I can hear you in the other room,
your pounding heart
and your pounding fist,
one pounds in your chest,
one pounds on your ****.
You think you are quiet
but really, you aren’t -
your heavy breathing
penetrates the walls
and whispers into my ears:
“I’m not sorry for doing this”.

Tightness invades
Hard
Aching
Ghoulish Blackness smothers joy
Strings of dark energies crawl
Hopelessness Penetrates down, down, down
Mind marathons madness music
Pain ripens like a withered rose
Physical Plane Arduous
Psychic Pain Perpetuated
In this hallowed Hell

Three years ago four words crossed the threshold of my ear lobes and hypnotized me into a comatose state. only to be awaken by the sound of their sweet puncturing i rewinded these words with hungry haste
rewind rewind
play
these words swan through my canals
  relaxed as they finally found a home once more;
a home they might have already unpacked in,
                                                            p­erhaps in another life.

As they peeled their cloaks and unfolded into the folds of my lobes they sighed with content,
for my revelation was their new beginning
finally finding meaning once again in a universe where you cant live if you don’t have money,
  a sick sweet sour fabricated fact that penetrates the core of their solar plexis
                                leaving them unholy when the money structure takes over
                                holy when thought towers once again

With the ability of a person to move forward these words do no harm inflated with hope perfection honesty, embracing a utopia,
a now reality that you cant find on your starched TV.

Three years ago four words locked in a brassy compass whispered to me change the way you dream the way you perceive and what you do everyday and make sure you let your feet drag the mud behind you as you tow through the thick swamps of hate on the uprising paddleboat plays of justice.

Without her stark voice without The wandering jewess, Jesus-like Judith playing spells on my ears life would not have found a place where it holds comfort in the tempest.
These words like a shelter are my umbrella
but no ordinary umbrella covers here no,
no this umbrella knows when to open its arms to pour oms down my neck when drops are warm like skin on skin
and sunshine is bold like in black and white stills.

When wine is under trees these words will reflect in the crystalline stream I found in my inner cosmos when I was fourteen.

The people will have risen and Cain will have been banished and lovers will still lie limpid and hungry for the words of the storm eyed woman to ring like bells in towers above their heads again.

They are looking for paradise but they don’t know they are already in paradise, paradise now, paradise is now
They are searching for the words they have already heard they just don’t know what has occurred and sweat drips down their stems as they run in their minds to the revolution that has already freed us from the legacy of Cain.
Not for all,
But for us.
      A revolution of the mind.

These words will wake up sleepers and make the banks run after the money no one cares about.
These words are almost too holy for me to say out loud in only one voice they play and in one voice they say,
“TO DO USEFUL WORK”
Those words sing like they are of the angels like they have wings
Those words take their homes not only in my folds by in the white blood cell donuts of my fingertips, defending me from the ****** that say art cannot be my food.

The wandering jewess, Jesus-like Judith carved those words out of freshwater pears for me to drape around my neck like the arms of an infant crossed over the nursing chest.
My fingers wrap around those words like they are the scripture they are the word of my god cleansed by the salt water winds of wooden ships rummaging for rapture and something more than themselves.


Sometimes, wanderers find a home when alphabet fingerprints find a match to their long lost story

And sometimes, the UV rays hit your lens just right so that you can pass through a prism and come out a rainbow

And sometimes, gumballs come out the color you want,

the one that you patiently cranked for.

Carefully the needle penetrates into my skin
With every new puncture the thread follows along

In and out again and again
Till it reaches the end and finally
A harsh pull, a few tugs

Then the string is snipped free at last
Its been completely sewn shut

Only after you closed me up
Did you ask me how my day was
How I was feeling

But what could I say
With my mouth sewn shut?

It's a new dawn as the sun kiss the grounds
where wet dew penetrates the green grass
fresh happenings opens like a lotus flower
giving some purity from the murkiest pond

Ohh gentle wind of this pristine winter
embrace me in the song of the unborn day
let the disuse be the productivity that I long
let the grieve be the rebirth of new hope

Ohh gentle warmth of the sun ray stroke
shine the light and guide me in the day
let the vision of my happiness unfold
let the rocky cliffs clear to never return

Ohh gentle rain from above the clouds
wash the stained fuelled thoughts today
let the pride of life don the paradise
let the joy of life exorcise the yesterdays

As I Just close my door to my world
I Open the door to THE world.
SOOooooooo I Breathe in (breath in)

Take it all in

Airs somewhat cloggier than my space
At least im free from all that *** taste
And here, the Journey, begins.
Door to door about 58 minutes
Not including stops at the shops
And the inevitable wait at the bus stop
The electronic boards are always bad with timing  
Transport For London? Pssssh more like Thanks For Lying

*******.

About this time I ruffle and shuffle
Untangle my earphones and cause quite a kerfuffle
Unwinding the sound lines
Looping them in and out of their binds
Pulling and squeezing
Making sure the copper coil isn't easing
Cos they can give you a sharp *****!
For some reason that always happens on my fingertips,
And then they itch.

