I stare into the space outside of you
Is it now
Will you give me the excuse Im always waiting for
Will you give me the excuse
Will you take all you've learned from these long nights
And longer days that float
Then wizz past like the eternity of a skydrop
Where the heart pounds faster than the sound of blood
And time stops

Too fast
So addictive
Full body shocking echos of sensation invade at random
Chemical flashback still-frames
Stir ancient Bonobo DNA into frenzied tool construction
So that I can have some more
Always more
I want more

Is it now
Will you take all you've learned from this telepathic dance
Of  fire fighting fire
will you give me the reason Im always hoping for
A secret I pretend to keep hidden from myself
Will you give me the excuse
Is it now

What are you
Who do you think you are
You read me so well with your body
Help manifest prophecies of pleasure in my pain
We take only what we need of each other's language
Syllables distorted by fresh intakes of breath
Newborn grammar crackles in the impulse of our mingled sweat
And in the chaos of sparkplug cell explosion
I am home

How human of me to decide
That I might just about be able to grasp infinity
In a few sharp moments of oblivion
But what can I do
My memory like yours is bloodcode
Millenia of dancing kept vague is a mercy
When fears longevity demands a louder voice

So what can I do
What do I know anyway
What am I
Who do you think I am
Is it now

Beauty
So much pleasure
Dizzy illusion that this motion
Is all the poetry I'll ever need
We sanctify the pain that brought us here
Without it we would never know
I am a seasoned devotee
And now hungrily I carve your separate pain into the scripture
This is power
Electricity that can never be destroyed

But now I stare into the space outside of you
The wave of shock in my blood
This time runs cold
Fist in my diaphragm
Breath labours in my chest
And I am home

In the old language I am so ******* sick of hearing
Declarations of war are never accidental
So please, let's not bother to pretend that we don't know
This mythology has nothing left now to enchant
Nothing to offer but the same cowering, mean spirited
Petrified and shrivelled desperation
That is the battle cry of every war
Everwhere
Every single ******* time

The root of so much evil
Lack
Of Imagination.

Control is always illusion
Betrayal always an insult to intelligence
And that is why
You can't look me in the face now
You betray yourself in this role
A waste of masochistic potential that you expend
On making yourself small in my eyes

And for what
I understand too well
This language is old
But not as ancient as they
And You
Would have us believe

I understand too well
This story is tired and hollow
This story is flat
A mythology so corrupt that even the old dears
With sinister, insipid eyes
Barely manage to keep a straight face

You join their ranks
With just a few short words
You join their ranks
With just a few short words that cloud your eyes
And widen mine to a horror
You try to convince me I have no right to
To a horror
You try to convince yourself that you don't see

Is it now
Is it an excuse that I've been waiting for
Or was it this
Dreadful feeling of inevitability
Did I forget?
Do I sleep with my enemy
Or is this just an accident of time in this geography
Too slow
Too dead for me
Yes
This is now

I stare at the crowd
rapid breath intakes
sweaty palms
I can't do this

I look back at her
telling her I can't do it
don't overreact
she says

my heartbeat is deafening
faster
faster
as if it wants to escape

I can do this
I think
but i know I can't

I'll fail
fail
f a i l

I feel nauseous
why am i so stupid
all I have to do is go there
just walk
**** it
why am i afraid?

I can do this,
I convince myself again
but my heart and sweaty palms
told me otherwise  

I look back to her again
with my pleading eyes
on the verge of crying

it's so simple
how can you fail,
everyone else can do it
she says

simple for her,
but I am not her
nor everyone else

why are you forcing me?

i bite my lip,
so hard that it's bleeding

I stammer
but- I - can't-do- it

why can't you understand?

