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Billo Feb 2013
This dream of consciousness will not end alarmingly,
though it leaves lines on Billo's face
smushed against pillows placed
strategically

The strategy?
To look tragically well put-together
to get her to lie in the bed I made hastily
Well - I say this, but the presentation's done tastefully:
Big blanket tucked
IN with style
OUT of luck since I've not been...
...touched in a while

I grinningly smile - it'll all be ok
(I'm not much for physical lovin' anyway)
...beyond hugging and kissing and getting to stay
for the night curled up close whispering "sweetie, sleep tight"

I've not got these dreams, but I've some aspirations
No sweetie, I'm not sweaty,
- I've no *** persperation
My room is too cold with the wind's drafty laughter
My bed is too cold since I've not quite yet asked her
to lie with me and lie to me that she is the one
and I will be won over,
over-nighting done right
...
Left to the imagination, day-dreaming's my vision
Pigeon-holing my gamboling gambling rambling
Not quite in shambles, see?
I get it: regretting is letting me settle into misery
"Mysterio the (not-so) great" is dutifully bound to wait
Patience is love doctors' medication - "Just wait!" they prescribe
and in time their patients' trepidation will end.

Inner peace outer space and I pace.
(without her face to grin at)
synapse fired
for nodding off on the job

**** awake, up for work
Woken, spurred
on toward spoken word
March forwards - four words
Reverse reverie never hurt
"But I don't dream!" I think
Does it stop me from trying?
From lying to and by myself,
in doubt in a drought
Good - buy myself a drink:
rootbeer, two shots of espresso
let's go, caffeine-Billo tag team
on the rocks, off the clock
(talk about self-deprecation, why don't you)
Chew on the cubes with contextual frustration
The drink's gone, I think long and hard at long last
ARRRG I yell in a fit mentally I'll
sleep on it.
Katelyn Knapp Feb 2015
These days...

Are you sitting alone in the quiet and cold
or surrounded by friends with your colors and smoke
Are you thinking of me as you fall back to sleep
Or grinningly praising the silence and peace

Is your love still the same
Are you glad that I'm gone
Do you miss me at all
Are you happy alone?

Yeah
These days...

I knew that I cared more
****, probably too much
but now I can't eat or find joy in the comfort
of knowing you're finally happy - you're free
But did it really take you not talking to me?

God, just tell me straight
Did you want me to stay? Please...
know I'm around
Are we better this way

...these days

You're still my everything
Yeah, that'll never change
But I need commitment and love
not these tears you're proud of
You say you're a man; are you happy again?
Well, ****.

I still see you and Zuri,
I still miss my lover,
but I need security the way you need me not to hover.
I want peace and partnership
You want casual relationships
We both can't win
and we're fighting again

These days...

I get it now
I really do see
Insouciance doesn't make you worse than me
and being so invested doesn't make me right.
We want different things -
is this worth the fight?

And one day I hope you will want to be mine
But you need some space
and I need some time
to forget your ambivalent shove toward shame
and the way that it hurt you to call out my name.

But I am still here
Your pain is still mine
and though I know love tends to fade over time
I swear that mine won't
One day you will see
One day you'll remember

And it will still be
...these days.
Thy innocence, thy innocence is more than what words have to say
Passionate face with youth that shall never decay
Oh, and stay mute amongst those bitter roses of May;
vanished worlds are real to me today.

Yester' firmly thou startled the wooden door
And grinningly stepped into the carpeted floor.
Vibrant speeches then thou began to tell;
thy voice silenced souls like a spell!

And how nature celebrated thy sound-
ah! as I could feel it on my bare ground.
Look! How those wheels just whirled round and round-
but bits of thy keen presence they never found.

Windy were just the dusky moors
Just as the brisk rainfalls turned worse.
Rattling against frail, murky hedges,
sweeping over cross, old shaky branches.

O! But shy, shy were thy glistening cheeks-
with shadows that were genuinely sweet!
Charming thy crowds with pretty wit-
as the new night grew darker and bleak.

Ah! But times for thou are forever;
while songs to thee are just curious and everlasting.
As death thou shalt never encounter;
with a life as long and unbending.

Aye! With that gaze so listless and melancholy-
but days so suspicious and full of poesy!
Thy steps still light but not playful;
amongst those tasks too hasty and dreadful.

Oh! Vivid clarity, and its colourful rainbows
are like the talents thou decently show.
Thy modesty might they but adore
Lightly and gaily, later and before.

O my willow! Thou art the fir tree to my green ferns;
dust and pale fire are thy dignified young heirs.
Last time when their suffering was hard and stern-
resolve thou did, their lonesome affairs.

And how dreary this smoky haze-
that once put me in grayish days!
But now strangely it has it been lifted-
and my whole conscience has now returned.

Ah! And how thou, thou wert there, once more!
As soon as I escaped from my dry stupor
and to safe convenience I restored;
thou wert within, just behind the door.

But like singing clouds thou drifted away again-
undead and undying, just like souls shalt always remain.
For thou there might never be tomorrow;
for thou art still, in thy here and now.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2018
flying over Harrisburg (Seat 8C)*

transcontinental traveller this day,
from a city island onwards to a city by the bay,
the mileage sum greater than a lifetime of M31 bus trips,
but the in-transit poem-notion-potion elixir in blood stirring,
when a seated poet greets the jet stream
motion turbulence
,
one more rightful writ to the
flying poem chapter,
additive motivated and self-commandeered

airborne in the selfsame real clouds
where the poems are plucked from,
their distance to my body’s poem functions,
vastly abbreviated so they arrive more wet, chilled and urgent,
we become heated tango paired

already approaching Indiana, crossing Ohio,
over whose living souls have I traversed,
over whose stored poems have I flown through,
ruffling their crinkled white wrapper covers, the decorative ribbons,
whose hand waves have I discerned,
and whose cheeks have I gently kissed?

this land is my land, this land is our land,
and from the soft cream of moisture white,
stumbled on my long lost and well forgotten poems, thereby
freshly creasing and dampening yellowings
with the renewable tears when greeting old friends
of the who and when poetry was a secret garden
where I hid and withdrew and transpired the essential oils
of my deconstructed constitution

see this poem is more me just checking in on you below,
you up ahead, and those in arreared reared view mirror,
and on me, composing at an altitude of 31,824 feet to
strings of violins, my one true plane

as compensator for this ramble unfocused I gift you this:

conscripted by the thin atmosphere,
constricted by my failings, my limited stock of words,
my extra clouded judgement, my heartbeats rapido speak,
telling me to tell you my brothers, my sisters,
mine own adapted children,
we have never been closer than we are today,
until that day I knock and grinningly embrace and erase
that tiny space between our ******* and in unison breathe*

8:50am EST entente
entering into Illinois

— The End —