"marries" poems
The sewer stink of street trash
marries the scent of desire
veiled in crimson shadows
reflected on the damp pavement
Thoughts silenced by the gasp
of nylons being shredded by possibility
Teeth grip then slip
on the sweat of a humid night
Fireball burns sweet
as night lands on the flesh in city soot
a grit that makes every movement
a sanguinary promise
forged on the edge of pain
Owned. Taken. Willed.
Filled with primal intoxication
that turns warm city nights
into shameless memories
wrapped in the stink of street trash
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
By Janis Ian
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...
So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debitures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...
We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
She furiously takes notes in geometry class
He throws a paper plane across the room
She gets out her neatly written homework
He gets out a scratch paper with drawings on it
She maintains straight A's
He's lucky to get a D+
She has a strict curfew of 9:00 pm
He stays out all night
She daydreams about what could be
He steps up for what he wants
She reads Shakespeare
He reads... Well he doesn't
She drives the latest model of the Honda civic
He's lucky if his '76 Toyota will start
She's only loved honor students
He's only loved her
She pays no attention to him
He begs for her notification
She graduates top of her class
He barely gets by
She goes off to college
He stays and becomes a mechanic
She marries rich and lives wealthily but bitterly
He regrets the concealed feelings he never shared
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
A doer not a talker,
A finder's keepers,
not a stalker,
first he is A Man,
gentle in his MANnerisms,
but not the knuckles or
his calloused hands.
He does not stand out
in his field, he is too busy
working to increase the yield,
not make best use of fifteen
minutes, OF Few men can
this be said, his hat still fits
his crew cut hairy head.
when he opens his mouth
to speak, his thoughts take
shape and become Words,
not charged with emotion,
not angered or raging,
not with some rite of self-
righteous indignation.
He speaks his peace,
and sits his *** on the
nearest thing he can find,
he has a sound body and
a sound mind, when she
decides and marries him she
will find, treasure. Rare.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
You love to get the words out of me
The words I wouldn’t use, they sound *****
You love the way I look at you
I look into your eyes, and something sets free
You love the way I listen to you
I remember everything, Mr. Perfect doesn’t
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You call me your tomboy
And get so possessive
You say that you need me
And then act submissive
I adjust your dresses
Sometimes your shoe laces
When you keep me waiting
I say you are allowed
Don’t call me bro
Babe, what is the ground
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You say you love me
Every time you text
I say, “I love you”
You shoot hearts and rainbows back
You want to know about my crushes
If I ever loved a girl
You wink and dance with me
Say I’m the only one to make you twirl
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
You love when I play gentleman
Opening the door
Letting you lead
Walking you back
Paying you heed
You gush about my skills
The way I move the swords
The way I calculate
The way I play with words
Close discussions and debates
And then we discuss
How Mr. Perfect and you are hanging
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
We are best friends
And you want us to be, forever
You want to hang out
And go abroad together
I would stand by you
In all platonic capacities
Even when Mr. Perfect marries you
And claims you stupidly
We both love crushing
I crush on you
And you crush me
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
When fantasy marries reality, it is your fairytale
You know what you think; you know what you mean,
Whether your heart speaks your mind or the other way,
While you are sewing the threads of your fantasies,
You are multiplying the perimeter of your boundary
When desire meets needs, it is your fairytale
You push the envelope or prefer to keep it inside
You do it when the time is ripe
Certainty is always prime,
What happens, happens for good
But change can be the devil unlike itself
When honesty meets passion, it is your fairytale
Insane as it can be, sanity may ******* sometimes
Truth should never leave you away or you may die
But praise yourself for once, because you never cease to try
**** the bee of the fear and insecurity
That hums in your mind constantly,
You ought to believe you are the queen bee
Alone or with your colony, you always remain to be
Even if you didn't make for the honey
You can still make it for the nectar
It will always be your fairytale; whether too many flowers, one or none.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
tranqualy tranwrecked truck drivers
swim spaciously though sober sanity
working the 5 to (.......)
crushing saltien crackers over
home away from homemade marries
tomato soup
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 6:20 AM UTC
Waking up,
The smell of strawberries
Marries the air
And infatuates me into
An early morning's lust;
I'm in paradise.
Holding your hand,
Fingers intertwined,
As the radio plays
And we stay with the beat.
Leaning in,
This is the moment;
Strawberries flood
My tastebuds,
And then you blew a bubble to the size of your face.
