It         is in, the how,
not the why, the where,
or, the when,
no, no, it

Is         the how,
that provisions and provides
all the answers
that any lover needs, for

In         the how, one revels,
but also,                      
unbeknownst, unwillingly, reveals
what one's heart wishes to secret, and conceals
and with

The       single stroke
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
raising sky colors upon
thy skin's patina and,

How    commences the matina,
with petals of white cloud roses,
blushing anew in your cheeks,
loveliest of failed cover ups,
laughing, I airbrush your
almost, invisible tears away,
residue of melodramas of troubled sleep,
stilled and stolen, mine,
to pacify, keep,
tranquilized in my breast

It,        Is In, The How,
What,  You Are Thinking.

What   vincible arrogance
humans possess when we pray,
we hope, knowing that we are infidels,
hoping to mislead
the eyes that glance upon us

You     give up the shadows painted for me when
filtered beams, rays of
a, and of...kind,
lance shield of densest lead,
lain upon the chest to cloak
the tremors of volcanic hearts,
the eyes of hurricane thoughts,
containers of need that

Are     so full of oh so
many questions, yet,
singularly resolved,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
knowingly full well you are

Thinking  there is no exit,
no right of way to negate
the sum of what we let to ail us,
O disbeliever, how simple be,
for all, all of

It,        Is In, The How,
What,  You Are Thinking,

I soften and modulate,
your conflicted complexion,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
all that is mine,
to encapsulate,
recharge, refill thy vessel
with Bocelli tones of
passioned, gloried harmony

Worry not if my eyesight dims,
be unconcerned if
my hearing, my voices
wearies and weakens,
for all the answers
we shall ever need
remain, contained in  
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
and
this is how I know now,
and forever more,
what you are thinking

As long as skin is the coverlet
o'er the bell jar of mind n' heart,
as long oxygen defies gravity,
I will know how,
unveil, open secret chambers,
now and forever more,
what you are thinking

Well, it all started harmlessly enough
We were just two kids with nothing better to do
And we never would have been together otherwise
But you were there, and so was I
At first it was like a bad movie
Or one of those ****** teen melodramas
But in between the alcohol and "hush hush" ***
And seeing other people
We saw something in each other that we wanted

That second-first-kiss was when it all started to go down hill
When your breath didn't smell like beer
And your lips were warm and soft
And your arms wrapped around me in the cold, happy to have an excuse
I felt that kiss for days
I can still see your eyes shining down at me
That was the moment we knew we were onto something

A couple weeks later was when it really went bad
You told me you had to leave and I actually cried
You held me and made me promise I'd hold on
You wiped my tears for the first time
And I knew I'd hold on
Those were the months we fell in love

When I reached the west coast, it became hopeless
You let me into a part of your world that was sacred
When we stayed up watching movies
And fell asleep in each others' arms
And you introduced me to all of your closest friends
You expanded my world
That was when we knew there was no going back

But it was when we came back home that it truly fell apart
With reality to face, we used each other to escape
And we got jobs and signed up for classes
And you taught me the difference between ******* and making love
And we were happy
That was when I knew I'd never want anyone else
Unfortunately, that was when you realized you wanted anyone else

Trailers don't give away the entire plot.
I've been watching for years
As an active actor
In various melodramas.
  
     The good guy is clean shaven
     Beneath the lather,
     Emotes empathy,
     And never snickers.
     A straight shooter.

The other guy needs a blade
As cutting as sarcasm,
And aims when you turn.

     Then there's re-runs
     Whose endings never change.
     The prophet gets arrested.
     Tara burns. Ice bergs floe.
     I am under Lowry's volcanoe,
     Or leaving Las Vegas.
     28 Days is only two hours
     Of wine and roses.

The trailers just reveal enough
To give me hope.

Tendriled nightmares coil
Writhing blind knots
Restrict my inner vision
Peripheral blurred neuroses lurk
Morbid melodramas spin symbolisms
Of a tragic ending
Beyond the memory of moonlight
plaintive note of hope recedes
In the saturnine breeze
I am Lost to lower oscillation
Vestigial presence of the divine
Inert
My racing pulse thrums a dirge
for the waning day

You are the fulcrum
Levo mihi per vestri lux
The arbitration of angels
My inner spirit luminesces
Hope regains her tenuous place
I turn my tearstreaked face
To the memory of light

Amo Deus perficio lux
EGO mos orior iterum

TL Boehm
052608

Lift me with your light
Like God's perfect light, I will rise again

Astigmatism effects many around these Sylvan parts,
Where word's turn to bullets,
False love flies between transpired sparks!!!

Arrogancys lost child mourns mercantile traits,
Wherein fears art nothing but fate ,
Materialist confirmed to promise!!!!!

