they don't know like he does how her bottom teeth overlap at the front like boat sails / or that three moles on her thighs are the perfect example of an isosceles triangle / they don't know that when they sleep their feet fit together like bunch of bananas / or that when she traced circles in his hair it made a direct imprint on his soul / that's why they say she's not worth it / that's why he knows they are wrong.

I have this hunger
Devouring me whole
I punctured all your holes
And they turned into moles
Which you might find ugly but I think they're beautiful
What you don't know is
That my hunger drives only for you

Chapter IV
Gordian knot

Greek legend according to which the inhabitants of Phrygia, Anatolian region, in the current one needed to choose a king, so they consulted the oracle. The latter replied that the new sovereign would be the one who entered through the Eastern Gate, accompanied by a crow perched on his chariot. The one who fulfilled the conditions was Gordias, a farmer who had his cart and oxen for all his wealth. When he was elected monarch, he founded the city of Gordio and, in gratitude, offered the temple of Zeus his chariot, tying the spear and yoke with a knot whose ends were hidden inside, so complicated that no one could untie it. According to what was said then, whoever succeeded would conquer the East.
Alexander the Great, supported by Vernarth and a hand impregnated with globules from Eritrea, was on his way to conquer the Persian Empire, already united with both Bi steeds, Fire Hoof and Ox Head, in 333 BC. C. After crossing the Hellespont he transgressed the Sudpichi Stream like a weightless cloak of a Machi Begging to the Cosmos for Negechen for the rickety Rehue, prophesying to him on his hands dismembered of bravery, great assistance of 300 years of Nge -Nge Mapus souls in his furious nose that propelled him with anger; and which untied the Champollion knot with some sphinx uncovering Pandora's allegories from the Valleys of the Kings. Then he conquered Phrygia, where they faced the challenge of untying the diocesan knot. He solved the problem by cutting it with his sword, cutting his head between the eyes, one for each side ..., the South one was from Vernarth with his beautiful eyes saying "I always see light when I wake up and dawn at night to rub the back of my Alikanto always riding with Him in Lid Universal Patriotics”.  According to Curcio Rufo's narration:   "It is the same to cut it as to untie it." That night there was a storm of unburied lightning that symbolized, according to Alejandro, that Zeus and Joshua´s stone were with him Espanta cuculí, genuflecting his knee towards such a Period in his analogy, that he would go through the shadowy time zone of Time and his eroded geo intelligence Both exhorting the oracles appeared before the stormy voices saying: "We agree on the agreements with the solution and its knot avoiding more knots by the hands of empires without a solution."

It alludes to this knot, made of mane's manes killed in battle and sleeping maiden's hair for the hope of widowhood beyond Eden: "both meditates cutting and loosing." That is, it does not matter how it is done, the important thing is that it is achieved. Millions of arrows actually fall from their badly vibrated bows, before this motto that appeared on the arrows, with a single rope cut around it.

Currently the expression Gordian knot refers to a difficulty that cannot be solved, an obstacle that is difficult to overcome or a difficult solution or outcome, especially when this situation only supports creative or own solutions of lateral thinking. "To cut the Gordian knot" means to solve a problem sharply and unceremoniously; that is to say, that discovering the essence of the problem, we will be able to reveal all its implications.

Top Ten Oases:
Just half a day after arriving in Gaugamela, Etrestles from Kalavrita, who came from Messolonghi, joined them; He came with his Kanti Black Steed "Rain of Perennial Fog". They came from Crete where the ultra cosmic powers were transmuted through their noses. That is why Kanti, as he approached the pair Vernarth and Alexander the Great flew leaping and shooting blue fire down his foamy muzzle. His ears sparkled like a Laziko dance of the Mediterranean Dodecanese of the proto Sirtakis of the north wing of whispered compasses. Holy kisses and hugs are halted and uttered, and the Macedonian Saints bowed to Lord Etretles.

