Whispers hello as the first streams of sunlight
inch their way in through their black chiffon veil,
gleaming on our garden of stale breath,
and down feathers.

Whispers goodnight as his proud freckles
become the constellations outside my window,
and the moon stretches her arms
for another night's work.

Whispers sorry after his words became feather-lances
jousting through my arguments until my armor
was askew and torn
at its paper seams.

Whispers tales of tomorrows and fortnights
to come under illusions of rich greens, blues, and yellows
he will finger paint on my forehead
like a warrior.

Whispers goodbyes, sweet and forlorn,
as he realizes promises and paints will not keep the morning
from snatching his prized possession from his cotton laced roost,
leaving him alone with just the rays of the sun
to admire his tail.

It’s sometime past midnight
on a wednesday,
stumbling around the
house once again,
where floorboards
cry out and I resent
every thing I said
and held back,
every cigarette
that whispered
until my lungs
turned black,
shards of beer
labels collide
with dust piles,
ashes skidded
aimlessly on
the pine,
hopelessly wandering
looking into
hindsight
was only
a mess to
clean up,
I haven’t eaten today
but the dishes are *****,
it’s 11:30
and I’m glued
to the bedsheets
as the bed weeps
with each toss and turn
comes contemplation
to cross and burn every
memory embedded,
the bedroom smells
like cloudy ashtrays
and things unfinished,
our paths crossed
in october,
and yesterday was
tough on everyone.

Your pompous smirk shakes my core
Violating my thoughts, you know you've won
My woeful cries wishes for your attention
An obvious cry out for affection, you think we're done

Please enlighten me on what flaws of mine get under your skin
Violating my ego, you know you've won
My constant apologies blooming from my ironic regret
An obvious invitation to take my all, you think we're done

I realize that it will take fortnights to rebuild our island
Violating my hope, you know you've won
My blatant loneliness only calls for you
An obvious cry out for affection, you think we're done

New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits

She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair

Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East

She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel

Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year

What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command

It has been a year since I first met You—
innumerable changes have been made.
Knowledge You knew before these words I wrote.
Regardless, my gratitude is in this ode:

Two fortnights less five, in the month July—
a night I’ll ne’er forget—in which Your birth was
two thousand and eleven years prior.
Seen in my choice of caravan—car not foot.

Trees in motion around me— rise and dive,
still nature now epic— vast, powerful waves.
An ocean angered, queued by Your great will,
staggered me— I dreamt then to float on that lea.

Now submerged in awe, my lungs fill, I drift.
Thoughts’ vessel stays empty, my mind lost at sea.
The storm passed, all was calm and all was clear-
o’er that water I rose, beached by blue skies.

The shore out of sight, but it I saw.
Blinded I had been. For years I was oppressed—
vogue logic stifled creative free thought.
You needn’t say, I knew then what to do.

I found a pad and inscribed wild scribbles-
what I rendered I knew not, yet I did.
Erratic lines became a map of fate.
Three stood on a gorge tall, I being one.

I found that land within rivers bound
While wading in dialogue I found it.
It being the thought which soon would blossom.
Hardly quick though, Your seeds need time to grow.

Unsure when to harvest, yet I knew then
to appreciate art of prose and verse.
To convey the feelings only I knew.
To know the powers one wields with a pen.

"I have two cats!"
         he said with a laugh...
                  as he fell to his knees...
                            and rolled on his back...

The time was all there
                       but the money went flat.
            The essence of nightshade
                                         That will do that.

So onward he marched...
                                              and later he squeezed
but rightfully so,
                       the windowless breeze.

With fortnights on days
                               and cherry blossoms in bloom,
Mr. Finnegan woke up.


It was half past noon.