Bathing in bubbles
That are scent-less,
And I'm senseless
And my hands roam
And your mind leaves this world.
A fire burns
And seven bodies
Bare witness to newborn
Affection-
And I swear a star was too.
But I'll never see that star.
That taste seems so vague.
I came in and burst your bubble-
Tastes sweet
Until the flavor faded.
So here we are,
A bubblegum kiss later,
With a layer between us.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
the dark ice cream man
floats up and down the empty streets
his truck weakly cranking out a warped sounding song
that leaves a trail of dogs objecting
the truck has the word pestilence painted on it
instead of ice cream
his dark form hunched over the steering wheel
his cheshire grin has aspects of his delirium
imprinted on its clean toothy shine
he only comes out at three am
and glides the cool pavement in search
of Delilah's phone number
she promised him that she would be his one true
and he meant to hold her to it
he would do anything to have her all to himself
Delilah walks barefoot along the train track
with one ear nailed acutely to the train whistle approaching
the other ear in her pocket
where she hums a **** version of
the battle hymn of the republic
all good girls love horses and shotgun weddings
she wants her shotgun wedding on the saddle
with the ice cream mans brother
who she thinks is just too nifty to be anything but heavenly
she always pictured him with angel wings
carrying a sword and riding a pale horse named death
there are echoes in the concrete parkland
the neatly trimmed grass glistens wetly in the darkness
a dew touched tree stands on a narrow hill
its leaves thrashed slowly by a whisper of wind
the sound of running feet
laughter
its an illusion
she is an illusion
i make matchstick men
watch them march in precision lines
i am a matchstick man
watch me scribble in precision lines
the ice cream man now sleeping
away the humid hot afternoon
stashed away in the back of his pestilence truck
while Delilah learns how to knit and make candles
that ice cream mans brother sells at flea markets
we all settle for what we think we want
and in the end we all get what we deserve
Delilah marries the brother and they live happily
while ice cream man spends his mid-life crisis as a
politician who leads a double life
making ice cream sandwichs out of his basement
and i am discovered 'neith the truck making
matchstick men out of twigs
from the tree of life
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
In the freshly seared hours of the morning
there's a hot, bothered growling
coming from beyond
the rose-studded chipping fence posts,
sick with the stench of stained mattresses
and mounds of cage-less garbage-
tossed willy-nilly
into a smoldering, contorted
**** of stacks.
Here,
in this spot of dawn
-in today's un-showered
moist enclave-
I find, syncopated
by the vrooooming scooters
and gassy buses,
a fresh hope diffusing faster
than the steam from drains,
-subtler than the soft soju snores
of last night's curb cuddlers-
slinking up, down, around convenient stores' corners
past every security camera,
bouncing off rib cages,
tickling the barbules of the songbird
perched in my utility wires
in a nest neater than my bed.
This is summer, Korea.
This is Korea in the summer.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
I can't say I will marry her really soon for sure, because this is India and the society here is really tough.
But I'm Atul Kaushal, my name literally means Incomparable Skill and I intend to achieve something significant in my life, such that I'm fully capable to fulfill all her unsaid hidden desires when we marry.
I don't want her to feel any regrets or other negative feelings when she marries me some 7 years later, I only want us to be different than the rest of world such that unlike most of them no problems arise between us due to various worldly problems.
May be I'm dreaming of something perfect, but so far my life has been perfectly imperfect with the share of misgivings I have had is the majority in my performance card and I now wish that when she marries me the only thing which is imperfect is our hairstyle every morning we wake up smiling as we remember the previous night.
May be I am or may be I'm not demanding too much from time - I'm just asking her in my destiny - just her - in my mornings I imagine her jogging with me - in my days toiling at her desk in the office just like me - in my afternoons calling me to verify if I had my lunch we had packed in the morning - in my evenings asking how my day at office had been and telling about hers too - in my weekends I see 'us' having fun.
May be I am or may be I'm not being too apprehensive in my mind - apprehensive that whether her family will accept me as their son-in-law, or we would have to forget each other, or we will have only one way left and that be just to take help from the court and elope to get married, or may be I will just have to abduct her from the wedding venue in full public view in front of her parents, uncles & aunts, siblings & cousins, friends & acquaintances, Hindu priests & pujaris, may be thugs & bodyguards hired by her family to keep the wedding a smooth affair, and may be my parents might refuse to let her in.