they never tell you about the seagulls and the pigeons, do they?
sure sure, they have the bees and the birds covered,
your #mama and your #papa - you overheard them doing the
piston orchestra and said: the sort of onomatopoeia that
sounds just like you, that silences the sort of: just like you.
but why not listen with covert  benignant anticipation -
i did think English was a rotten
tongue, but i think French is worse...
                                                        ­  endear you? sure:
                 they put these additions
to the encoding, but never, ever explain how it works...
if dialectical is gone then diacritical
remains...
                                          ­                               and it's there,
a pink ostrich doing the go-g'ah dance
imbecile pigeon: neck a strut and half
by half nearly hanging off a desecrated body that's in limbo
on the scaffold where Charles I met his first cousin ******
thanks to Ollie Cromwell.... none of the Versailles
i have you know....
                            there should be a Greek
                   Kn                  symbol....
             not K as in potassium... something more.
and i'd never hear ****** jesus' i'm
the mountain                            on the radio,
thank you advertisement.
               but that thing about Jihadist French?
well... it's here,
                               i thought the English
were bad with not using diacritical marks,
second in command? diacritics,
first in command? dialectics?
abandon the first, the second is hyenas' razor
sharp: bite and smile at the same time.
           no, i'm not joking...
i'm choking you.
                             this is what the Jihadist in France
saw...
                            main example? how diacritical marks
**** around the syllable laws...
             bypass them straight... past them...
             main example? they never teach this...
i was never taught this, i was taught this in
an anti-alphabet ruling - it's not atomic
(but it really is), hence it's compounded -
but it's really atomic,
               where are the ancient atomic scientists now?
nowhere.
                         all of this came from
a footnote from maldoror, by isidore ducasse -
i too thought about putting Uruguay on the map -
                    in the notes, the use of "accent",
yes, a revelation from on high -
                      look at the French, how they speak it:
aplatissement
                             apply diacritic revision
and cut off the excess: aplatissemą -
                             (humiliation) -
          if only the French, then only the French know
how to create dyslexia... excess spelling
where distinct phonetic units should exist -
they never teach you how diacritical marks change
the syllable cutting up, the butcher's or forensic's inquiry -
                 they never teach you the use of diacritical
marks like they might teach you punctuation markings -
                  they never do the science of liberated pause -
liberated i.e. understood -
                                    you're just given the fudge
and told... CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!
                                    they never tell you how to
cut-up words as they should be cut up..
                                   never did they say
colon = umlaut over u and means prolonged
   i.e. uu          or omega
                                        because never was the
current aesthetic questioned...
                             Dictator Blue, adherent of
the dictionary bible said: already said, rex, rex, ego rex.
                    but there's this thing going on
from above - on high -
                           and all they want is to understand...
                  even i would hate to be left out...
still from the notes from the book maldoror -
                s'arrêter à             (to dwell on /
                                     stress) -
ê (circumflex) is like the grave approach -
                 the circumflex is binding -
            i.e. the -er is optional, but a necessary
aesthetic for the form to be written, but not said -
meaning the sound units disappear -
                  hands on the joints, a book is closed -
ê represents this: s'arrêt
                                                         ­  (-er) -
                   saret -
                                            ugly, isn't it?
well, if you wrote             saret
                rather than      s'arrêter               you wouldn't
be looking at the Louvre -                again, even without
diacritical marks you don't say     Louvré -
                                          but Loùvre -
               so the ê
                                     binds the r and t
   and makes                  the   -er obsolete -
which is why French is worse than English:
it utilises diacritical marks
                                       for odd syllable intakes
and other surgeon oddities -
    to learn the proper use of diacritics (using French
as a canvas) is to learn syllables again, and again...
all over again... one might say:
at least the English do not use diacritical markings
and subconsciously are so thoroughly
accommodating to alien cultures...
                       and that's justifiable, they are the fathers
of globalisation... they use phonetic encoding
without diacritical markings to enshrine
a Bangladeshi English, as much as a German English...
   they are the propagators of accents -
even the Scots are speaking proudly about the
matter of fact...
                            so indeed, diacritical marks
are not only concerns for aesthetic reasons,
but is pronunciation markings within words,
                          not between words:
intra                     v.                inter                  (wording);
they never teach you how to extend a sentence
with a semi-colon (;), because they only managed
to tell you that means wink: ;) -
                          in the same way that they didn't tell
you that a colon is (a) making a list, but also
       (b) an emphasis - the alternative to italics.
they didn't! i know they didn't because they didn't
teach me this!             i had to learn it myself!
              which is why i find diacritics so fascinating
that dialectics and its abandonment can rot in hell...
at least i don't have to deal with nuanced opinions
or the discussion or the non-discussion of
                 opinions...
                                       i can look at something
and see the blatant pronunciation dynamics at work...
            not between words, but inside words...
French is the best to investigate...
                        maybe that's why the Jihadists are
attacking France, from sheer frustration at not being
given access to the cordiality of speech when
settling into their envisioned Caliphate misnomer -
                    but diacritical marks are precisely that:
and when amateurs teach they never bother explaining
the atoms, they just say: turkey! gobble up that frying pan!
and you do! you are never given the most basic units,
you're never told what the time-span between a
full dot (.) and a semi-colon (;) is...
                                        ****: you can run a mile or
100 metres in under 10 seconds, but when it comes
to an aesthetic pause you're told to start
the hyperventilation sequence or blame it on asthma
rather than
                                 what's actually the archaeology of
rhetoric - these are rhetorical symbols...
                                   and that's the foremost question
that needs a debate: how to make rhetorical puncture
symbols into aesthetic symbols -
                   how to steal from rhetoric and do a Robin
Hood for aesthetic? primarily because there are
punctuation signs above letters, or below letters -
                   < (more than)
                                 > (less than)
      and the circumflex and caron -
                                         tilde
  or approx. 5                              i.e. ~5...
            and the millionth additive to make decimals
shake...
                                you never get told this...
if i was told the basics of diacritical markings enabling
a smoother syllable dissection i'd probably speak German
fluently...
                       when i should have been given crumb-like
understanding of a language, i was given a whole
loaf of bread, for ***** sake; that ain't cool -
          teach me language from the basics,
on the promise of teaching me a language like i might
be taught penguin talk: on the promise of
an onomatopoeia deciphering: it sounds like this...
                   : + u = oo             onomatopoeia e.g.:
                       pool                    /                  pull -
yes, the quiet literal representation -
  but English can be ***** by this appropriation -
not utilising diacritical marks makes certain words
sound alike but be spelled differently,
            via the same methodology extending into
certain letters being pronounced as entire words;
e.g.                   why                                  &             y.
reason? missing diacritical marks.
             oh, and the most blatant form of Judaism
  given              y               h                    w               h
                   without Abraham, without Moses,
without circumcision         without Jesus...
                                                               choice is yours.

Before everything

i. I never knew four letters could melt
menthol candy-like, hydrochloric acid on my tongue
and keep burning it in different degrees
I had to swallow back.

ii. That there would come a time
I'd have to baptize the pain in my chest like seasons
robbing me lungfuls
on January, September and December nights.

iii. That my blood was really ink I needed to stop using
before my skin turned paper-like.

iv. That my heart had an epicenter pumping a magnitude of earthquakes
that made me tremble helplessly in its intensity;
and that they were man-made calamities
followed by harsh, heavy, whipping tsunamis
to flood my grave of bleeding, jagged fault lines.

v. That aftereffects lasted longer than treatment itself,
and that I didn't need any professional diagnosis to know
I was terminal
from the same drug that made butterfly-strokes in my veins,
whose arms withheld the only elixir to this malady.

vi. I named my sickness, my pain, my agony like orphaned children, after you--
a rare disease
the doctors didn't even know about yet.

vii. I did and I doubted
but a part of me beat signals
that echoed off the cave walls of my skull
that I knew.

viii. Before everything,
I have been warned
but I chose to listen to the soothing, wrong, hopeful voices
"He means no harm,".

ix. You began spreading like an epidemic-- a tumor to a colony of cells all over me-- until I became you;
a reflection of familiar suffering and mortality, slowly withering away.
In the end, I didn't even have you to blame
for letting me overdose from intakes
of my own ****, bitter medicine and unforgivable mistakes.

x. I guess, this was how you wanted the price to be paid.

This is the machine.

Tucked under necklaces, poppies and daffodils
calligraphic fingertip Xs
hurry across pockets.
Thursday morning job postings
markers on construction paper windows
exhausted by making parts.
Keep weddings in thunderstorms
to hide the sound of windmills in chests,
bittersweet directions to ticking clockwork.
Carbonated water can’t convince summer to stay,
musical breaths and tulip footsteps
remind me of the gears in my knees.
Always buy wallets used
daylily bank notes folded into stairwells,
the heels of my socks.
Blue collars in ochre wheelbarrows
soaking next to the white ones.

We are quiet machines.

With cogs in our wrists
battery powered bone and sinew.
Baby’s breath white in our hair,
tiny bunches piled into collar bones or concave stomachs.
You have stars in your hair
whispering in manufactured voices
to pull out your eyelashes.
Consumed by the concept of concepts
on ravine park benches,
marred with newspaper labyrinths
smelling of rolled up sleeves.
Hand held gummy bears
prompt me to check my fluid levels,
bubbly orchids in my left palm.
Sugar intakes and patterned pants
hide homemade pulses.

This is the machine.

Hot/Cold, Part 2

Hot endings, cold starts.
Hot feelings, cold marks.
Hot temper with a cold reaction.
Hot double barrel with cold pump action.
Hot church with a cold congregation.
Hot merch with cold affiliations.
Hot meat, cold wine.
Hot dollar, cold dime.
Hot queens with their cold mink.
Hot kings with their cold links.
Hot art with cold reception.
Hot mirror and a cold reflection.
Hot woman with a cold reputation.
Hot main chick with a cold side on placement.
Hot funk and cold R&B.;
Hot world but the colds all I see.
Hot information, cold intelligence.
Hot faults, then cold recompense.
Hot forgiveness, cold mistakes.
Regardless of what the world intakes.
Hot ignorance and cold oblivion,
are bliss to those who favour dominion.
Hot pathogens and cold diseases.
Hot gold with the cold diamond pieces.
Hot gat within a cold Gucci belt.
Hot knife inside the skin it starts to melt.
Hot love for God and the cold religion.
Hot pain after a cold circumcision.
Hot skin, cold whip.
Hot hands, cold grip.
Hot city, cold ghetto.
Hot calls, but no memo.
Hot rapper with no demo.
Hot baller with no c-notes.
Hot thoughts, cold emotions.
Hot theories and cold notions.
Hot models with their cold body motions.
Hot love before the warm heart ceases.
Hot hatred 'fore the cold heart seizes.

It’s is a rope, with the strongest of fibres
that holds me together and can unthread and tear me apart,
it replaces my bones and makes me limp.
It makes me fold into myself as I walk -
are people staring at me?

Coiling so very tightly
twisting and turning and tying,
tying me up, forcing me to my knees.
Cuts deep into my foundation -
they’ve spread too far.

Rapid breath intakes, sweaty palms
my heartbeat is deafening, faster faster,
punching through my chest as I walk down the street.
I just need to get to the end
yet I always fail and f  a  i  l  more.


Trying not to let my weak body collapse me.
trying not the let the sheets smother me.
trying not the let the rocks squash me.
trying not to let the fingers strangle me.
trying not to let the words define me.


It’s like a ***** that holds my world together
there not point trying to look, you cant find it,
yet when I’m in public it comes loose.
I prepare to run as
the sky crumbles around me.

The ***** is so small you cannot tell it lay inside me
it’s so delicate so don’t look at me closely,
or you can see it in the twiddling in my fingers.
The dilated pupils and panicked expression.
Choose. Fight or flight?

I bite my lip so hard it starts to bleed
trying to keep it inside and hidden as to keep it a secret,
it’s like a wave trying to break towards the shore.
Like somehow, it’s never going to stop
*so I keep sinking and sinking and nobody can tell.