Oh, I am destroyed!
My soul is in uncertainty; moving about has it been,
in awesome dreariness!
I hath been like this since yesterday afternoon,
and whenever I think of that scene again,
my soul blasts with fury;
as I am naturally entitled to no right to his love,
or whatever this yearning feeling is deemed to be called.
He who in nature now belongs to someone else;
cannot stop wander aimlessly the exiled layers of my mind;
how cruel!
This is absurd indeed!
For I had kept no such desires towards him since
the very outset; no movement of his startled my *****;
no shadows of him ever shrouded my mind!
But why should I feel this envy now?
This gritting pang of jealousy,
oh, how despicable to me!
To my elegant and eloquent ****** soul,
how detestable it hath been!
Yet its infamous flame would not just burneth away;
this agonizing envy, hatred for my frantically oppressed
passion, for my inability to seal it away, forever!
Oh, how I dread to even recall
the very mention of her name: the presence of
another female creature like me,
crowned in dull whiteness, blessed in stony praise and laudation,
yet cheeky in her own very world of mirth, charm, and
indulgence. Another venerable being loved, so entirely
loved, by his *****!
How cherished and fulfilled my love would be,
if that gift hath been bestowed onto me,
I that so tenderly long for his touch, just one small
look of admiration, and I would fly!
I who can love him more fervently, and ardently
nurse him in the wreaths of this murky winter,
in my mind is this
picturesque glance
of us relating stories to each other, of our distinct life
histories, in the brisk, glittering snowy evenings!
I who can gaze at his perfection from afar, and
would still shower him with my sweetest bliss of
happiness. My fabulous, precious treasure forever!
Yet how distant is he from me now, how unreachable!
What a fortunate woman, what a foolish wretch
I am, to long for this claimed treasure! What a
poignant mistake of mine, to recognise the flawlessness
of this prince just now; whilst I hath been chanced to know
him for a series of fortnights; how ill, narrow, and
imbecile I am! How unworthy I am of him! He is
everything, and hast everything already; in his little, yet
impeccable realm - alas, I am only to celebrate the
entirety of my poetry, nothing else! My words, that shoulder and
perseveringly witness all my unspoken love for him day and night.
Nevertheless I blest thee, my love, may my grace be
with thee, thou art the sole king to whom I am
mostly devoted! Thou art the embodiment, and the
completion of my ever wildest imagination, thou art
the vivid realisation of my solitary soul! Thou art the
secondeth half of my body, thou art my blood, and my very
truest womanly essence: thou art part of my all senses and the
whole of my being.
In my bones flow thy veins; their natural greenness
melt perfectly with my remote and lonely profusion. Thou art
the first man I hath loved sinceth my initial steps
onto this foreign region, thy smile is all brighter than a very
shimmer of truth. Our short meetings procure merriment, and
delight, in my life, in the worst times of my turmoil and
devastation. Thou hath made my study days - the
hectic ones, confined to the pale shades of my books
and their anxious words - sheer and jubilant. As
astonishing as it hath been, my heart gleamed and
glowed towards thee - oh, if only thou wert free,
to entwine thy love onto mine! I would never once
hesitate to return it, I would welcome it, rejoice in it,
the most yearned, longed, missed, and sought-after
present on this idle earth! Oh, how through these decent words
I wish thou could hear, and comprehend my deepest
feelings; I love thee, not, and no longer as how a
desirous tutee should look up to her guide; but as
how a woman is bound to sincerely love a man. My heart was
crafted for thee, I wasth born for thee, and in it does thee perfectly dwell; thy most
reliable source of love, dreams, and tenderest affection.
I love no-one else but thee.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.

August the month,
I hate you  with passion,
You are  the most sad month,
You often  impeach manly  happiness,
With abnormal efficacy of  fate’s power,
Your vice and evil ploys  borrows a lot ,
From the throne of  thy name’s  selfish cradle,
Dumb-founding Fetish of the Roman self ,
Though you gave me chance to visit the earth,
But in  crude culture circumcissionally agonized
I hate you august  for the demise of great lives,
You have swallowed to  remove a  living realm,
In the un-couth ways of cruelty  on horn of fate,
You ate Ceaser , Cleopatra and Catholic Paul john II,
I now caution and  warn you to stop your evil ways,
For the two fortnights  you will be  around wi’ us
Don’t scuttle man’s peace whatsoever possible,

(I sometimes shake my memories
when they find themselves twisted
& highly vivid)*

this way—
no that;
I want to remember the way
your hair felt entwined in my hungry fingers—

you were sitting there beneath the tree under which I had grown for nearly 1500 days,
but you had taught me more than all of those years
in just two fortnights’ time.

I remember how chilled your face felt—
how the evening looked so good on you
(you always had such sad eyes, you know,
& the moonlight fed them in ways you never realized you hungered for).
I was there for a day or so,
just enough for me to trip (& fall),
just enough for you to push me over the edge.

I don’t quite know what brought us there that night,
halfway between you wanting to go home
& me never wanting to leave your side,
but I held my hand on your face, in your hair,
waiting with all certainty that you would wrap your arms around my waist,
drawing me in to let me
breathe you in.

(how sad I was to have such faith,
& how sad you were to have none at all.)

these days, you’ve cut your hair
(perhaps the memories of my lingering fingers weighed you down,
a blanket too warm for the season),
& I don’t even recognize your casual howareyous
(the ones that used to keep me up at night & early into the Texas sunrises;
do you remember those, too?).
no—
instead I see them for what they are:
casual.

so as I lay here in lace & nostalgia,
in the very place we once whispered our desires to each other,
& my hands so heavy with all the things I’ve gathered for our next conversation,
I will instead empty my palms, and,
like you,
release what burdens so heavily.

sure,
i need to
stop drinking
and stop
smoking but
when bad habits
become consistencies
that let you
survive the nights,
the ability to
shake the
rusty smell off
the fibres on your
back become
a bookmark
that prevents you
from turning the page
in a fear driven
halt of wondering
what happens next,
the stench that
trails through  
teeth to nose
is a tail to
a comet that won’t
burn out,
the embers of each
cigarette that kiss my lip
burn out like previous
feelings towards past lovers,
I was in a state
of loving memory of
having love and memories
until a therapeutic graze
of absolution picked me up
and brushed the bruises off
the bottom of my feet
given by
stomping the ominous
solitary of rock bottom
so many ******* times,
I still drink
and I still smoke
but when a
tedious whisper
tells you to stop
hurting and stop
hating when hurt
and hate is all you’ve
felt for fortnights
exceeded
you can’t just pick
the scars off of your
skin and liver
and walk past mirrors
without urges of
cardinal knuckles
and tremors coexisting,
i wish to stop
like you tell me to,
i wish washing my clothes
would dredge the stench
of yesterday clean,
but maybe the toxicity
of the past is stained on
my skin and
not my clothes.

