity by its demarches for world harmony rather than its septiverous divisions of sciamachy waged against potentates because the giaours despise the valor of the monotroch of the rickety wroth of punctatim hortoriginality that never bleats or blemishes in histrionics but always values the foresight of the masterates to asseverate their hegemony rather than their servitude to the manifesto of the most radicalized epithets and rhubarbs of ruffianized faffle of the fangasts of the wormcast of the pollarchy becoming waterish in its insipid gambits to bowdlerize the world of polymathy because a polyhistor too intrepid to tread lightly and too kind to domineer with imperium might be counted not as a noxious nuisance of lability of phlogiston but always a zealous courtier of a renewal of generations for chrestomathy and the galvanization of religious zeal against the totemic racism of a tottering balkanization or the peregral attempts of the isorropic to imitate the ivoride of jealousy because of jalousie. May God bless our troops and insulate us from all disaster and may God provide the beneficent path for the multanimous love of fidelity of the phocine phons of kaleidophones of the miraculous kith of a loving matriotic nation united by the fervor of patriotism to serenade the world with beatific love rather than inseminate a radicalized potentiation of the insipid paraselenic violence of a world that should rollick and maffick in celebration of promethean insights rather than chirk a draconian destiny. Amen

That eight beat slam across the page
It coddles like your sweater hood
To shield you from your fear of age
Predictability feels good

Familiarity's your hutch
So sweet a place to build a bed
Swaddled by your written crutch
To ease the noise inside your head

Tonight we solemnly celebrate
The Beginning, the screaming

afterlife of the day, the mysterious
play of being desired
as for the first time

be seen
in new shoes, laugh with new eyes

at decency and the people
who tell what to fear and how
love should be

the gentle hand
that moulds my body, the swift one

that completes it in heaven, and the
mighty one that sows the earth in me
and always

be important
to you, holding your beauty

in my caressing hands
in nights from which I wake up in amazement
pregnant of happiness

the magic of attention
that coddles me and makes me laugh

as long as we live in the same world
and then lie silently together because
it cannot be explained

I’m a hopeless romantic

Living and loathing

In a world whose inhabitants

Have the sick fetish of savagery

Walking around like a cold-blooded *******

Who has forgotten her heart is still worn on her sleeve

I’ve been roaming around in my self-conscious

Because my thoughts are the only things that won’t leave me

I’ve been drowning in plagiarized I love you’s

From the lips of those who don’t understand

Their falsehood only coddles my abandonment issues

Leading me right back to that window
Pushing blinds back

Anxiously anticipating your visiting hours
That you have forgotten about for

the third time

This week