Etrestles says:
I come from Messolonghi; of the eighth cemetery and of the eighth day. I get stuck the Dionysian aroma of his intentions when untying the Gordian knot. I was welcomed by the Charioteer in his armored car, after sleeping a thousand years I was reborn next to my face of the current of the greater solar star. The search for that shouting made me celebrate the search for that shouting of you. The similiar hairy body that fell contracted on my wonderful fingers, delighting my humble tributes to the beetles that accompanied me to direct my sight to the sepulchral vaults near their bodie Incorrupt.
Which of all the columns erected is capable of opening all the columns built in the pavilion of these moles without shapes or caves of colors ..., only the vitalizing Aeolian pulmonary diaphragm of my reverie, is who I think would ... To all of us who are trapped in holy Hellenic soils, I bring you good news: Auriga supports me with her Blacksmiths from the twelve rivers of the Dodecanese, to loosen the barriers of You, Beloved Brother Vernarth, and of you, my Lord Alexander the Great. .  Our father Staktos and our mother Vitabión that her lineage and beautiful face have not been corrupted in a thousand years.   Since our ninth baptism in Ayia Lavra, where she saw me be buried for the ninth time. Whose archpriest with his holy oils made him slide down our partition, pretending to be a dance of blessed water for this task in Gaugamela. To all of you. Blood of my blood, I feel your sacred vertebral need speak from within!

Auriga says: Orion's *****; everlasting fuel, will give strength to their steeds, to rise above the great contest, to brandish my undulating Xiph swords, to unsolder the bars of their oppressed souls before spilling the blessed blood of a Hellenic Soldier as sweet syrup for the dying delirium of those who will see the boom of the fireflies decay, baptisms about past lives, deaths about future lives.

Etrestles says: My ****** Vernarth, by the underground caste conglomerate you will wake up! To you. Like me, one day I lay as I was to my crude death in my last life at the hands of a Spartan Soldier. You blood of my blood released my bars to determine my Hellenic situation!

As this happened, I put in an odalisque and blew a similiar flow of ***** into my ear from the numb Vernarth. The waves and waves of paradise caused amazement at the coming duel. Before the enemy more than 250 thousand infantry and cavalry, faked tanks, archers, Greek hoplites, Peltasts, elephants and sophisticated weapons of war. Beyond mercenaries of death sowing the last words of ardor in their hands of faith of triumph, before the Macedonian militants too inferior  to the hordes of Darius in account only of 47 thousand militiamen of Alexander the Great.

under edition, to be continued

My Dogue has started digging holes,
My garden looks like I have giant moles,
He happily goes about this task,
Of ripping my poor lawn apart,
Once the ground is all churned up,
Pulls clean washing from the line, the pup,
Dragging my laundry through the muck,
It won't rain now, with any luck,
I've given up analysing it,
He's just a naughty little ****,
So I go to tell him he's been bad,
But I kiss his face instead of that,
His saddest eyes and wrinkly face,
The plea's not guilty, I have no case,
I really ought not make a fuss,
I dig enough holes for both of us! :)

For the child never gave up.
He always followed the rainbow on rainy days,
imagined angels sprinkling freckles on his skin.
He believed in the magic of Jack's beans,
he saw the purity in flowers,
he listened to seashells,
he cherished his mother's smell
and saw his father fly.
But she, now all grown up, knew that hope fades,
rainbows are not real,
freckles are moles,
Jack is just a fairytale,
flowers die,
seashells do not speak,
her mother's smell faded
and her father's wings broke.
There is no place for hope in a world. where love is rarely seen.
Maybe when the sun wakes up,
Hope will too.

Break your arm again,
mould it a new cast,
sleep, rest, dig up your past.
And  this all comes from down near my heart, to the left,
where you’ve pitched camp in the forever sun of the forever nest.
Birds don’t perch there like they used to,
instead they flew south in
belly pains and stomach cramps,
another reason to sleep under lamps.
See the bowl, throw up in the bowl,
rub your nose with child like hands,
that swept hills from above moles-
back when playing in sand was accepted and fun.