Cranberry coin skin
Afterthoughts of ****** incarnate
Neanderthal beauty with
Poison ******* for eyes

Nodding off into space
The pink mace dangles from the neckline
Foreign in mind body soul
Another nick of the trade

At least the weather is good
Near the wood of the edges of the trees
Last in line at the grocery store
Tears lick themselves clean

Attention dog
Round about fanatic cat
A friend dead like all the rest
Ring around the rosy

Can't make the date
Don't want to smile
Performing for punches
Heavy metal miles

And you come at me with wide legs
Furry fortnights
Asking for forgiveness by God
A toss up knocked out and bloodied

Forgotten trash piles
Letting rivals shake hands for once
Car generator's snapped in half
No one ever gets the last laugh

Death waits for us all
Since time was time
And Earth was Earth
And the wind first started to blow

Go on past the horizon
See the bubbling sea
The split rumbling mountains
Ingratiated clouds in butterfly formation

Upheavals of medieval persuasion
Telling lies to tell the truth
Chivalry swinging by the neck
In a broken sun set menagerie

Juices flowing with laughter on black
Assumptions of ****** nods
Allow naked mistakes to be photographed
Pressing buttons just for the **** of it

Night time rolls around
And the fog hovers like a grey helicopter
Meet my daughter under the stars, you say?
I wouldn't have it any other way

Day out curb side
Scars of memories forgotten
Love under the wings of devils
Angels weep with their God's troubles

Now when I say I am a lonely man
I mean that I don't have the company of many
Solitude soil lets the good flowers grow
And I'm coming through the fire to see you

Promises for the poor
Let the rich live they want to
Dead men cater to the living engineers
How easy we are to forget

I don't have much reason to be
But I have all the reason to see
That what you are to me
Is the reason why I live and breathe

Understand that these times are tough
Money is tight and sleep is low
And I'll be frank with you, there's still a long way to go
But baby, I'll keep you warm in this falling snow

Sentences erupt like a shout from down the hall
Calling your name like an ancient battle call
Shout scream surrender your arms take my hand
We are not chained to our pains or our miseries
Let them be, they will not follow thee

Fall leaves in a foggy sky
Street whispers entranced by bluesy ties
A bus ride rumbles by
As I let out a passive aggressive sigh

Another bout of that old sadness
Nod, sigh, breathe in
Ocean mysteries and meandering eyes
Too tired to bow my head to cry

Piano portraits in dreams of a rippling fashion
She leaves, but she always comes back to me
Tied together through each door of time
Her hair entangled with mine, her hair smelling of pine

Uprooted and replaced
By idols of forgery perfection
When I say I love you
I mean for every day before and after

Proof of purchase - the sign hangs like an omen
Rubbing my hands, keeping them warm
White walls padded and pushed
"Ok", says the German, "Now we are to start."

Tales take the forward march
Posterity salutes the torch
I can't see 8 inches in front of me
If I were blind, I'd probably see clearer

Today probably marks one of the final occasions
Upon which I will visit my grandfather
Long years have made him weary
A war drawn through many winters
He is deceptively small, hardly more than five feet
But like an iceberg his hidden self is vast
Travelled the world on military campaign
He does not speak of this part of his past
My family makes prompts in asking
How he crossed the Channel, entered Germany
The frontline combat that ensued
Has never escaped his conscience
At the slightest mention of the Battle of the Bulge
His face glazes over, and he is brought back
He relives instantly, right in front of me
The soldiers who died, friendly or not
I never asked if he killed anyone
And he would never tell me
The men of his time were moved to terrible actions
They returned home numb or wrapped in plastic
I cannot imagine such an experience
To be held so near my age
Spent several fortnights living in a foxhole
The bloodiest battle, taken by surprise
My father’s father like many fathers
Did what he had to do
He remains a soldier to this day
My respect is endless for the mighty

Stubborn boy

Always treading mountains

Studying tables and configuring signals

Sending them deep into space

So far gone they will become black again

Reading slow

Maybe even more so

As capricorn’s last noise

Fills the air so clear

Purges the ocean of its madness

And the treasures buried deep below.

Stubborn boy

Will you not forgive yourself

And keep your lexis to you and God

For even now you

Cry a tear nobody will hear

Shake a violet ‘till the last petals whither

And fall to your feet.

Stubborn, stupid boy

And a rotten small thing

As it crushes you into a tiny

Uneven sphere of sadness and a grievance not so

Uncommon in funerals

And a marriage two fortnights awake



Alas a gift given is a gift taken away

A violet shaken is a flower unjustly undone

And a stubborn boy

Is a thing everyone will try to keep away from the darkness

But will not keep the darkness away from him.

Tried and true

You will suffer with the rest of them

It’s written here

In the oath you signed while your eyes

Still knew not the world

And your palms

Clean as a morning sky

Still brushed along the pavement /

Crafted globes.

"I am yours and you are mine until the day that we both cease to exist."