But under ideal conditions, it will be as I desired and even later we would be happily parenting two kids for I don't wish to have just one child like I myself had been in my childhood; these scars of loneliness are dug prominently on my face, but these disappear, yes these disappear when you make me smile along you as I hear you smile and I believe that these will surely disappear permanently after our formal union; till then I miss you meri nanhi si jaan my sweet young love, like I should have missed when I was fifteen too - I miss you and I miss you because I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you and I more than love you.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Gazing down from my hotel balcony, a beautiful breath taking view, acres of landscaped gardens, flowers, trees of every colour and hue
My eyes travel over an azure blue bay. To a thousand coloured sunshades assaulting my mind
An ants nest of seething half naked humanity, burnt red and covered in oil. Surrounded by discarded bottles and cans and wrappers of ice cream stained foil
For a week they're going to lie there, bodies burned raw by the sun. Their idea of enjoyment, their idea of holiday fun
I have walked the length of those bright golden sands, smelt the stench of the stale cooking oil. It gives me no pleasure to linger here while I have the real Malta to enjoy
Beyond the human pollution the sand dwellers love a burnt barren ridge gainst the sky. And yet from this red brown earth an existence bis clawed by the strength of a strong Maltese hand
My gaze travels left to the beautiful church and the cream coloured town just beyond. The old and the new joined hand in hand where concrete marries natural stone
How many of the sand dwellers have enjoyed what this beautiful land can provide? Have they truly experienced this island, seen life on the other side?
In a few days they'll be up there flying back to the place they call home, but from what they experienced of Malta they might just have well been to the moon
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
I'd give you
My stomach,
just to show you the caterpillars cocooning
into butterflies.
I'd give you
My heart,
just to show you how it stops
every time you smile.
I'd give you
all the moments I could hold in my arms,
Just so you could see frame by frame
how you have frozen every one of them.
And you might think that I am giving you
everything.
You are humble like that.
but you have given me
lengths of golden twine that you have
strung around my heart.
Making sure that everyday that I fall for you,
you can pull me back up
again
and again
and again.
You don't just pull on my heart strings,
you made them.
And when you cry it's like
rain on the wedding day,
that marries you and perfection together.
I could be your umbrella,
You could be my dream.
Because I have watched "Tangled"
way too many times.
And I don't want you to find a new dream.
I don't want you to scale a tower with my hair.
...although something similar would be nice.
But make us a fairytale.
One which makes little kids want to dress up
like us on Halloween.
Let me be your forever.
A fairytale about the girl who gave everything,
even the bones in her fingers.
To write about true love, about the one who gave,
everything in return.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
"You fight like a girl"
Men seem all confident, strong and macho and what not
but the moment this phrase strikes their ears,
they all get offended, turn into cry babies & start defending their so called manhood
I have seen this with my own eyes,
and I seriously cant remember how many times
Its funny how society has turned women into synonym for weakness
when the same women's strength to push them out of their bodies is their gateway to life
& its funnier how they think they are superior just because of that little thing between their legs
And its the same men who cant find their own socks without their wife
Its funny how men who worship their mothers
often forget to respect the girls who walk down the alley
And Its funnier how its the woman who leaves her family
but has to live like she owes her life to the man she marries
Its funny how a to-be-mother carries her baby for 9 months
building a life out of matter
but the moment it comes out of the womb, its given the name of just the father
Its more funny how we talk about getting rid of gender roles
yet look at a woman with disgrace when you find out she doesn't cook.
And the funniest of all is
how we blabber about these civilisation & equality tricks
and blame women for dressing too ******
but forget to tell the men to calm their *****
And yet a woman stands there strong
Fighting through all these odds
as if being born a female was her biggest mistake of all
And still. Still, the most insulting phrase men find to throw at each others
is," Dude You fight like a girl!"
And this is my only message, to all those macho men who use that golden phrase
Maybe thinking, it makes them sound manlier somehow
"If he really fought like a girl, trust me bruh, You d be dead by now."
---------------------------------------------------------
"Fight like a girl, Yes I do, And if you dare be that strong, you would too" ~ Kakareikan
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
If someone ever gets me a box of those little word magnets you can put on your fridge
I'll be gone for hours whenever I go to get a snack.
I love words.
I love the challenge of saying something meaningful
With a jumbled stack of them all scrambled up.