Oh the mechanics of me
Brought to thought
About my whole existence
As soon as something malleable
Penetrates my shell.
I'd look at the spot of blood and be rather..........disappointed
Why couldn't it be green? or maybe purp...blue?
At least then my suspicions would be true
That I'm not of this World Planet or Region
Coming from entities who celebrate happiness every season
Wandering around pretending to look like us
Just for kicks never indulging in any of the fuss
Just managing to jump out when things get hard
And back in when its all tickles and laughs
And out when its heartbreak or death
And then back in When Arsenal win the league! **** YES!!!

Yes...yes...That would make me feel blessed
Just to know I'm not like all the others
Who were all born from Mothers
Not that id wanna be born by a Brother
Cos that would be...odd.
I feel like I'm just waiting for my powers to be bestowed upon me
Dropped from the skies in a sacred ceremony
Surrounded by flying Lions
And jumping Elephants
Moonwalking Dogs
And Motorbike riding Frogs
Animals that I can't even imagine
That to my mind don't even exist
I'm greeted with cheers and smiles
And theres crowds going absolutely wild!!!
They all know the life I've lived
And happy that I've got to this bit
Where everything falls into place
Cos now I  control the ins and outs to my desired taste
Mmmmmmmmmmm
And it tastes so devine
Like souls entwined
Embodied in one another filling each and every space
Can you imagine how that would taste?
It would taste...tasty

All these thoughts from looking at this crimson blot on my finger
These are the things that make my mind linger
Dreams of being an ethereal being
As I look up and all that my eyes are seeing
Is the bus that i missed because I was daydreaming.