I cherish these words like how martyrs hold crucifixes close to their hearts
Only separated by a wall of bone and flesh
I keep these words fresh
By reiterating them every morning since you left
Their poetic tone makes me long for your voice,
Your warm breath and your soft caress as we lay in my bed
Chaste, no acts of lasciviousness or mundane carnal lust
It was just us.

Do you remember when we first met,
How your voice that rivalled thunder bellowed as you fell,
How you appeared as a flash of lightning that failed to destroy
For grace ground zero is pure creation and no other choice,
Or how you took the likeness of my form
And as you said to an awestruck me
Using typhoon from your lungs and a canyon deep voice
"I am an angel of the Lord."

Yes, you were an angel
—As the windows to my soul followed the water dripping from brow to knife-edge cheeks
To course through first man's downfall to nestle where collarbones peek
I could not speak for I was transfixed by your androgyny
Or is it just that the symphony of celestial applause silences my throat
And the low heavy notes of thunderous cause muffles all when the Heavens cried for its children lost—
I agreed

You stared at the distance, admiring how your brothers and sisters met ground
As they used natural phenomena as a facade
Like how Rameses decided the last plague in Egypt long ago
Is angel-kind disguised
Ending the lives of a thousand slumbering children at night
But this coming of the Heavenly Host was different
You came here not to deliver seven plagues nor fortnights punishment
You came to know what it's like to be human

Do you remember how I was dumbfounded,
As I, a testament of how flawed a creation humans are, hear this from perfection,
How I witnessed in your eyes Cain's mistake,
How I saw you make your first steps in disobedience
That will lead to a series of consequences that you said you would cherish,
A road of pain, suffering, and anguish
Or how you told me that you long for human emotions
And how you envied the mouth that bit the fruit in eden?

I still remember how I fell in love with you
How you told me that the weatherman on tv was a false prophet
And that he had changed the weather himself
How you told me every being in the universe that became one of your Father's favorite
Showed similarity with Heaven's most wanted
How you, in veil of night, moved from my living room couch
To sleep by my side
To roost on my bed

Every night I held you tightly in a warm embrace
Close to my heart like how a child holds a blanket reminding him of his mother's calming face
At morning jet skies remain as you stretch your raven wings
Gale winds push forth to ******* away,
Bedazzled by gleaming feathers astray
You are a monument to beauty, a greco-roman statue
Obedient to the Maker, chiseled, stone cold, perfect.

Obedient to Him you were,
He called for all of His children, including those who have fallen
To fight a wargame against Hell, Avalon, and places unknown of name and origin
And you, you headed His call
You again summoned a storm to conceal your true form;
Titanic, terrifying, and phantasmagorical with a hundred pallid furnaces etching the surface of your rock like skin
And in that moment I knew I lost you to Him
Because you said "I am an Angel of the Lord, now and forever."

You said those words using typhoon from your lungs and a canyon deep voice
And as you raised your hand
To an act of God approaching fast,
I lost your warmth to skies unrest
Your memory a dead man's switch if I let go it will detonate unstable emotions
I begged you to play me like harp strings because my heart seams to
Unravel, remembering from Earth you did depart
Knowing I could no longer feel your warmth.

And it came to me,
Angels are not the cloud-jumping-perch-on-your-shoulder kind,
They are monstrous warriors
With the Word of God tattooed on their hundred feet bodies
You are soulless automatons built for war yet you still loved me
You told me stories of alternate realities and distant galaxies
Elegies to dying stars and civilizations in jeopardy
But never again can you tell me...

I still remember how an angel came to me in a dream,
Told me you died defending Heaven from the enemy
Told me that your last words were for me:
"I am yours and you are mine until the day that we both cease to exist."
And since angels are soulless they cease to exist when they die
I cried myself dry, regretted the fact I once had an angel in my life
Whose grace filled me with warmth and whose wings comforted my lonely nights

I still remember how I realized I was human
And I, with those cherished words
Can buy myself more time, buy our relationship more time
For me to be yours and for you to be mine
You may have faded into nothingness but I have not
So until I call out to you using my dying breath
Until the last second in my deathbed
Until my soul's eternity in its infinite Heaven...

I am yours and you are mine, as simple as that.

i've watched 677 fortnights,
and got bored 'til 678th came.
today i might see the merry lights,
dance, as it tells me it's strange name.
show wonders; of depths and heights,
no blunders, just spectacle or same.
to clear and flush all those petty spites,
watch betelgeuse get engulf with flame.

When I was small and quiet, reserved, demure and sad
And I sat alone with my thoughts, watching,
I didn’t know you. You who were a wish of the future,
Not real. You were miles from me and robed in black doubt.

At fifteen I found the truthful facts of me. I detached
From reality. I brooded and drowned in my truth.
You were not yet there.

At sixteen I found those who taught me to swim.
I swam out of my self-imposed desolation.
To find you. Not knowing at the time what you’d be.
You were now present but out of reach and out of want.

A year later, everything has changed. After, rejection,
Abandonment, love and hate. All the unseen sides now shown.
Now four fortnights have passed. This winter isn’t as harsh
As the ones I remember. Many days take me to spring.
I see colors brighter now than before. Do you?
Each breath breathes deeper and tells me this is no thaw.
Have you breathed deeper this winter?
Seen brighter?
Tell me when your senses reach chaos moreover,
And I will go with you where they lead.