I love words.
Having them there to swirl around and make strings of
Like a child makes popcorn garlands for the Christmas tree
Comforts me
In a way that pulling them from thin air can't.
It marries my two soothing balms- expression and mindless motion.
If I see them in a friend's house or a store,
I disappear for... sometimes hours, to be frank.
My English teacher had them on the board.
I made myself late for the following class every day
Because I couldn't keep my fingers off those words.
Finding purchase, somehow,
Tactility,
It satisfies a wild craving in my heart
That mere thinking and typing just can't satiate.
It's really absurd.
Once I visited my friend,
And I wandered into her kitchen to get sodas for us both
And she found me there an hour later
Sliding little black and white type words
Along her stainless steal freezer compartment.
She said, "What are you doing?"
And I jumped, pulled back from some focused, faraway place,
And guiltily realized the sodas were warm.
I love words.
I love touching the things I love,
Feeling their existence.
I love limits on words,
I love figuring them out,
Because even with the tiniest amount of them
You CAN say what you need to say,
If only you distill the meaning to its essence.
I just... I really
Love
Words.
If I ever get my hands on those silly little magnets,
I honestly don't think I'll ever make it past the refrigerator door again.
That's why I don't buy them myself.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Just hanging around stuck in the background where Echo and the Bunnymen sing sad songs,they're not funny men and I'm not one too.
Going to take my Queen and fulfill a dream,dine in style at Mile End,wend my way down to Nandos,pay for chicken,sticking less to the plan because I'm only a man I travel to Hackney where the wild men of Shoreditch come out to attack me with rolled up newspapers,their capers amuse me until I blink twice, and I see, that my Queens seen it all and goes off in a huff,
Puffs of smoke are no joke when you're born as a bloke because the magic don't last,blast it nearly passed it,the turn off for middle age,junction twenty six on the revolving glass mirrored stage,but I made it and now I'm back in the sun waiting for my Queen to come,my apology accepted along with the promise of a day trip to Poundland,stand and deliver while we shiver our timbers and limber up for the party on interstate four,
sore from the laughter we take a bath shortly after because we like to stay clean,my Queen thinks I'm ***** and men go that way after thirty but I'm not so sure.
I have pure intentions and clean underwear,does she care? I think so but it's so hard to know what she's thinking,she tastes of melons when I'm drinking her in.
In this flotilla where the will of the one doesn't win,we all stick together, whether it's a good thing or not,
but I've got a plan and because I'm only a man it's a good one and so I carry on and she carries me,I meet her mum and she marries me..sounding obscene,I mean I married my Queen,not her mum.
It's all in the spaghetti which I'm sure that SHY YETI'S BEST OF BRITISH - PART 1 doesn't cover,so it won't keep me warm but no harm in me looking through this facebook and cooking a dish,should I wish, for some it's back to interstate four,where the cops will be waiting with a ticket to the potteries and a fine for the finder of the stopped timex watch winder.
where was I
in Mile end?
yes,
going to spend but stay lean as I talk with my Queen,
and so it goes on.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
Kissed his student.
Punched his friend.
Accused her lover.
What if China's navy asserts control where our navy also patrols?
Should we concede the South China Sea? Not on your life! Or maybe.
Lives may be lost but so what. There's so much biomass in the
crosswalks.
Lord have mercy on my soul
Which means bring my confusion into an expressible state before it's
too late.
Sal went to jail. I belong to the loved ones. Never may the anarchic
man's thoughts be my thoughts. Not one.
It could be cancer or just a cyst
That killed Frost's considerable speck
Instead of considering its considerable intelligence.
Although bottomless ancient night stretches
From your short life forward, remember
It also stretches backward without measure.
There are few straight lines in nature and only one alternative to
ageing, so **** it up!
Suppose everything's fine and you've wasted your time wearing
sackcloth over your soul?
Start now knowing joy.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
I see the recollection
of a thousand and one memories
in the faces of strangers.
It is written
in the burnt out shellac
that write's the gospel
called ideal.
Upon all the waifs
that wail
on wainscotted walls
is visible a weary shade -
A woe begotten word.
That same ink
that wrote the scar
on a thousand and one faces.
It shone to eyes
of the right size
calibrated to the light
by a snowflake.
And once seen
O misbegotten dream!
Hours of amphetamine rooftops
under golden stars.