You leave the dingy room 333 and walk
Out onto ***** honeycomb patterned carpet stretching
Down the infinite hall towards an open door
Where the housekeeper’s cart is parked
She emerges from behind the stacks of folded towels and ***** blankets
Body younger than it looks somehow she’s smiling in wrinkles of a sunken, toothless mouth
yet underneath the image is an original warmth untouched by a thousand years of junk
You say hello in passing and then onward down the steps covered with plastic
The ***** yellow carpet stains so worn they’ve become part of the design
A window overlooks a courtyard where junkies lay nodding in the sun
The girl at the front desk eyes you half suspicious as you slip out the door and into streets
of Denver where mountains loom in distant vistas obscured by skyscrapers
appearing as solemn watchers uncorrupted, beckoning some strange recognition
You remember your friend saying that the mountains play tricks, cast illusions
Stories of weary travelers confounded by the mountains, lost for days
Weather changing rapidly as buildings rising new construction in the city
You walk past the capital, past the U.S. mint, past the park where bums sleep or stare blankly
Openly with eyes dark as Moroccan hashish looking for a point of entry
A word you missed, a fumbled thought, a dropped coin
This will happen:
You will lock eyes with a man sitting on the cement, his hand gently resting
On an old rusted toolbox
He calls you over, more incantation than command
Says he’s got what you need
He opens up the box and calls you closer
Look
A box of uncut crystals shining in the high altitude
He smiles with a jagged and decayed knowing
You decline yet something insists you need these crystals
These stolen gypsy gems somehow imbued with meaning
Glittering in the sunlight in the park in the old worn out face like chewed leather
Glistening like the clear air rising up above the smell of **** and water seared meat and *****
You walk among the blind alleys where junkies shift and shuffle like shadows rearranging
They themselves part of the scenery, part of the alley backdrop and rattling train track sounds
You’re passing by and one calls out: “Don’t let ‘em tell ya I didn’t say live your life, son”
You look back and see a huddled shadow tying off beside a chain link fence
He’s looking right at you with perfect insect calm, features out of focus, dull and grey
You pass the scene in silence and feel the eyes of hunger casting subliminal fuzz down the alley
At midnight you will drink tequila in your room and hear the endless car noise of the city
While you sit smoking out the window staring at the brick wall and down into the alley below
Where windows of the hostel open up and your friend said once there was a woman
In the opposite room ******* and he took off all his clothes and they stood naked
Looking at one another from opposite windows but he never went across the hall to meet her
You will laugh and be amazed and get drunk
As the driving beat of car stereos, bass and hip-hop incantations rise up through the splintered window frame yellow like decay
You’ll sit out on the street corner smoking
A gigantic hash joint
Passing it back and forth
Denver’s finest
As you listen to the shrill harmony
Of the corner night club filled with glitter and women and alcohol all spilling out into the streets
& you will watch them all go running, howling, yelling, screaming, laughing, *******, and
spreading out like fireworks across a vast empty space
The cars that never end
Choked out exhaust and marijuana smoke twisting in the midnight air rising up untouchable where the mountain breezes cap the city
& penetrates the human circus all around you
You will disappear up the hostel steps returning
Higher than you’ve ever been before
Each step, each movement you are disappearing
Melting into the smoke-tinged plaster
Your pulse is in your footfalls there
Among the honeybees and hexagons
Your breath beat in rhythms of your skull
After an impossible moment
You arrive back at your room, 333
The demon door more unfamiliar
This will happen
You’ll go inside and lock the door
Knowing you have the fear
Raw and powerful
Pure animal chemical reaction
Every tissue and fiber now opposed
To the very situation, the very fact of existence, of
Immediate dislocation in space/time
Alien moments here in Colorado hostel room
Where junkies sit in vegetable stasis
Feeling nothing whatsoever
& there’s a needle hidden in the room somewhere
Your friend says not to worry man
& what did you expect anyway?
“Yeah it’s kind of a flophouse”
“Just throw it out the window”
You take a long deep breath and look
Into a mirror you see your form reflected
As your friend pulls out his friend, the trusty map
And there, emblazoned in ****** letters
Denver
The very words looks sinister
Denver
Written in ****** words of ******
You try to realize what you came here for
Not this
& breathing deeply you lay upon the bed
The too-thin mattress covered in plastic
& think of home
A lifetime & world of roads away
You seek to abandon all you know
And become attuned to the rhythmic engine of sound
You will become filled with desire and yet completely empty
Cockroach needle empty park wind howling distant peaks sculpted valleys
Self-reliant water smell pity bums like silent watchers in the night
Nature spreads her view of time in silent moments
Stillness in the room
In the spaces between sounds
In the fear of comfort separation
In the freeness of creation
In the wild faith of travel
In the foreign teachings
***** steps and office buildings
In the bars and libraries
In the hostel *******
In the wholly new experience
In the squalor of the uncontrollable
In the corridor passing like a phantom
In the stones and cactus flowers
In the romance of the body
Eager to pass through
Into this new dream
Tomorrow we are heading for the mountains

Loving feelings can restore
balance to relationships.
If you can only bring yourself
to make it happen.
**** the ego and selfish pride
that imprisoned you.
Set yourself free and
go for the one
your heart seeks.
Nurture the one whom your
soul loves.
For out of your
efforts to come out
of your cocoon will emerge a
beautiful lifetime relationship.
A love that is deep
can flow like the
river that leaves its
bank and flood
the whole unimaginable places.
Just like a finger
dipped into the oil
can infest the whole fingers,
so is the love that
forgives penetrates
the whole body
and **** all the
vulnerability to
show it's wounded
face to the sun
without being shy.
Acceptance is of
extreme importance
to bring desired pleasure
to placate and nurture
the heart to heal.
With pleasure the heart
is reverted to a blissful
sequence that is lovely
where both hearts will
feel safe enough to let
their inner child out
of the box to play.
Victory is accorded
to such a joyful end
while the relationship blooms.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
committee meetings, board meetings.
Facing death was how they knew they were alive
or was it more about allocating resources
like yr Dad said.
It's hard to step outside what yr DNA tells you to do.
Nice ****.
Family farm, fight club. It's all one yet distinctions are
what separates the librarian, reflective man, from the road and bridge
      crew.
That's a class statement. Us guys love
our children and will, circumstances dictating, fight for you.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is more important to me than my wife. But there is no one left to fight
and no one knows me and I know no one well. That's good,
there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope.
I'm confused.
Meditator or gunfighter. Either could come to know himself,
flat abs, clear sight
with patience and discipline.
What's this:
know yourself?
Once yr knee or neck is smashed there's no getting up to fight.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
will grow old alone once I'm in the ground. He will live
with the question what was our purpose? He was managed by
the molecules we're made of, proteins, enzymes, amino acids, DNA.
******* DNA.
I'd rather be a rock.
But the rock is subject to
its elements. Thus, the periodic table and particle physics,
meiosis and mitosis and yes, democracy and self-governance,
all the colors of anthropology and ecology, windmills and sundials,
fission and fusion for evil and light
and the devil who exists to carry the load when we misbehave and
      fight
among ourselves.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is how I know who I am.
Because the truth is always changing, depending on the meeting.
What's good.
Service to others is a safe bet. That service
may take many forms: fighting, meeting, teaching, making.
The fighting may be part of holding community together. Limited
      scope, defensive posture.
How broadly we define community says everything. So,
we come to Mexico, a violent border and an unhappy history.
Or Gaza and Israel. Or Russia and just about everybody.
How can a people become a nation without resorting to violence or
      incurring violent reaction?
Does it matter? Accept violence like any EMT and devote yourself
      to
what, beauty?
Why do I write about violence, I've almost never
had to fight.