It is as it is,
and was ere,
again I’m paired to
restroom pantile,
resilient sickness
can redefine docile
to nothing northerly,
o'er the day is
only forgery
to an nightly
mainstay,
this white flag
has been waving
to porcelain for
oft fortnights
shining footlights
on an innocent reflection,
allay this suffocation,
let me breathe again,
foremost is always
surviving tomorrow,
though I'm a swain to
the ***** of today.

A multitude of fortnights passed us by,
We passents of time, our sorrow, we tried.

A spell of brief written touches.
Time and space were arranged.

The earth turned and turned.
Time and space were burned.

The wind ceased carrying sound.
Passing time, the end inbound.

Pigeons carried the desire.
Hearts in smoldering fire.

Speed takes breath aback.
A journey, lips on your neck.

The movement, speed squared.
Our shadow never cared.

Risen to the peak of feel.
I peek and never conceal.

You and I, both sore.
The loss a shared core

The night brought silence.
Menacing unspoken words.

King and queen, both know.
The kingdom fades slow.

The sun dawns, all rays travel.
Light reveals and starts to unravel.

Secrets that we knew.
Far from too few.

All the birds fly and sing.
A message for the king.

Couriers travel back and forth.
The only direction is north.

When then the sun sleeps.
and the night creaks.
Feel what she seeks.
And speak from their beaks.

Undrape the play.
Hear what I say.

Mind tries to reason.
Such a blue season.

A wordsmith works his furnace.
The wood is scarce - he burns his.

Labouring day and night,
Keep that flame alight.

Hammer and anvil entwined.
All my words are kind.

Walk the rope, you won't fall.
If you're scared, I'll take it all.

When a chapter ends so low.
We only reap what we sow.
Cast the light, we will make it right.
The beauteous fields are in sight.

My love is free.
Come write with me.

There are words I'd like to use. Sixty tracks of my mind follow through to, "Yes, those are the adjectives of choice, of reason," and the nine other tracks are riddled with stains of the catatonic ***** I've been purging for months now. They insist that no, no those are the words you are supposed to say, not the words that count.


Infested, drunk, disheveled and belief is too far gone.

Horrified imprisoned cultivated from mud and grease and whatever was unearthed from these curtained walls.



No, these have never been the proper words. But never have you had the proper focus, Hannah. Never before have these same eyes glistened toward the voices that sound so plainly like the one you wish could beckon you once more. Never before have you even possessed eyes that glistened. But we see them now, incandescent and descending.



My honesty has committed crimes against my body and my passions, but here is where my honesty has taken hold. In every honesty, as far back as honesty has existed, (let's say a couple of months, a couple of fortnights, a couple of howls of 'oh god is this morning no ******* it, the sky is still dark and this is not the bed I Belong in,') here is the blatant foolishness of it: Emotion has gone and all that is left are symptoms of emotion.


Symptoms. Knowing I will barely speak tomorrow if sleep doesn't come soon and standing in the dark with my back to the mattress, desperately clinging to words I can't bring myself to put anywhere. Words I would rather not see living forever in the context in which they appeared. There is no destruction, no violence, no pain or torture or infestations and certainly no belief, certainly no sobriety. This tongue cannot for the life of it, (a life it doesn't own,) recall the last time it tasted tears. It begs the question, "What defined my emotions before?"

It could have been the groggy, drowsy, half-hearted feelings of self loathing, or the chest convulsions of loneliness. It could have been this thing or that thing, but nothing that has ever been representative of my emotions is still around. Not one single frame. Not the smallest second, the tiniest glimmer, the ******* the ******* the *******.

Nothing.

It begs the question, "What could have done this to me?"

Never evident until investigated. Never obvious until I lay my left hand on the sheet by my face and trace the patterns of my veins with my vision. I no longer allow myself to be alone with my brain for longer than a moment.



My domain is cold and you are the one remaining prisoner, and please god evacuate now before your spell takes hold with that physical strength.

Who am I ******* kidding?

I've been under for years and this **** is deadly. True, tried, tired.



In the pacific northwest you left a shell. Filed, filled and defined, now. Something rose from the ashes of my imagination burning my Belong ings. Tangible things that force my brain to recall that morning our kitchen smelled of swedish pancakes and that evening the black and white movie sent us walking hand in hand, cold and blissfully content to be cold, debating and spouting trickery as we always did. Tangible things my fingers simply can't bear. That pair of mugs was ours not mine, our lips hugged their edges so many mornings afternoons evenings and now I've locked them away under 's' for 'Somewhere that isn't here'.



This man I'm singing to doesn't want to hear it but he knows it must be said. If it stays within me for one more hour, through one more mythical sideways glance at the man who wishes he could right-click-cut me away, my soul will have to be found, dug up and exhumed before I could ever explore it again. This man I'm singing to hates that I have to express what I must express but god ******* **** I must express it and he needs to know that my feet feel lined with concrete and my heart never left that golden ground. Cannot define beg, never will again.



She won't play games or play with struggle. God all she wants is those arms wrapped around her. She isn't cold. She isn't alone. She isn't common or messy or underground indefinitely. These arms are up and she is praying that what is in them is going to soar far enough to reach him on the other side. But she doesn't pray.