Mornings alight
with the free realm of jazz
which floats on hazy gaze
that constitute fields
of a thousand and one degrees.
Now not seen.
And is it carved
in the sweaty freedom
of a drunk?
Constellating crystal beads
pour to eyes
gray and sunk
with the wisdom of a prince.
With the stench of a skunk.
Brace yourself
for the wind does come
that marries wind
of heart and mind.
And behind it all
you see it now;
in the thousand and one faces
of the free
the bold
the meek
the drunk
the lost.
The recollection
of a thousand and one memories.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
At Seventeen
Janis Ian
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "Come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems
At seventeen
A brown eyed girl in hand-me-downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
And the rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly
Remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debentures of quality
And dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
At seventeen
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
When dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me
We all play the game, and when we dare
To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
They call and say, "Come dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me
At seventeen
Songwriters: Janis Ian
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:09 PM UTC
Will an eligible bloke happier be if he
Marries a ranking *ele like Miss Universe
With all her glory and graces, and 'cause
Of marriage mirth? Will a sheila pretty
An unbroken regalement have for a dream
Prince Charming--the fairy man of her whim?
Will the soul be jolly for the sophomore
More than for the frosh rapture of success
Had in the Ivy League of cosmic business,
When the heart cut a caper and an encore
Of hilarity requests of narrowed life--
To have constant binge in lieu of strive?
What man is wholly from trouble free, whose
Being be to sadness inured? Within, the
Spokes do sometimes snap at the rotary
Wheels of serenity, and chaos is let loose.
What thus can stay the pillars of pleasure in
A plagued world is above this little noggin.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
*When he looked,he saw with an eagle's eye
To tell dirt from clean, truth from the lie
When he knew, he wanted every detail
Of information in wholesale, not retail
When he loved, he did it with a passion
For whom he fell was special, not just any person
Whom he treasured,he did like the gold
And when he promised, he promised a world
His embrace was a magical thing of wonder
Which made hearts beat as loud as thunder
In his absence, his mistress' heart grew fonder
And she was the only thing he loved as he did Uganda
When he kissed, he stole her pain and worries
And from the first kiss realized he'd be the one she marries
So much so that in the night like fountains in the stream
He was the constant variation in her every dream
When he spoke, he whispered probably in fear
Of the world or probably because he was always close to her ear
Yet when he laughed, he gave romance meaning
Besides a strong shoulder worthy of trusting and leaning
He was a thing every lady in the universe wanted
A thought that saved her from being haunted
By the monster of a lifetime of impairing loneliness
A gorgeous illusion which gave her some happiness*
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
.... ( & , of course -- Harry )
|~|
True Poetry comes alive today as the meadows melt
And the naked women dance and play
Amid the hydrangeas and bougainvillea
Turning into layered depths of chrysanthemums
And pain !
And memories of your soft alabaster moonlight
Skimming across fractured feelings once thought aloud
But now lost in the silence of preternatural abandonment
Amid gooseberries !
/./
She makes love before 1000 tiny eyes !
The children wave their penises and razor blades
Unto the starless starry sky amid the sunrise solitude
Of vast city streets of depth defying words
Twisting about in the wind
That never shall be ours again !!!
//
My love !
//
I remember something about you now and then
Oh yes !
How I hate you for something ( I can't remember )
But hate is necessary for there to be love
//
The night departs and Mars marries Venus
On the D-train
::
The twisted oaks of youth play stickball
Still
( in Brooklyn )
and alas
I go Home
for
at last
My poem's done !
And only the scent of
Chrysanthemums
Remain
//
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Have you seen the twisted spire?
It is a sight you will admire
They say 'twas when a lass was wed
When not a ****** to altar led
And that one day it will straighten anew
When one there marries a maiden true
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
will I put lipstick on you
when you lay still and silent
as the last morning
or will you pull the sheet
over my face gently
with a surprised sense of relief
when my final breath
marries the gray air
will it be in the room
where we slept
under the watchful eye
of children and grandchildren
their timeless images nailed to the walls
ever present but mute
while they navigated worlds
with horizons we would never see
or would it be in the
hallowed house of hospice
where palliative words like
“we will miss you”
“not long now,”
“you can go, it’s OK,”
float above the beds
like birds stalled in flight
riding unseen currents, but
soon to swoop down
to perch on mystic memories,
briefly,
before flying into
the karmic night
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC