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Josh Dec 2011
Rocking back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth

In the endless spiral

Of the jungle.



I know I’ve disappointed;

My sweetest love.

I know I am wrong:

About kicking you.

I know I am right

About asking for

Your forgiveness.



With my touch

You used to feel

Static.

With my touch

You now flinch

Away.



With my laugh

You used to smile

Brightly.

With my laugh

You now frown

Painfully.



Hatred and disgust.

Look at what I’ve become:

A scaly black eyed

No good rotten

Monster; I really

Didn’t mean it.



I promised I’d leave

Into the depths

Of the jungle.

Where there are

Scarier things than me.

The growls and snarls

Put me right where

I belong; without you.



I promised I wouldn’t

Leave again; Yet

Here I stand,

Alone.

Surrounded,

By the same monsters

You fear came out

Of me.



Inside of my soul

I search.

The jungle inside

Is as vast as the one

I wander in right now.

Inside a storm brews; but

Before I crash,

Silence.

Before I burn.

More silence.

Before I suffer.

Silence yet again.



Lose. Lost. Suffer.

Lose what?

Your trust.

Lost where?

Inside.

Suffer from?

Your distance.



O how I’ll lose you

Slowly and subtly.

O how I’ll seem lost

in the jungle of the mind!

O how I’ll suffer

from a fate without you!



Ever so afraid

I flinch.

A beast

That was hidden

Behind that massive rock

Came forth: sliced at my skin,

Tearing flesh and bone.



I need you.

I want you.

I kicked you.

I love you.



I can hear it now

Within the oaks,

Mahoganies, and figs

Inside: you tell me

“No, I hit you first.

It’s not your fault.”



Moments pass by

And I say

“Look at me”

You turn away…

“Please, look at me”

and you slowly turn.



Staring at your eyes

I think about

The sun that

rises with your smile;

the stars that

sparkle brilliantly;

my heart that

beats like hummingbird’s wings;



Slowly I speak cautiously

As you begin to turn away.

“Don’t turn away.

It’s my own fault

and mine alone.”

And I hear no more

From the trees



I look up only

to see you standing

there looking at me.

With tearful eyes

And a love that

consumes the jungle.



I see you there

Bearing the weight

Of the tall, soaring

Oaks, mahoganies, figs.

The burden of our love

Is on your shoulders.



No longer afraid.

Of being so alone.

Of being yelled at.

Of being you.

I walk towards you

And help you with

The burden for

the rest of your life.
Martin Narrod Nov 2013
But not putting on a show for every one. I can do it, just. A breath. Just, one click. Such an idiot eye didn't see it, placing seemed so obvious. I am made bone crushing kid, kung Fu Star Trek TV couch comfort wearing hats with streamers, long legged lemurs, dancing on rooftop decks, lace and bravado. I know trash cans, sit and lean and feel the thrower's pitch, apple-core, empty soda pop, paper bag, napkin, phone number. Am I calling too late? There is no twister only colorful dots to move my limbs to, my arms analyze my diction decisions, the directions my lips move, the sound of my troche and voice; for fear that I am pressing the pen too hard, or pursing my words- dude man boss miss, **** I got a get a grip. Just come over an stir it up. I mean ya.

And then but what, who's next? I need caffeine. I forget that I don't have problems pulling all nighter's fixated on your face, pretty legs, three songs, half-of-one for which you dislike- I listen to it anyways. I pull through. I want to be Public again, walk through ivory hallways, apart from deep mahoganies and iMacs, iSelf study my volition, is the volume, I mean, am I talking too loudly? The music, deep rolling conundrum Evil-Dub, evening study of steel guitar earth-toned arithmetic Danish-flavor rice wafer feed me your body and Christ!; Are my legs even moving(double punctuation, now there is happy fun day), I make mercy look like a wrist-squeezing game we played as children, my fingers raw with desire, overflowing with joy, dactyls filled with vitamins A, E, D, and M, I write another letter, the draft I set aside, the postage I stick to the package. Was it five CD's I said?

Star Wars I mean Luke and Leia crushing, struck by the garbage dump of swirled worlds combustible invincibility, immortal apostrophes and to-be-continueds, I made the cover of Newsweek you make my covers of time, I watch anything with a clock on it, does it live quickly or trap me slowly, crushing, moving inwards towards the heartbeat. What if I could also type integers and letters with my thumb upwards of double-ewe. Graze baby graze. Crshng out vowels from these fringe matters of future travels, this sidewalk want I wont, will even vaunt for. Am I flaunting for this, I pray not. He's My Brother, She's My Sister, let's get back to Twister, if you could just put your Left Foot there then I could skip the words and let my body tell you. Straighten out where I learned the hard way last summer. I'm woozy while you're telling me you're hitting the snooze button, and yet I'm asking you for four things, phrases, pages, a pace, number or persuasion. And I don't fear that if I told you how I know you, I am only unaware if I want you to know that I know you like I know you...phew!

Begin burn CD #6
Written after departing the Chicago Museum of Contemporary Art where on the 2nd balcony after enjoying car rides, and hearing music, and texting and talking and drawing snack time parties in sidewalk chalk we had our first of many million tongue-twisting lips-on-lips, trysting; our wrists firm cradling the nape and the arc while they were leaning back and all I wanted to do was kiss you. So for Krispie, Kribstine, and Kristine Scolan. To whom I freshly did sew the subtly of our soft pink mouth pillows prying apart and out into the open to live together for 2 years, and wait to have *** for over a year since we first met and over five months from our first kiss. My body lists like a ship, buzzing into the conundrum humming of a whirlpool and tidal wave misbehaving. These were the Rolls Royce of moments important enough to hold the heavy steel toe to the gearshift and travel over the dashboard while having the nerve to flabbergast and lay aghastly staring into the sharp cloud shapes that at first March, grievance No. 2, Kristine I kissed you for the comfort of enlivening the fruit of my vines to froth oozily into your mouth, my thumbs trickling like nearly invisible incisors inside my skin and under interrogation. Loosely interviewing our emotions to remove the screws that diffuse the crude lucidity of being amused by the overly-anticipated excitement of loving @itskristine like we our two bodies formed under the unique conditions of human beings softening their urchins and sturgeons. Deep sea declarations in typeface and typography. Loving you with every ounce of my heart and greater and greater state of my stately step. And the enormous gratitude that comes at once from sleeping in the DNA sequencing of each subatomic and sequential step. Sipping slowly a little bit of Schwepps ginger ale, with bitter lime rind, getting supine before we intertwined stitching  ourselves into the immense magnitude of being in love with someone else who practices youth like it was their responsibility to inchworm towards the aura of the moon, and have an all-nighter that sinks conflict into the weightless smooth cues of living with her on the moon.
Color Me Beautiful

The trees are an emerald green the most lovely color I've ever seen

The cardinals are an imperial red-they look like tiny apples on the snow is what my mothers often said

Everything in the world has its own color
-it's own hue

Even me
Even you

Give me the deep mahoganies of the earth
The golden yellows of the sun

Make me someone
Please God
Color me beautiful
I saw a butterfly today.
Fluttering in daylight
Jewel of the sky

I was compelled
To speak with this butterfly
To know what thought
A butterfly would have

With her colors shifting left and right
Making the world jealous of her beauty
With an arrogant air
She ignored me

Stayed out of my reach
I eventually gave up.
My march no match for the vibrant colors
That loudly ignored me as I chased

As I tried to catch my breath
I found a moth on a bench.
She did not run away when I sat next to her.
She looked to be off in thought or severe concentration.
But my curiosity was stronger

“Why are you sitting here?”
                                            “I’m blending in to confuse the predators”
“Is it working well for you?”
                                            “It has thus far”

I examined the moth and found
Her artsy array was a profound example
Of nature’s artistic talents.
Browns and mahoganies and siennas galore.





“Why are you different than the butterfly?”
                                                    “­She is flashy and loves the attention. I like being invisible.
We each found something that works for us.”
To each its own I suppose.
This is one of my UA poems. Written 9-2-2010.

— The End —