You have my devotion now you Must have my madness; do with it what you will but please god let me sacrifice it to you.

I thought of you today all day and yesterday every solid second of yesterday and if I prayed I would pray to wake up tomorrow having forgotten(maintained) your name, face, touch and that ******* radio voice.

Chapter XIII
Ekadashi, Nix in the Dark

From all the districts they came to witness the material effects of Gaugmela. Three days before, the Falangists under Vernarth were hit by the Ekadashi. They fasted three days before and gave themselves over to the radiations of Zeus, imposing the radiosities of the lunar movements. It is the penultimate step, there were already hours to walk through the dust that shook the heels of the Falanges. All the accoutrements and animals given over to the devotion of his soul and to his disputable faithful.

Already in the immediate circle of Gaugamela's possessions. Darius then came to cross the Tigris, organizing his troops and his harem. The Macedonians arranged the army that numbered 7,000 horsemen and 40,000 infantry. Alexander's elite heavy cavalry were the Hetairoi (Companions) and were made up of the Macedonian nobility, who accompanied Alexander in this battle and were the deciding factor in the battle. Vernarth commands the more than 40,000 infants, keeping a close relationship with the Hetairoi, with his arms twinned with divine caste. And Greek Hoplites who intervened to cover the rear of the phalanx, which Vernarth sponsored in the farthest reaches of thought of this moving stain of thousands of Macedonians singing institutional war poetry.

From the Dodecanese, Kalidona and all the central Greek archipelagoes came to pay tribute to Vernarth, accompanied by Etréstles de Kalavrita, great hero and defender along with Markos Botsaris (Chapter 6, page 36 Koumeterium Messolonghi / Palibrio USA) in this great epic. Raeder also joined his Petrobus Pelicanos, Brisehal and Strigoi from the Transylvanian transverse valleys, soon arrived from the Reign of Horcondising, after boarding his Frigate in Valparaíso. Adding the nine elements of the Megatons reviving in case they are ratified of a new Era.

They all camped five kilometers from the Rio Bumodos, on the north ***** where the moon shadows favored them of a new lunar phase, movements, ebb and flow, the influence of energy. The devotees of the clan did not attach any particular importance to it, they attach importance to these days for one reason only because these days it can enhance their devotion, so they are engaged in service. They are waiting for these days to have the opportunity to further strengthen their devotion, in order to accept the procedures at their right hand with the astrological or cosmic interpretations of the Ekadashi that can be explained by the people of the material world.

Concept infringed upon the devotees is that Ekadashi is the day when the Lord strives for greater enjoyment, to challenge incessant pain from the imbalance of the collective emotions of the attendees. And the others as an ingredient of souls that are destined for their enjoyment should try to give more energy to Vernarth and his regression parapsychological. But we must also understand that we are in the margin of life, so we should not think that Zeus extremely needs our service. He is completely self-sufficient and is in the transcendental world. But he does not leave us alone with his vague glimpses of company.

Ekadashi is a Sanskrit word that means "the eleventh first." The holiday refers to the eleventh day of the fortnight belonging to the lunar month. The moon has two fortnights in a month - The waxing phase of the moon and the waning phase of the moon, so Ekadashi falls twice a month. If we count the contest it was the first of October 1, the ekadashi is biweekly. Is worth to say; that the lunar flows would scrub their triple lunar circles from September 20 331 a. C., which is cyclically corresponding to the eleventh day of self-generation of the phenomenon. That would be crucial in the moldy veil of consecration of the Macedonian Holiness and their immortal souls.

The Falangists' minds will tend to ask millions of circular questions one after another, but it is not their great task to be busy and deal with a lot of various questions in the cold of the night. Our task is to learn to chant the Holy Name without committing ineffective offenses. And in a certain state of mind this will appear in our hearts, rather than in the concentric circle of our Hoplite shield in the defensive Hellenic rear.

An eclipse before battle
Let's go back in time momentarily to October 1, 331 B.C. That day the battle of Gaugamela took place, one of the most important in antiquity. The setting was the banks of the Bumodos River, just over twenty kilometers from Mosul (Iraq). There the Macedonian troops of Alexander the Great (356 BC-323 BC) and the Persian army of Darius III (380 BC-330 BC) faced each other. Vernarth was close to the leader, and they were playing the Dorius with the hoofs of the Steeds and they were vibrating the Sarissas spears with the dark spots falling from the top of the tinted sky, more than the foot-tapping of the sandals of their Thessalonic infants filling their glasses with greater wine Cretense not to tarnish your upstairs fears cosmological.

Eleven days before the battle, under the gaze of thousands of Mesopotamian and Macedonian soldiers, the Moon hid. Not even her benevolent lady sphinx managed to express stunned, almost disheveled before the stars that looked at her. The camp was suddenly plunged into the deepest darkness. Far from marveling and enjoying this astronomical event, the undaunted human troops of both armies interpreted it as a sign of bad omen, sensing an imminent defeat. The panic was greater among the Macedonian ranks that at that time forded the Tigris River in search of Darius III's troops. The soldiery interpreted the Dark Moon as symbolizing the advent chaos against the celestial order, so there was a marked reluctance to continue. This gesture was about to destroy the empire of Alexander the Great.