Up in the attic, the ceilings and walls
I hear ghostly sounds and
someone calls my name.
Now,
I'm not a scaredy cat.
No,
nothing as daft as that but ghostly calls
from the ceilings and walls,
frighten me all the same.

I

here alone apart
I realise

we are marked by the tide’s turn

and that drawing back
long aching inhalations
intakes of more than breath:
the very filling of lungs
with white and various
sounds
of beach
of foreshore
floating
in the heavy air.

Its constantness,
everywhere  
together
its everywhere and together
oneness,
though with such difference
scoured into the sand
by weather’s hand
by the wind’s rough play.


II

Shield the eyes
against the glare
against the pressing wind
spinning down and past us
out of the light noon-distant high-sunned
light,
glancing the tips of bejewelled waves,
dancing, only to fall to translucent hollows,
   only to rise and follow
the wave before itself,
that, even now and finally,
breaks into a foamed lace,
a fragile flower spreading
across the sand and shore,
a coverlet for this bared flesh of land,
wet glossy shiny sun-lit wet,
yet drying beneath our gaze,
leaving the infinitely-tiny
grains of sand’s
dew to glisten,
to sparkle.


III**

No pathways here
after the entrance
of footprints splayed
down the slight dune
through the ammophila
down to the hard sand the littered stone.
Only up and down
across perhaps
to the sea - from the sea.

Otherwise it’s up:
to sunward windward,
out out along the jigged line
of surf meeting sand,
a self-similarity,
a symmetry breaking on the shore.

All I ask is an antidote allowing all adults around the atmospher an appointment about arguing.
Because brother basic bodies are bound to believe bragging & bribing basically being broad brings about the best. But be
Cautious, cause carpets can't carry couches alone, concrete creeps. Causing careless catholic christians to create children.
Don't **** the deranged, dedicate the distaste to the drugs. drinking, and dumb deeds that did it.
Even Eminem explains enternal emotions excellently.
For fear feeds frusttration, though frustration can find fun in fornitcation. Foul. Focus on friends and family.
Getting grouchy gonorrhea grants graves too gorgeous gilrs. Game over.
However, having ****** hardly helps handsome happy hands.
Indicating interesting intakes, involving inception in indecive individuals.
Just joking, jealousy just justifies Jose Cuervo.
Kinddling kindness kidnaps king kong's kingdom.
Learn like lovers, loathing little, liking largely, letting laughs live loudly.
Maning mold mountains out of mud, make missery monogamous with merry.
Never neglect the notion of nice.
Optimism overcomes others opinions.
Personally, persisting perfection probably puts pessimistic patterns in people's personalities.
Quietly questioning their quality.
Rest assured reading random reactions really is redundant.
Searching someones soul secretely sends self salvation.
Take turns, tell truths, talk, these things take time, they are talents to be treasured.
Understanding ultimatums unlocks unlimited unison.

these last two weeks drag on.
I wash my hair all the time, rinse and repeat rinse and repeat rinse and repeat repeat repeat repeat repeat
slithering out of my follicles and sliding down the drain
toweling my hair dry, and
then you're creeping into my skin
you're creeping in creeping creeping and there's a whole bar of soap, gone.
and I think I'm finally clean and you've etched yourself in the pads of my fingers
that I rub on sandpaper until they bleed, ****** ****** badges of I'm winning!
winning this game with you in my lungs, pushing out with all your hands and your feet;
I can't breathe out, you won't let me, I hold it hold it hold it I touch edges of darkness feel my eyes
clog with pinpricks, stars, explosions and I've suffocated you, let out my breath,
calmed by your soft murmur in my ear, your touch on places we always went together,
I am cleaning cleaning cleaning trying to get you out of my skin and my hair and my thoughts
thoughts like you didn't even care and you don't even think about me anymore and all I do is think about trying to scrape your brains out of my innards.
vivid intakes, passionate obsession, cleaning cleaning cleaning the house the yard my hair (again) the door the mirror you wrote I love you beautiful the car seat you pulled me into the feel of your lips and your hands and your hair when you sweat because I could make you
feel.
and now I look in that mirror where I can't erase your words and I don't see that girl you watched anymore;
all I see is ***** of skin and listless hair and blue purple circles stalking my eyelids and profound sadness and I see so much that isn't even there because the one thing I need to see I can't because it's
you and you're wrapped up in her like a present
and all I got this christmas was coal to match this listless hair and an inability to see reality and a really awful obsession with wanting to cause you pain
pain pain pain pain what is pain, pearl white
what is pain

The sounds are astounding
My mind is completely at its wits end
The scents of our bodies
The compassion
Unison

****** and powerful intakes
The many desires are out spoken
Pain strikingly pleasurably
Stopping is impossible
Rapid thumps

This is serious
Becoming over the top
The gasps become groans
The sounds become screams
Names

We are climbing
The ******
The ground shaking truth
The beautiful
sensual release of it all

Our minds become faint
Our bodies now in a exhausted state
The heart is pounding
We drift
Into a seducing slumber

Until we wake again
For another addicting ******
******...

Leon Wolf

Silence,
Licks up the air around you,
Intakes it all,
Constricting your very thoughts, fears, feelings, pains until...
Everything goes black

When dancing skin illuminates your sin
I'll bask in the sight of your fair moonlight

When the warmth emanates your intakes and outakes
I'll fill my lungs with those sounds that I've found

When your hands are bands of muscles grasping me
I'll tantalize and tease, listen to you gasping 'please..'