When we wake from such anguished
pasts
memories waver and do not last,
nor do they retain any hopeful longing,
as they disappear out into the morning.
You are gone and you are forgotten,
but the rings in the candles tell me we share the common.

of one thing
i am sure
and that is
that i am
unsure of
myself
and it’s funny
how i can’t
sleep but my
chest closes its
eyes and hums
with a heartbeat
that is unsure of
itself, too.
i try to morph
into a body
i don’t feel
belongs to me
just so i can
fit somewhere
fit in somewhere
and i tell so
many stories
about the
universe, it
forever feels
like i am trying
to remain lost.
i am unsure
of myself;
connecting the
moles on my
skin as if they
will spell out
something bigger
so i can feel
like i matter,
at least for
a little while.
i sleep beside
myself, stare at
a reflection
so unfamiliar
i couldn’t even
identify it in
a crowd of
strangers, but
i am trying.
and one day
i’m sure i’ll
be sure
of myself but
until then,
i’ll morph into
someone i can
be proud of
and hope that
the universe
sends me back
to myself.

Pigeon-striped with a polyester hat
How can he look so nice and feel so sad?
“It’s a momentary lapse in sadness
Brewed in prudence and gladness”

Fret not for the velvet shoe that stalks you
Cry a well for all the leather hides
That you wear upstairs for kindred brides
Another lover bred to love untrue

“Is there something else I’d like to say?
Efficiency is drenched in dismay
Jewelled epaulettes on deafened shoulders
Something more incise, I shall solder"

Heaven delivered our coal
Sat atop a gilded pole
Heaven delivered our coal
By lawful life, we are loveless moles

Ruby-haired and lilac-nailed
How can she arouse yet taste so stale?
“Hold my vindication in a brooch
Open my heart in reproach"

Fret not for the saddle in your ‘mare
It will take you to a mining town
There, you will earn yourself a gown
And fall on the soldered stairs

“Is there something else I’d like to say?
I am to be blackened for my pay
Else I resign to a red ribbon
And use almighty love as a weapon"

Sweet life, what’s to surmise?
Moths in the corners of our eyes
Writing as a fly in a frame
Spot the hideous, spotted dame

Watch your place, hold your pace

Heaven delivered our coal
Sat atop a gilded pole
Heaven delivered our coal
By lawful life, we are loveless moles

humans paint the galaxies;
stars poured by the gods
on a piece of dark, endless canvas.
the nature talks about freckles and moles on a maiden's skin
and how interesting connecting dots into intricate shapes is.

humans boast about love.
all the mediocre melodies to woo, cupid unleashing arrows,
and the cries written on minor scale;
blacks and whites of the piano.
the unexplainable look on one's eyes.
things they left unrecorded though—
ones the studio of the universe releases an album of:
motorbike roars as a boy speeds through countless others
that are deemed insignificant,
compared to the thought of his mom waiting at home.

for centuries and more centuries,
the poets go on about emptiness.
the caging abyss, they said,
of sadness. a dark place.
but seasons whisper the stark difference
of breeze nibbling on your skin
and of the dropping temperature of winter
harshly piercing your senses like knives.

dancers waltz to the moonlight,
reenacting silent screams and insanity.
but withering flowers' petals got themselves caught up in a game of tag with their own kin.

it's funny how humans talk about the comparison (as i am doing right now)
of the art we make and the art that is already there before us.
when the universe tries again and again to teach us
what kind of little majestic things we are, what kind of little majestic things surround us.

*(must say, we're quite dumb. unable to understand.)

ignore that
mole on
your face

ignore that
pimple that's
gonna grow
and trigger more

because even
your moles
and your
pimples
are not who
you are

they can't make
you ugly,
it's you
who decides
what you are

so ignore
the comments
and start saying
that you're
pretty
even with your
mole or your
pimples

because every rough
edge
only makes a
more perfect
you

most of my house is contained on one floor;
my mother can't move like she used to.
she can never keep the moles and gophers
from eating her garden, but she tries anyway.
the look of accomplishment painted on her face
when she picks her own tomatoes is worth the struggle.
it makes my best friend feel at home.

my father buys new kitchen appliances
and turns to home improvement when i'm out of town.
I always joke that these things fill the void.
he has a wine cellar and a bar in our basement
that we use once a month because he likes to show his friends.
it's just another way to prove that he knows everything.