Fortunately, the Greek strategist managed to change their minds by making a very different reading of the lunar phenomenon: the divine message had to be translated as that the sun, a Macedonian symbol, was going to eclipse the moon a symbol of the Persians.

Alexander Magnus says to them:
I know that your tracks will leave visible traces of the high sky for those who do not go unnoticed. I know that your bellies will empty all your viscera to the sheer Death that is decked out by scaring its docile and nascent hair, like seeds germinated without the freshness of the unruly Sun, yet atoned for in the bowels of the prophecies of the augur.

In spite of everything, the arrogant Macedonian must not have them all with him because he summoned Aristandro, his personal necromancer, in his tent, and asked him to make a sacrifice to the god Phobo, the god of fear and horror. The augur inspected the entrails of the slaughtered animals and assured Alexander that fortune was on his side and he would achieve victory. The prophecy had to reassure the bulk of the army, since the next day they set off, moving away from the bank of the Tigris River, looking for the confrontation against the Achaemenid hosts.
In the Battle of Gaugamela the Macedonian army showed its teeth and twitched the profiles of the Persian temples and their lodge. The cavalry enveloped the Persian troops on their right, penetrating to the heart of the army creating the devastating effluvium that frozen the impression of the eternity of an empire and its empty policy. Darius III intuited that his life was at risk in the face of this contingency, and he fled a horrifying flight, which created a greater confusion among his troops, definitively unbalancing the result of the fight against Alexander the Great. Vernarth, their main commander, before Darius was filled with the worst fear, stormed his own scythe carts and shot the troops head-on, many of the scattered victims being severed. He sprinkled first-degree alcohol on their heads to leave them out in the open and posterity would come the Goddess of the night Nix, spilling sour macerated petals on all of them to bury us in the imprecations of the God Erebus in the deep light devoid of the calm margin of redeeming them of chaos.

Over the sea of crushed earth, beneath the surface of Gaugamela, their floods of elusive phlegm ran through the catacombs, the hurried insectaries of the underworld of the god Tartarus fled. Nix is usually depicted as a winged woman dressed in a black cloak covered in stars. She drives a cart drawn by two horses and normally, her twin sons Hipnos and Thanatos accompany her, here they ran everywhere, to attest the regrets of the Hoplite Phalangists, after being invaded by mythological forces of the Achaemenides. His powers were believed to be superior to those of any other god (believed to even arouse the fear of Zeus) and his worship occurred throughout Ancient Greece. Normally, consecration rituals were performed with roosters and black sheep since it was believed that their singing disturbed the stillness of the nights. Its sacred animal was the owl and its symbolic plant, the ****** poppy. Greek myths believed that when Nix emerged from Tartarus to the surface of the earth, night took place while day suffered from shyness.

Saint Corinth night
The Acrocorintus was a citadel with a triple line of walls, which according to mythology would have corresponded to the sun god Helium, in the dispute it had with Poseidon (god of the seas), who was assigned the Corinth isthmus. of the referee of the contest, Briareo, who was a Hecatónquiro (giant that had fifty heads and a hundred arms) according to the story of the Greek historian Pausanias. The Acrorintus was located on the steep mountains in the south of the city, where the temple of the goddess Aphrodite and the fountain of Pyrene were, and which was larger than Corinth itself, so it could serve as a refuge for the inhabitants if were invaded. It was also the target of the destruction of the Roman consul Mumio, and later rebuilt.

Laus Iulia Corinthiensis, colony of that time in one night under the maroon influence of the blizzard of millions of Fireflies, invaded all the fields of Macedonia. Some of these super noctulizing species migrated from the poles fainting before the Dodona oracle in the twilight that espouses the night of the day in vicious reconciliation. They entered the oracle sworn by civilizations 650 B.C.

The night of Saint Corinth is the vision that a Chrysalis had when observing a Firefly in the center of the barley fields. The oracles at Dodona were performed by interpreting the sounds of the sacred oak and the flight of pigeons. In the middle of the 4th century BC., the athenian Demón mentions another tradition on the oracle of Dodona: he related that from the ceiling of the temple of Zeus hung a series of cauldrons or tripods closely together. Since the temple lacked walls, the wind beat the cauldrons and its sound was what had to be interpreted by the priests or priestesses who appropriated their non-transferable powers, creating a cosmogony of appropriation of illegitimate powers, aggressively changing the destiny of those who came closer to the oracle. Event that was marked in the last minute of the dogma, when everything leaned towards the omen of overcoming an entire almost subdued civilization of mythology turned into an imminent reality, which vividly demonstrated an environment of tangible and prosperity in Gaugamela having made a myth reality like the Dodona and its chrysalis.

It is interpreted by the priestesses, as a harbinger of the common preservation of the Egyptian and Greek theological bastions. But above all of the Dodona, who anticipated the facts, come to reappear according to the forces of nature in Guagamela, which he would risk in 331 BC. C. In all those faithful to Vernarth, presuming to be always loyal in the first and last line, when the oracle entered them by the temples and stole their entrails with doves, later it deposited panting to all equally in the tops of the oaks getting ready to enunciate to the same oracle what was going to happen one day, that year in Gaugamela. Chrysalis hotbeds bathed in a field humor of St. Corinth were always seen fluttering when the Oracle was invoked to the one who came in the name of Vernarth coming from Sudpichi.