But I want to drown in this, sink with me on this ship
I'll toss the sheets away, making white rippling waves

And we'll sail away, my dear, toss away hesitation and fear
As I'll lick the tender tendrils of your soul, just let go

So that I can hold triumph in the soft sounds of satisfied echoes
Gently tracing your skin, reminiscing the spots I've been kissing

As your eyes gently close, and the moonlight softens to a glow
I let you fade away into the night, but with me by your side

Falling out of distracting thoughts
he reacquainted with his glare in the mirror;
he'd been somewhere else, undoubtedly lost
in a moment of her.
She too was standing in front of a mirror,
putting her face on, yet the occasion was stained
with an uncharacteristic frown, as if sadness
had found her somehow.

After many anxious intakes of breath,
he reached for the door-keys lain by the trinket box
next to their photograph. He cradled
the apartment keys in his palms for a brief moment,
then went on his way.
She stared at their joyful pictures on her wall,
a shrine with each an expression of love.
She clutched his name on the key fob and left also.

That evening in the restaurant,
her eyes glued to his as intensely as her hands
pursing through the gaps in his fingers;
two sizes too big.
He reciprocated warm heartfelt smiles,
trying to keep it together for both of them.
Circling his thumb gently on pressed fingers.
Her accented cadence a perfume for the ears
and her broken English endearing;
this would all haunt him,
these details tearing at the pit of his stomach
as he languished in the reality
that he has no choice. He must return home.

Over the balcony
wrapped in her anaconda-like arms,
he witnessed her cheeks
tear-staining in the moonlight,
her whimpers battling the lulling tides and cricket chorus.
She crumpled as a strewn napkin against his frame,
before exchanging a kiss;
soft and lovingly endured. The very kiss that wishes
not to end but to stay this way forever.

How melancholy it was in the sea breeze,
to walk among their favourite spot on the beach;
where many an anecdote was told,
many a sweet little nothing shared
and many a glance embraced.
Right now with the hush of salt water
lapping the shore;
their 'Last chance to see' had been studied.
In that instant, both knew
that it couldn't be possible to have
one another again.

They stood for a long while by the waters edge.
Both just as broken,
before becoming ghosts of the scene
and ghosts to each other.

Come closer
by all means come closer where in a blink
pools fix and widen into trackless lakes
your eyes unflinching against my own
forcing mine to yield to look's vortex power
I sink lengthways on to beached magnificence
fearing no fences bind this brimming shore
desiring all of your cresting feistiness

we close in privacy like a whispered prayer
I stoop to overhear furled head to head
the feather of your cheek ticked pinker
confession spilling loosely off shoulders
flowing undressed like some burlesque fantail
and I found myself buoyed up on thin air
shocked by the vapour in essential oils
so lavishly luxurious their condensing iniquity
I could only try to endure your body heat
by closing my own eyes for a moment
but out of focus pours into a concentrate

the control over hands gives me false hope
but I find a clearing of purity overwhelms me
caught helpless in all I add to mire seeping cruel
your lifeline lips offering a hint of moist buoyancy
then sinking a ship of plumped up poison
purple as inky clouds penetrating my mind
the slim tip of your tongue elusively unkind
flickering like a searching candle in a cave
dripping in irregular beats an anti-doting
to form rivulets which in their mystical midst
surround a fresh discovered vale to defile

I feel it's formation in an archway of neck
the undercurrents freed into giving way
you suspend on the bridge an apex and deck
my firmly held happiness into crowning cries
overflowing from the safety of inner recesses
the excesses needing knee breeches on both sides
to wade through a drowning press of paradise
in on the outstretched reach of a relentless tide

yet gorgeous is its precipitous edging test
with bouts of engorged selfishness
I hear your eager call in urge
return
from compliance into shambolic demands
until I am summoned to a trembling portal
biting on its handles like a moon crazed wolf
wanting to escape but in awe of its might
that it will capsize and spring open floodgates

plunging me back into dizzy abandonment's past
to the captivating idea of a last biting grasp
at your sweep-me-up voluptuous swoon
so tight on my heart we both go swimming
from intakes of breath into open eyes again
loving the saltpetre of a spa bath drop descent
into rapids extinguishing hot pulsating harm
which taunts and scolds me to calm the claim
for more days of dangerous vain tainted venom
held at bay
held aloft
by your pressure
bandage
arms

Bright Eyes: Lua
Loudon Wainwright: Motel Blues
Radiohead: No Surprises
Keaton Henson: You don't know how luck you are
Tigers Jaw: Never saw it coming
Fleetwood Mac: Songbird
Paolo Nutini: Candy
... and your laugh
the clearing of your throat
your sharp intakes of breath
the chattering of your teeth in the cold
and the movement of cloth against your skin

I’m measuring heartbeats and gauging miles across torn atlases and
each space between the intakes of breath while saying I miss you
feels like my lungs are freezing over or decaying or burning

I’ve been pacing around my room for so long that I think
my floorboards are starting to form fault lines
and some nights I miss you with the magnitude of an earthquake

I’m digging trenches in my chest because
my heart holds more use as a graveyard
and I’m burying your memories there

It’s midnight on the first day of autumn and I don’t know
if the thunder cracked again or it’s just my voice
begging and screaming at God to bring you back to me

except no one can hear prayers over the silence
that’s fallen over me since you left so I keep missing you
until heartbeats can keep up with distance

I discover a black hole
Which can swallow anything
No matter what it's size is?
I am trying to control
And take charge of it
The black hole is my brain itself
It never knows how to differentiate
Only intakes that it can all the day
I have to use my heart as a control system
As we have good and evil
I have to grasp the good
And lead my life

Permeating - Begins with a simple dispute, argument, disagreement, and conflict with the individual. Second, temperate levels arise, violence emerges, resulting in uncontrollable actions, creating a brutal response. Third, very difficult to describe, but I will do my best, here it goes, limits have exceeded beyond recognition, logic is no longer liable, quickly disappearing, reasoning malfunctions, love is no longer there, hate has taken full control, picture this experience, the demonic manifestation.

Torturing - The body increases heavily in strenght, meanwhile pain flows throughout the blood stream, invincibility neurotransmitters take over, eyes dialect largely covering the entire layer, screams become very unfamiliar, roughly deep raging voices infuse, bloods exposed, numbness arose, receptors react, nothings inevitable its too late, shark bate, regenerate don't anticipate or hesitate, meditate composure and control the setting, pain is in motion.

Suffocating - Powerless embodiments, crucial destruction, ineffective signals, petrified terrified horrified symptoms, death is near if the hody turns weak, vulnerable absorption, manipulating cells propelled, evil casting spell, damaged speech impairment, strange feelings corrupt breathe intakes, prone to cardiovascular shutdown, heart attack, seizures, lose conscious, maybe faint, watching this occurrence is far much more traumatic, I'd say an experience unforgettable, marking scars forever, taken to my grave, remember Jesus saves...

Grasping at the air and your gone, like a whisper in my mind or my breath on a foggy morning. It lingers for a while, surrounding my head,
Like a pure cloud of delusion, a bubble of insecurities and hopes and desires and dreams and then it's gone, Like the flicker of a candle blown out by a child in an adult world, run away with the Humm of your breath, escaping into the night.
It's like quicksand running through my fingers, and I can see my time clock always feeling like it's running out, it's like a butterfly dancing into the deepest corners of my mind, running through a river of emotions and bursting through my
Mouth in a babble of awkward communication, freely flowing with everything that's been bottled
corked up and already set adrift in some running thought. All my
Mouth can conjure is a free flowing eclipse dabbed with bubbles of truth floating away to the surface of my sharp tounge.  And as the negativity cascades around me like a cloak of invisible emotion, the river runs from
my soul through my eyes, and the pain of crashing waves batters against my throbbing heart just willing you to take me in your arms, and plant a kiss on my forehead and tell me everything will Work out. But instead you're gone, like a whisper in my mind or my breath on this particularly foggy morning, and despite my frequent intakes and the river that won't stop running, I know that at the end of the day, that's all you wanted from me too.

Drifting on a steady tide

                    Of euphoric teal,

Abroad the dozing sea

In broad daylight, my heart solely yearns to feel;
That
           kick-
                   started
backwards            flipped,
        butterfly
& honey-
                 dipped
Choking-on-my-words sensation
Smooth talking me,
    to maximum elation
Move your steady hand
Upwards,
         along the seam
Of my glitter covered, purple faerie
Ripped,
        skinny jeans
                                May our love take us to cloud 9
Bodies pulsing in the drivers side
Hips glide; perfect, precise
Against the window of the frigid outside
As I
Climb into the backseat
Eye to eye,
                   find your breath on my lips
                                       my hand under your hips
       Your exhalation is my favourite high
Teasing *****, electrify this body baby

                          Push
                         it
                             deep
                     inside
                  of
                     me
            please?

I bite your lip, always a tease
Mind enthralled, car hazy

                                 Harder sir,
                     you've kept me waiting.

                                                                  Yes,
                      oh

                                        please
                
              Daddy can you feel me squeeze?

I feel your body
I feel your heart
I feel your thoughts
I feel your soul
But you're the only thing in this entire world
That makes me feel like I've lost control
This perfect state of pleasure
Lips loose,
                 hips roll
Heavy heaving intakes
Of cigarette perfume
Drifting past the rings of your
amber-gold,
They find my softened eyes
You lean in
to whisper against
my neck
                 "I will love you until the end of time."

/                       in that mock charles III voice
or the end tip
of scar's conversation:

i'm afraid i'm at the shallow
end of the gene pool:

  ****! and i thought he said:
dream pull!

you'll get the drift
when i try to compare, with compensation
the music to the rhetoric
of pachebel's canon in D -
and what almost every,
EVERY! english politician
does when speaking...

   nough-t'ah-b'lee
      kenneth, sir(!) kenneth, clark,
y'ah...

such a fudge, listening to the raj
post scriptums take or even
have airs as to be "rightly"
in the inheritance line...

           i've heard one story,
                entitled:
   can i please! please! have that tragic
aspect of life without
you thinking i'm a 12 year old lying?!
did i send any ***-pictures
over the phone?
   no!
             i bought a ******* ***** mag
before it all became:
       free, online!
    i know what rose cheeks is...

              it's not a ******* croatian
game of chequers!
   no, i seriously prefer this spelling,
even above the alternative noun...
since i associate that with: drowning,
or ****** ale;
                           n'est-ce pas?

f'aaaaaack...
        and i though english was bad
in terms of clarifying syllable intakes:
to the letter...
      
   phonetically?

                                           neß p'ah?

tongue for the eyes,
  tongue for the street,
   tongue for the language,
eyes diverted:
        
     who can blame them...
  they're only as good as a television
camera allows them to be,
to, put on a show...

   then **** away the rest of
the afternoon in a pub
    "concerned" about affairs of
     the state, or, "the" people...    

only in england do the politicians
ask the public to take them
seriously...
         back in the ukranian parliament
politicians throw
punches at each other,
as they would, with a choir encore
of a rendition of a hopak!

   theatre for the trans-rich:
that's politics, and i don't know how
i've been ****** into this quasi-******
syringe of "living", a, "life"...
            
eh... kenneth clark's elocution
    inheritence, compared to
                        pachebel's canon in D
as a joke...
         simpleton that i am:
                         a **** is still a ****,
and funnier -
    given that comic genius
    began and became
                            laurel & hardy
(albeit i find
       lee evans to be funnier)...

funny is only funny when a baby
can laugh...
         the rest?
     something akin to the joy
of feeding a giraffe in a zoo...
    
    which isn't exactly as much fun
as feeding raw meat to a domesticated
feline...
        slick, tounge tickled off a tip
                     of a knife.

years of words on paper, meticulously folded, filed,
un-forgotten, found and re-found
so often as to tear the edges, smudge the ink
un-escape back into, trapped on the ferris wheel of
spotless rosy memory, broken-record memory, memory,
memory,
memorize, become

words on paper
words on palms
words and touches and sharp intakes of breath etched
and etched
and etched and—

now, we use disposable cameras
look at what’s in front of us
we’re starting to
remember how

Glittery train tracks of escaping melancholy,
exploring the curves of cheeks.
Skin taut from wilted stripes of salty emotion.
A mounting pressure.
Eyes straining against the wave of tension.
The world slowly receding into blurry shapes.
An ache,
like a hundred hammers battering the temple of your mind.
A blooming tint of pale rose surround the eyes
with glistening, dark eyelashes.
Shaky, scraping breaths,
uncontrollable sharp intakes of air into suddenly shallow, shrunken, insufficient lungs.
And that renewing cleansing, like an unusual baptism.
A curious sense of catharsis.

Take me back to the Mountains,
with a soft breeze in my hair,
for steep hiking, leaves crunching,
and short intakes of air.
You were a speck in the distance,
from a climb through the ridges,
so I clambered over rocks
to make it to the finish.
With one last pull to the peak,
I saw a smile on your face,
then I brushed off the dirt
and fell into your warm embrace.

I think I fell in love with him long before I even knew I did. I think I had fallen in love with him between trying to figure out if I had already or not. When he cried the day he thought I was going to smoke a blunt with a couple of kids older than me, and the day he told his best friend: "I think I'm falling in love with her." Up until right now, lying on my bed with my head rested on my crossed arms, listening to the sounds of his breaths lull him into deeper states of sleep; dreaming dreams you and I can attempt to imagine, but only a beautiful human being like him has the privilege to see for himself.
Sometimes when we're on the phone for a while, and I know he's tired because I can hear the rasp in his voice return just like the night before, when he was at the verge of sleep, I don't say anything. I just let him. I just let the silence fill the void between the crease of his struggling eyes, and I remain silent. I let his eyes close. Because I like when he falls asleep. It's comforting, and peaceful, and less lonely hearing his little intakes of breaths every so often.
Sometimes I don't want to hang up, because I know I'll be lonely again once the sleepy silence between our call has ended. I usually draw it out for an hour or so before I force myself to hang up, but never before confessing my love to him every night, quietly, as honestly as I can. Of course he can't hear me, but I always hope that maybe somewhere in his unconscious mind, my words are able to reach him. Maybe in his dreams. Or maybe they never do, seeing as though, occasionally, I remind him in the morning of what I said to him, and he smiles, and pleads for me to never stop.
And that's what makes it worth it. That's why I say words he may never hear. Because somewhere along the line, heard or unheard, my subtle words are still able to put a smile on his face. And I think that's all any of us strive for, is to smile, and to find love, and for love to find us. Whether or not we even know it ourselves.

I still haven't hung up.

I don't think I will.

i. How to justify running away
there was no solid ground to stand on
no
earth to sink into.
a remember-me-not
of dirt.

ii. How to describe anxiety
laying on the edges of paper
slicing arteries of the throat,
the jugular veins,
forcing a sort of not cry/moan/scream/whimper.

iii. How to talk about unrequited love
push open the wound
accidentally scarring the memory
into skin.
writing calligraphy from the bloodstream.

iv. How to know what's home
slinking back to cotton
to caress and cover and rebuild
weary soul.
let a candle be the lighthouse.

v. How to write about someone who will never write back
oh these relentless intakes of air
that rattling the rib cage,
why is love only fair
when its finished to the bottom of the page.

Now I will take ya'll further back in my time
The time when I realized angels were taking care of me
They were always mine
My Daddy was quite different when he came home from Vietnam
My Mother became secondary
His mission in life was to show others God is number one
Don't misunderstand me, I know this is true
Yet I saw it my in mothers eyes at times this made her blue
Daddy stayed in the army but we also opened our home
It became a place of residence for the unwanted
We called it "The Manor"
A place to find Christ and no longer rome
During this time I was a very young child
In my eyes this enviroment felt a bit wild
Everyone rejoicing, singing hymns
Then out of the blue great vibrance would come
Someone would burst out speaking in tongues
Oh, so very much going on
My sister was upstairs jammin to psychedelic rock
Hangin with the hippies who were supposed to be
downstairs at church or the rehab class
Yet they had wandered away
To the psychedelic world that led them astray
I remember once seeing one of the alcoholic homeless men
Sneakin into my Daddy's bathroom
Drinking his aftershave
To satisfy his alcohol crave
Ah, the good Ole' daze
After sometime we moved "The Manor"
To the country, in the sunshine
A place we called "The Farm"
A big ole Victorian home, the stairs to the attic were gone
The stories were that the house was haunted
The scary tales my sisters told me yet still
I never felt any harm
The Cape Fear River flowed thru nearby
I watched the Baptisms as I played on the side
Spiritualism in my heart so very true
It buried deep inside me as I grew
I decided not to let it escape
For in my heart I knew the true cost it intakes
Even then I longed for a simple life
Trouble free, I dreamt, at no price
I sure did get happy when I would see
Grandma and Papa pull up
It meant we were heading to the beach
In Papa's SUV
That is always when true PEACE would arrive
Inside of me

Whisper as the petal falls

Soft bare steps across wood floor

Strangled mourning drowned by breathing

The rain pounds windows with soft beating

A heavy bottle -held- by innocent fingers

Gasping, failing, contorting features

Purity poisoned with clear amber

A mind distorted near disaster

Fading visions, pleading calls

Footsteps stumble, as you fall

Rising slowly, gaining strength

Grasping doorways along the way

Intakes deep of icy air

Reflections haunt in windows glare

A handle twists, a door creeks open

Breaking glass sounds, liquor’s flowing

Lashes flutter, eyes bloodshot

Crimson stains white, muscles taut

Searing pain and misting sights

Screams now fill the cold still night

Unlocked secrets, truth unmarked

Wilting flowers paint the dark

I wonder why you drown your sorrows

As sun dawns a new tomorrow

A girl has been killed in name of honor!
Somewhere amidst of middle east, behind serene pyramids and sand dunes, almost all females are enduring genital mutilation
Somewhere in a corner of world, behind a trash bin,under showering street lights, a teenage girl is hiding from a ******.
While in another place a girl is executing her death for she has already been ***** countless times
A death bed is already prepared for a girl in west bengal on wearing jeans in college.
Somewhere there is a girl who is ready to be sold off by her father unaware of situation just happy to wear a new dress with matching bangles.
There is a girl, wishing on a star that may night never passes and day breaks for she is afraid to be in university due to constant harassment and bullies
There is a mother out there who is beaten to death every night by her better half, she sobs herself to sleep yet wakes up in mid night to feed her child. And that child intakes that milk full of saltish tears, bruised breast and broken ribs.
These are constant struggles of females in every state, region and city.
Even after enduring all such things Women are called weak souls.
Women, everywhere, are left to interpretation of a man.
If we all human beings are equal in the eyes of creator then why aren't we, as females, infront of world?
To the females,
it's unbelievable really, why are we not more outraged?? Is fight all about masculinity?? that's why there is so much reckless endurance!!
To the males,
before considering us a girl, sister, friend or mother kindly consider us a human being. That's all we really want.
We can earn better, live better if you,all male out there, would let us do so! And please stop keeping an eye on us!! Half of problems would be solved if you guys stop eyeing us

When I came back to school after being ill
and I got an ungodly amount of compliments on my weight,
something inside me sparked
my heart was beating so hard I thought it would stop
and I got a taste of a kind of happiness that I hadn't felt in a while-
happiness with myself.
Eventually the feeling subsided
as my meds were rearranged
switched around
dosages altered, types differed
and I started eating more again
and gained the weight back.
Now at 141 pounds
my mind is preoccupied
with daily fat and calorie intakes,
I keep reminding myself that
my stomach isn't growling,
it's applauding my strength and willpower
only giving in to the desire to eat
when I start to fall over.
1 sandwich,
turkey, lettuce, whole grain bread,
180 calories.
First and last thing today...
I promise.

Words spilled out
broken up
burned away
ashed out cash out
take the last wave out

our fragile intakes

complete the sentence
    the red fox. . .

words mean nothing
when your mind is closing
words mean nothing
when your not listening

I'm not listening
I have not been listening
have you been hearing this
or is the damage to your head
to severe
to severe
to severe

way more than you'll ever need my dear
is this a sign of the end

are we losing this?

words not spoken
they understand
nothing

and you wrote on my wall
just you and me
and the stars that come out to dance
i pretend im sleeping and maybe just maybe i am
you the ****** and i the addict
its natural though like i've lived this life once before
and its familiar
this softness
the air cold
ragged intakes
like the feeling unaccustomed to be understood
and this isnt the life we chose
were just haunted by it
and who were are
is what we thought we'd amount to be
and i let it go
it belongs to the sea and i too the air but yet we fit perfectly
and just to hint and id be back for more
just another time id be glued to the door
not in nor out.