Someone I once loved
Ran his finger across my chest and traced
The outline of my moles and said
"They look like an anchor! When you connect the dots, they are the shape
Of an anchor! You are an anchor. It all makes sense now.
You are going to be okay."

At the time it was like some big epiphany for him,
Like he was telling me something about myself
That I never knew when really, I always knew
It was just
Something I didn't want
To admit. It is something
I have been running away from for a long time now, thinking
I could be an anchor for someone else
Because then THEY could be my problem, my project,
My ocean
So then that way I could leave myself, fallen by the wayside
To wither away, slowly, subtly,
Secretly disappearing.

I am attracted to people who are made of glass,
People who shatter easily, who shatter willingly,
Who are reckless and brilliant, beautiful and dangerous
People who I unconsciously think
I can save.

I can only save myself.
I can only be my own anchor.

I am nowhere near strong enough
To be with someone again
I am so terribly fragile, I break my own heart
So easily. Too willingly.
All I want is to keep realizing things like this,
To admit my mistakes and learn from them, not
Repeat them.
To hold on to the people who keep me on the ground,
The people who actually love me, who don't put me on
Some pedestal where I am liable
To float away.

Because if I'm not careful and let myself
Float away again,
I
may
never
come
back.

I Eat

I eat fingers, I eat toes,
I will even eat a runny nose.
I eat arms, I eat legs,
I use blood in my scrambled eggs.
I eat eyes, I eat ears,
it goes down good with some cold beers.
I eat hair, I eat skin,
lots of good meat on a human shin.
I eat kidneys, I eat livers,
if you don't like it, cry me some rivers.
I eat guts, I eat brains,
Their already dead, so no one complains.
I eat *****, I eat *****,
it tastes better than some milk and a cookie.
I eat veins, I eat a heart,
eating an ***, always makes me ****.
I eat ****, I eat lips,
I will even eat artificial hips.
I eat moles, I eat warts,
I would even eat you stained shorts.
I eat appendix, I eat gall bladder,
on a rope or on a ladder.
I eat small and large intestines,
prison has taught me no lessons.
Some call me a ruthless cannibal,
I started as a child, when I ate then animal,
I'm like a zombie that isn't dead,
maybe its because I'm ******.

If you are reading chapter 9 you will be familiar with the characters of mine.

There is Mouse, of course, he has a house on the River Louse, his Wife Hilda and 11 Sons and a Daughter.

Frog and Bee, they live on a log in the middle of a bog, happy and free.

The Fly with one eye and his friend dear, that is, of course, the Elf with one Ear.

The Horse and his Master, from the town of Cry.

A Dolly called Molly and her dear friends Ferret the Cat, and a Dog named Mouse, who all live nearby.

In the nearby town of Cry there live a Mayor and Mayoress, a pair of beautiful, graceful Swans.

Mr Mayor has such an air of authority, when he talked people listened, what he was saying took priority.

The Mayoress walked around with such a hypnotising grace, people would stare at her, stuck , unable to move, paralysed in one place.

Together they held people’s attention, lest the Mayor or Mayoress would think to give them a mention.

One day,  it was a warm sunny day on the River Louse and the Mouse with a house on the River Louse was sunning himself in his pretty garden, whilst Bee was buzzing closely by.

The mouse with a house on the River Louse would soon need to go indoors and get ready, he was expecting to see not only Frog and Bee but also his other friends; the Elf with one ear and the Fly with one eye.

They saw each other most days especially now the sun was in the sky and it was warm outside.

They were free to wander wherever they chose; sometimes swimming in the river, sometimes lazing on the bank, closing their eyes, having a doze.

The days passed swiftly when they were all together, no need for advice on social distancing or where to travel or indeed no need for a bellwether.

One fateful day this would all change the dear friends were soon to become estranged.

The Mouse with a house on the River Louse noticed it first; he had seen it on the news, he didn’t believe it affected him, surely he would not be affected by something started in Wan-hu.

That day the Mayor and Mayoress were visiting house to house when they came upon the house that was home to the Mouse with a house on the River Louse.

“Come in, come in” the mouse began to say but the Mayor interrupted him “I have something important to say!”