To be continued… / under edition.

My dearest Leopold:

The blind birds propaganda course is enlightening. Yeah, Ive taken it, In fact, Ive taken it once a week since June 7th, 2015. The boat started sinking on that day as well... Probably just a coincidence. I apologies if I come off as acclumsid but that devil has got my mind in a twist. I think being an afterling of this great man is an honor, unfortunately I'm not sure that he enjoys my company.... He already has his own little Heinrich Himmler. The button nose girl popped up again. This time outside of a dream. Quite a queer circumstance... She never stops bluttering and she is a bit of a daggle-tail and feather-head, but I feel what I feel.  Anyways I can hardly believe it has been three fortnights since last we had correspondence, But the elves are riding scamper like a horse and its been quite a hassle to get them off.

Always with flerd,

-Lorenzo

Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.

I've worn out my welcome
I've worn out my shoes
Spent too many fortnights
Drinking the blues

I've drifted for ages
My coat faded, threadbare
Dancing for habit
For the hearts no longer there

My song has long faded
Like the owl's late at night
So please let me go
I haven't the fight

Let me go wander
Let me drift away
Then let go of the memories
Embrace your today

There's a sweet tale yet untold
Embroidered by the time alone
Two young crossed lovers,
Caught in the midst of throe

Your eyes, my quilt during nightfall
Your lips, inked on my blue soul
"You are a hallmark of perfection", she wrote.
Sadly, he didn't fancy reading.

I have waited countless fortnights
Only to witness thee, my kryptonite
"You're my certain in this world full of uncertainties" he said.
But his echoes did not reach her.

You are her utopia and you are his euphoria
"You're meant to be but not on this lifetime", cursed fate.
Cruel how time can turn passionate lovers-
Into strangers with some memories.

Maybe, some tales end happy
But not all stories will, until then
He is ,still, her achilles heel while
She, is his forlorn unrequited love.

Many moons of us walking opposing paths
And alas, Pandora who woke me quite early
To cleanse long to be odourless for fortnights
Pressured me to test my lactose-sensitive belly
While smiling statuesque, to hiking long paths
Sorry is Pandora whom I never kissed
Who had a chance to ******* tender lips
While we were merry on the 50 coins train
I made a move, sad yet brave, to be denied.
Many moons of us walking opposing paths
Pandora pondered, put perspective and placed
herself in the awkward position to tell me sorry.
I accept your sorry but I have questions, longing for answers

Recently lock down began
You may say
This is not the time to write a poem
When darkness falls drop by drop
From the sky.
In this cursed timorous moment
Breathe is confined,
Infected by incorporeal virus
Present in the silent outline of the city.
This is not at all a time for parasitic dream dalliance.

I myself too is a socially isolated person of pessimistic attitude,
Whose, vanity is a part of genetically accumulated negativity.
When people speak of moonlight and starry nights
I am frightened in apprehension of darkness.
When people speak of blooming of flowers
I wait wakefully in apprehension of a storm.
In every morning, I dream idle dreams of the evening.
My friends know quite well
That I am a foolish ancient mirror of psych lateral inversion.
.
Yet I wish to dedicate few moments of this tragic conjuncture
In the name of poetry
In this scary time of screams and uproars
Once again I want to start
The protesting parade of indomitable words
With the crime of antisocial psyche.
O' gloomy time of locked down city
Can the defeat be admitted so easily?

Where is that moment that can resist
The inevitable course of impending sunrise?
Can the clamour of birds become silent
Out of fear of horns of buffaloes?
Can the poison droplets fatigue the seeking thirst of enlightment
Of the descendants of light?
Will the deep paddy of green fields
Admit defeat so easily
Out of fear of unruly flood of Ahar ?

In fact, the words are not so simple
In fact, the words are not so simple

In this ominous darkness of ENDHAUBAALI
Once again,
skillful shadow war.
Every person of the locked down city knows
Patience matters, only patience.
The enemy will perish without a trace
Lockdown, Lockdown, lockdown comrades,
Lockdown the city;
Under silent raid; like a new Stalingrad.

The world conquered enemy
laughs horrible laughter at the
extended banks of the Luit.
But for that the heart is not trembled.
We want triumph and only triumph without the fear of death.
The country men are ready
Prepared with well-skilled, proficient and disciplined array
Will go forward with sword of thunder
Built in the workshops of science and technology
When clarion call comes.
New Saraighat is calling us.

Every citizen of the locked down city knows what is needed.
A little patience and some sacrifice.
In this cursed darkness of Endharubali
Once again well-skilled shadow war
The experienced wisdom of locked down city knows
Patience is a must, only patience
The enemy will die of drying
without tracing the host
The enemy will die of hunger
without finding out any trace.
Locked down for two fortnights
New Stalingrad, new Stalingrad.

Ah! Drop your prejudice and hear
I lost my love, fortnights ago
My weeping tears dried-up
Searching for my last name.
With solo flashlight wandering
Among scattered droplets of war.