Whereth art thou mender?
Lover?
Dutchess!!!!!!

Mentality struck down,
Memory foam pounds lit to green bushes!!

Maunder thy jail time feeling's,
Their nights goeth short to cold!!!

Thine melodramas Soo grant I'm watching it all right here!!!

Darling, dear,
So mazed ,
Soo sincere!!!

Mistaketh nothing,
for thy monastery only can play out to thine escort lost end,
Unmonogomous prelude of gratis sphere radiance!!!

Countess of impurities,
Traitor to mall town frivolity!!!!!

What is worth recalling of yourself before the age of eighteen?

You could mention, briefly,
the various rises and falls and manias and
melodramas cured with forties of Old English
in various public restrooms and upturned furniture
pieces and feigned illnesses and ringing eardrums and
refurbished tractor parts and secret purchases of
gigantic reptiles and alternate personalities and
obsessive yet unnecessary rituals and
self-inflicted sacrifices
all of which
invisibly
governed
you

You could picture, vaguely,
a youth enmeshed in greenery and
the swelling chorus of cracked wails from
dust-faced vagabonds who, in your memory
are somehow perpetually draped in scarlet
and earthy patches of torn fabric
and of course
the unmistakably
poisonous
stench of
need

But in this moment
these topics
seem irrelevant

Listen more than you speak
And say less than you know
Avoid those who would drag you
Into their masochistic melodramas
Stay out of other people's battles
Until you know the reason for the war
You may find yourself on the wrong side
Far better on no side at all

Be aware of those that need you
And those that are needed by you
They may not be the same people
Though both are important to you
Choose your real friends with care
And let your enemies choose you
With equal care and some trepidation

When alone in the darkness
Watch the movements of shadows
And in the broad light of day
Watch every thing in view
Whatever you see may be good or bad
But it would be foolish to miss anything
Miss not one thing at all

                                            By Phil Roberts

Dear reader,

I've not addressed you for quite a while.
You see, I've closed myself off.
Completely. I've handed myself over
to the crooks of television and the dealers
that pass by the street on occasion.

I'm living a sort of hybrid life,
melodramas in my spaced-out mind,
whilst inactivity spreads like algae
across the pond of ***** laundry
and cigarette papers, to the curtained window;
all sunlight extinguished.

This is no excuse to disregard others,
but life gets polluted as I'm sure you know,
and in the vanity of my own displeasure
I have recently conceded to hibernation;
thawing out my near-frozen, cynical heart.

To you, with all my perishable inexpertise,
I offer this:

That to your eyes, I falter - dying for attraction.
To the rhythm of moving lips over words,
I fall. To the plague of tomorrow, I stutter,
but in companionship of readership, I survive.

Oh reader, in your cerebral mist,
please hear this, my heady call:

Of bleak and miserable Novembers,
the threat of life impaired,
of times when all love is but sorrow,
of times when you're barely there.

Please, still sweeten at the sunlight,
rejoice in your daily waking bloom,
for, in you lies my love of a lifetime,
for, in you is the writing on my tomb.

All my love,
Someone Or Other

Let's look at cute love,
Now we're old, after wedding doves,
Observe teens' first love,
So cute, holding hands,
Endless chats, phones their bands,
So cute, such melodramas,
Boy meets girl, disliked by mama,
Are they star-crossed lovers?
Shall  they have wedding doves?
Isn't it so cute, love?

Nights
when hot evening in lemonade and canal water gives way to cold breeze dusk through white cotton shirts seeking jackets,
As last light leaves the party behind nameless hills and the pollution masks the stars,
Slow moons creep to the edge of eyes in monochrome film-light, distant rain, and drunken big-bands play

through speakers in dead venues, layers of dust, and layers of dust,
And from radios, lost on the dial,
In American cars, front seats the size of living rooms,
But no comfort to journeys of ammonia and neck pain,
Lost nights of Earth
Accepting warm drizzle through hats and shoes, and occasional ceilings,
Sirens paint and dapple scenes streets away from latest whiskey or whisky melodramas,
Before returning to curtains, decades of regret in floral patterns, chipped cups, and solar flares at the strained dawn,
Piercing blinds and migraines
In a successive run of
Mornings

Bajo las líneas que aquí yacen
hay una criatura acostumbrada a combatir
contra el dolor, contra la muerte.
Tal vez por ello amó melodramas,
historias lamentables de sus contemporáneos,
con desesperación, como se dice.
Como un borracho lento caminó por las calles,
tambaleó sosteniendo el peso de la vida,
de su rostro sólo supo cómo ya no iba a ser.

Ese rostro besaba entre el oleaje de la noche.