“Today we have been advised by the Prime Minister that we are no longer to have parties in the sun, a measure called social distancing has begun”

The Mayor continued to say “there is to be no more socialising with your friends until I announce these measures have come to an end”

“Most importantly he continued to say “ “you must wash your hands regularly each day with soap and hot water, pass that on to anyone within your home, your Wife your Sons and Daughter”

“now I must hasten on my way and wish you and your family a good day”

Mouse was beside himself, for once he did not know what to say, he wouldn’t see his friends anymore and the Mayor had implored him to stay indoors.

What was he now to do; who would he pass the time with if not his friends, his whole world was coming to an end.

Hilda his Wife was not so downhearted

“There are tasks indoors you could complete if you don’t want to spend the time downbeat.”

“First there is painting to be done, starting in the boys' bedrooms I was thinking wheatsheaf yellow, you know the colour of the Sun!”

“Next I am sure your Daughter would like you to take her for a ride on her new bike,  around the living room, I think the size of that room is the best.”
“by the time restrictions are lifted she will be ready for her cycle proficiency test”

“We could play a game of chess, monopoly or trivial pursuit, drink grapefruit juice or a glass of wine made from arrowroot.

“There are TV shows that have got the boys excited; like Marvel revisited and Iron Man and Hulk reunited”.

“as for you and me, we can put the children to bed, have a romantic meal, soup of carrot and a main meal of chickpea”

“Does any of this sound appealing to you?”

“Have a think and let us know what you want to do”

The Mouse didn’t have to think or take up with an alcoholic drink, he knew what he wanted to say.

“My dear wife, Hilda, you are quite right, we have each other and that’s alright”  
“if when restrictions come to an end, I will, of course, love to see all my friends, they seem like family too at times”

“For now, though I just need you, my sons and daughters and plenty of soap to wash my feet together with hot water!”

His wife and children began to laugh, they had thought the world had come to an end when Mouse was told not to see his friends.

Instead, now life had just begun, a different life to one he had once known but that was alright because he had his health, children, and wife and that meant he was not alone.

A pandemic had caused the social distancing now in place, travel had been stopped to places far and wide.  

It seemed Humans were the worse affected, but the illness had transcended from animals in the first place, the restrictions, therefore, were needed to protect all animals nationwide.

Restrictions would be in place for the foreseeable time but when lifted the whole village would celebrate with a posh ball and dance to the music of Five in a Pen.  

A posh ball so big, it would include mouse, frog and bee, molly the dolly, elf with one ear, fly with one eye , butterfly and Mayor and Mayoress, ducks of all names, squirrels and snakes, badgers and moles and all manner of creatures would attend this very posh ball.

Creatures would come from far and wide and mouse would have his children and wife by his side and would puff out his chest showing his pride.

As long as his family and friends made it out of restrictions without illness then the plan the Mayor had put in place would seem flawless.

The Mouse with a house on the River Louse knew that times were changing, the after-effects of the pandemic would be long-ranging.

That was a choice he was willing to make for his wife and his children’s sake.

When we came laughing back
From our romp in the waves
And our mothers beckoned
To the pink sand in the setting sun,
It followed us to shore.

It looked like us and smelled like us,
But spoke some other tongue.
We were loathe to trust It at once,
But the adults said “everyone gets a chance”
So we gave It one.

It wasn’t so bad to start,
It learned our language and told us
Things about the deep from whence It came,
But sometimes It burbled and choked,
And we didn’t let It play with us those days.

Then, one quiet morning,
While the birds were silent and nested,
The fog came rolling off the banks
Thicker and darker than ever before.
Our papas were late for work and
Cars crashed on the interstate.

Weeks went by and it didn’t dissipate.
People were frightened and worried.
Anxiousness colored actions and faces,
(But you couldn’t see faces in the fog anyway.)

It was like a flock of birds, what happened next.
Like a quiet flock, when one bird calls
And others take up the cry, and soon
The sky is full of wheeling, screaming gulls.

Old Jerry said, “That thing’s the reason
We’re stumbling around as blind as moles.”
Everyone knew what he meant.
Everyone made sure to show dissent,
But the cry whispered in their scared souls.
(It is hard to know that you are blind
And think that it is no one’s fault.)

For a month or so, nothing was done.
Maybe we shunned the thing a little more,
Maybe It took to playing out by the shore,
(Doing the devil’s work, some said)
But nothing happened. (We didn’t understand It,
So we were distant; we were afraid.)

Then, like all fear, we conquered It.
We drove It to the shore. (In a car, of course.)
And told It to go home. It refused.
It gurgled that It had been sent as some sort
Of ambassador. So, we did the only
Reasonable thing, and killed It.

The fog faded immediately, and we could see
(Rising out of the ocean with bright
Welcome banners affixed and all festooned
With streamers and balloons) several
Enormous ships. It must have liked us.
The End.

P.S.
They burned our city to the ground.
All our homes and yards, our dogs and our
Compact cars, they cracked up the interstate
And flooded the basements. All the silk ties burned up.
Then, at the end of their wrath,
Shaking with rage, they took one child -
Someone’s brother - down with them into the sea.

(The nights after were filled with the most
Mournful and terrifying songs
As though they knew what we had killed together
As though they had hoped for some other outcome
Though no other was possible.)

More than anything, I remember
The first blow that struck It. I remember
The sound it made, so surprised,
And that it didn’t even know to run away,
But merely stood there and floundered
And flapped like some kind of bird -

Like some bird that had dared to sing
Loud enough to attract a hunter’s sights.
It did not comprehend our decision.
It stood in place and let itself be burned,
(As we were later burned)
Right next to the sea.

you hover weightless toes brushing the grass
the Earth stretching toward you and you
stretching to touch the Sun above your
spine elongates your vertebrae loosen and one
by one relax your body is warm heavy
thick like honey and you are cosmically
beautiful:  your moles & freckles are
constellations your scars are pathways
runes telling you you are alive you have
survived your hair is oceans and forests
your wrinkles and folds are full of wisdom
your bones cry life  your arms
lengthen to enfold the Sun and all
around you is warm sky floating you
holding you up and you are
the most alive lovely part of it

you breathe your troubles out into
clouds and your anxiety out into
stardust and they bring rain
and light to people on the other side
of this luminous planet in this
glowing galaxy in which you are
a point of light a glorious speck
shining among the stars you
are brilliant and faceted
complex and tumescent
with so much to give

you let go of the fiery Sun
and fall back in the
grass and the Earth is
holding you and
your weight is
returning the
embrace.

I had visions, wasn’t in them
They’re reflected into the mirror
Absence couldn’t be clearer
There’s nothing left inside of me

Fingertips have memories
Sightless, jaunting above my body
And then they feel a little bit naughty
I run it up the flagpole and see,
Who salutes, but no one’s ever does

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell

Went through the roof and found
That only stupid people are breeding
The cretins cloning and feeding
And I’m not even watching T.V

Absent minded upward in the place of nerves
Something wrong about me
Starting to seem a bit crazy
They cut off my limbs and now I’m an amputee, ******* you

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well

Torn blow the covers of ‘zines
Ripped in the cogs of machines
Forced to hold my tongue
It doesn’t hurt, it feels fine
Precariously sublime
I’d like to turn back time
And **** my mind
You **** my mind, mind

Paranoia, Paranoia
Everybody’s coming to get me
They are all pulling at me
I’m running underground with the moles, digging holes
I hear their voices in my head
I swear to god it sounds like they’re snoring
But if you’re bored, then you’re boring
The agony and the irony; they’re killing me

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well
One, two, three, four

Fantasy a chance to be.
A treasure you can't measure.
Ordinary magestic fairy.
I stopped eatting dairy.
Beautiful mermaids,
With gems they made.
Unicorns.
With hearts scorned.
Holy vessels everyday born.
Backstabbing witches.
Two faced *******.
Ugly trolls with firebreathing dragons.
Hidden moles on wagons.
Angel voices & moral choices.

What will you find inside my mind?
My thoughts can never be bought.
My dreams are like moonbeams.
They glow really bright.
Being a mommy should'nt be a fight.
Taking a child from there mom isn't right.
My nightmares are not fair.
They can't care.
Images that haunt.
Bodies that flaunt.
My destiny is what is left of me.
A misery you see should not be.
Your thrills make me ill.
Promise not to laugh about anything from my past?
It's unfortunate it didn't last.
A curse was cast.
My life was ruined fast.
The face had no mask.

Sylvia, your head is in the oven

and forty years later I fall in love with a dead woman,

I read words of tears

from a dead woman,

and the woman I was seeing

was getting finger ****** by my long fingers.

she says there are little hairs on my back

and the shoulder blades are covered

with moles and zits

You are not dead

I wished I was dead a while ago

but the times are strange

Yesterday I was listening to silence

and thinking death

Today I see your smile

and that firm soft body

death soon disappears

Cherie in port elgin

the sundown is always peaceful there

the pink

the red skies eat away pain

I left her house at 6:48 am

to get on a bus back home

What are you doing almost one year later?

I can’t sleep tonight

I can hear the birds

Hell it’s morning already

The Mole girls survived underground for seven years in the keep of Reverend Winslow

He braided their hair into weaving chains and permitted them to sing only after evening prayer

Outside, he said, the sun has been stolen by a ravenous monster, swallowed whole like an orange down the snake throat

At supper, the Mole girls chew their peanut butter, swallowing past hard inquiries like, "Where is my daughter?" knowing to ask is the same as
"Where is God?"

The Road ahead I prepare to travel
Full of holes and moles  between metal and gravel
Replete with a series of frightening bumps
I have to drive anyway over the stumps

Roads are lonely and instill awe
Never tell the  journey leads to where
Most often tend to paint  despair
Makes one bewildered how to care

The hope of meeting an exotic fairy
not bothering the journey how dreary
Hope and expectations keep us moving
meeting somebody so caring and loving

The road becomes lengthened
and Goal post is far from sight
still I have no choice but to cross the bend
to continue the journey with all my might

Apocalypse redux
Interacting with our tear ducts.
We fly our flags
Until they are draped on our coffins
While weapons are tested by boffins
Sold to our enemies
Who fire them at us
While pop stars can only sing
Insipid love songs
What happened to protesting?
That's right we have give notice to the powers that be
The government which seems to control the BBC
So protests don't get reported
We are more interested in who gets deported
Than helping mankind
We bombed their countries to the brink of annihilation
Is there no room in our nihilism?
That is in our souls
We are more short sighted than moles
Love is only favouritism when we don't extend it to all of the human race
Compassion has died God cradles their face.

I like to wonder, crazy things
When i am bored
Moles climbing trees
and more absurd things
Like cookies coming out of boards
I also think
When u broke my heart…
I don't think i'm bored anymore

No
You say "you don't know her
She's brilliant
she's understanding
She's the best person I've ever met
she's my hopes
my dreams
(gone)"
A fantastic character

I hate to always be the bearer of truth,
But, I've read her cover to cover
She's shallow and superficial
She puts up a facade of a unique individual and yet she's just within the boundary of normalcy.

I've examined all of her (superfluous) pages of work
And they only skim the surface of humanities skin
Circling around the moles and scars that pucker truth-
Brail for the the blind

I've dug deep within her words and read between each space bar
And there lies no feeling- no emotion...
Sheer unintended apathy

Still-With many attempts:
She doesn't capture the essence of regret or sorrow
She merely spits at its feet
And it shows
Because the pain she displays vanishes
From her readers
From the pages
From the words
From the letters
From the simple spaces
From the idea itself

And yet this somehow captivates you
Yet unbeknownst to you- you are not regret, nor are you sorrow,
You are simply embodying what she barely grasps in hopes to find what lies beneath for yourself

But you're burrowing into someone who hasn't yet lived or loved-
Who can't describe the burning bubbles that pop in your eyes from the tears of contempt
Who can't fathom deflation of breath in your shallowing lungs, nor the dam constricting your veins' blood at loss

She can't break down completely with you dangling along
So
She
Keeps you just within reach to describe something she encounters
Something she caused
Something she can never embody  because  her "emotions" are a half lie:A secure defense
For power over others