                                 --------------------------------------

Anyone who wants to fight me all the time
is nothing compared to the ocean which can take your children any
      time.
The Nazis or janjaweed.
In peace we have our meetings.
When violence comes to the neighborhood the hierarchy of
      communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Hold your clod of land.
Give way to the waves.
All I do not know.
I admire the writer who penetrates the unknown by describing that
      which
is not himself.
His enemy,
anyone who wants to fight him all the time
helps him live outside himself.

You are drinking yourself red-eyed and crumpled
on an unmade bed meanwhile I
am hating the world’s promiscuity and signing
autographs that serve no alternate purpose
subsequent to their ink-blotted conceptions and silently
my heart scratches and claws and penetrates
bone, muscle, and choked fat
to get to you

How will we know
when we’re no longer
young enough
to inconsequentially
rot our bodies
from the inside
out?

If I could
I would search for a space
impenetrable
by ants molecules and medium-sized atoms
that exists between
my pale finger tips and
your freckled
bare back moving
slowly up and down

If I could
I would be somewhere where nothing
is the tarnished byproduct of anything
where no one will remind anyone not to
clog their throats or minds or eyes
when they
shiver and choke on scarlet inkblots
and chug gasoline
and wipe away dirt stains
and drink each other’s shame
and form cuts on the soles of their feet
after rushing barefoot through beds of sharp stones
to reach other

I miss
the forest of
        your magic
    as it winds its
                  tattooed way
through the
          serrated textures
                  of nightfall
all up inside
          my vertebrae
the soft wind
       rustling in your
elms,
outstretched to me
                   like arms
as stars burn through
       this brewing sky
in molten,
    fiery charms
They beckon to me
unexpected
          in quiet      
      apertures of subtle
they sneak upon me,
          unprotected,
when I'm sunken
in my tunnel
and sometimes
              in the
                   quiet stream
of the lonely, sacred night
I hear a whisper
whirring soft
as it permeates
            my spine
I let it take me over
                   as I sit,
slumped,
     in the bath
it creeps and seethes
over my wet skin
eats out my silent wrath
I let it
       fill my senses
as I walk inside
                 the deep
and on wooded paths
of solitude's carpet of leaves
when I feel
no soul is watching
     the deer start shyly peeking,
  and lynx resume their stalking
then long slashes
                  of ache
are reawakened
           from their lair
snaking through my ribcage
choking up my hollowed air
        yet, somehow
        in the longing
of bottomless, falling space
I see in distant, faded visions:
the precious contours
of your face
and so,
like an enchanted
          secret box
I open you,
inhale the confetti
of your floating stars
wave them over and through
my strands of vein,
my tripped out,
           healing scars
your essence
       penetrates
my presence
   like misty mountain rains
seeps inside my pores
opens up
       striations
of seismic,
      writhing pain
Your invisibility
            takes form
and then
            in sudden,
whipped-up heat
        it pours out in
honeyed rhythm
       to our own
             invisible beat
and just like that
I get taken.
Overcome
by slakes of love
rushing through my
arteries
like sweet
    manna
from
    above

Red dirt rivers traveled down the hill towards the stream behind the house
Tall oaks trees are all occupied with crows and sparrows avoiding the steady rain
"This is sleeping weather", said my grandfather as he reclines in his chair admiring the beauty of the storm
Robust streams of lighting illuminates the grey covered skies
A cold chill penetrates the dense humidity built from weeks of no rain
Steam arising from the pavement, as the rain heals the ground punished from the unforgiving South Carolina sun
Deep echoing thunder speaks to everything and everyone in its presence to listen,
"That's God talking and you better listen, my son"

The euphoric parallax, the vast.
The concealed, the intangible known.
The indifferent future, the decaying past.
The inconsistent, looping drone.
The lengths of our splendid slumber.
With both laugh and loathe entwined.
Bears witness to the wonders
Of our consciousness - sublime.
The falling from a heightened frightful.
The embarrassment of youth.
The promise of danger - delightful.
And the grand purpose - aloof.

All is vivid. All is bright.
All the colour stains the light.
All things hazy. All things merge.
All connected. All converge.
In the early, in the old.
In the fresh and the fatigued.
In the clear and the controlled.
In the apt and obsolete.
Where days come to end their lives.
To bask in the blurred glow.
To steer the sky behind our eyes.
And allow our liquid thoughts the flow.

Time's waste - the wondrous tragedy.
Mourned hour after hour.
The inescapable catastrophe.
The sad, slow devour.
Sight, to the dull of eyes.
Stability, in the earthless turn.
Tranquility, in every sigh.
Truth, in what we're yet to learn.
Here you hear the happiness.
And the sadness of the stars.
They share a song - synonymous.
They sing to us from afar.

Stumbling through the shapeless silence.
Merging with the mangled mess.
Tampering with the truly timeless.
Engulfed in what we can't caress.
The vague and subtle sightings.
Through the chaos of your plan.
Into the long wait for nothing.
Which kills the heart of man.
In the all encompassing loom.
Where you can finally be alone.
Your mind - a fragile bloom.
And the void, your only throne.

A state of elasticity.
A transparent mirrored wealth.
The nook of all necessity.
An eternal nocturnal self.
Where does this calm originate
That seems so unprepared?
Who truly can appreciate
The blankness of its stare?
Imagination meets mere memory.
Rearranging what we think we know.
Distorting what we want to see.
Inspiring how we hope to grow.

Now see the minds that wander.
With the twisting of the trees.
With the certainty of thunder.
And the warm, empty breeze.
We have to leave, we have to go.
Back to where we loathe but know.
We want to breathe, we want to glow.
We want the reap but not the sow.
The change that you so fear.
Roams the halls of this distortion.
It pauses, sways and veers.
In ceaseless, cruel contortions.

There is something that here dwells.
Something small. Something real.
In our greetings and farewells.
In all we see, hear and feel.
It writes itself on our faces.
It penetrates into our sleep.
And although we can escape it.
Into our subtleties it seeps.
On a buoyant float of black.
The black of vacant oceans.
It throws what we still lack.
Into monstrous swirling motions.

From the canvas of infinite infancy.
With broken wisdom blushed.
Forgotten almost instantly.
In your dazed, waking rush.
To a mountainous climb of morning.
We share the sun of skies.
For it wears the warming.
And the opening of eyes.
But how fine the line is drawn.
Between the sleeping and the aware.
Between the smiles and the forlorn.
Between the dream and the nightmare.

A distant man with distant heart

Kept her, a fallen Angel, in a cage

Never would he let her be seen

But every night he visited her

Entranced by her naked beauty



Fallen from grace I now linger

Utterly spellbound by my captor

Veiled, remaining in the shadows

Untouchable – Quite vulnerable

Entangled, I shall never break free



Her thoughts within his head

He wants to take her, desire her

But afraid to surrender to lust

Always watching her, needing her

This dark Angel of hidden mystery



Clueless I am where this will lead

I can feel from afar a deep longing

Yet, I am mystified with every move

Hoping for a sign to appease my soul

To not have fallen from grace in vain



Oh, how I wish to know his thoughts

If it is not at all a dream within a dream

On the edge I now stand – so insecure

As I tread these waters ever so lightly

Frightened to awaken to a harsh reality



No longer can he resist the urge

Opening the cage and takes her

She does not resist, welcomes him

He penetrates deep into her soul

Both lost in the art of experimentation

She takes all he gives and wants more



Over and over again, they have their way

Never has she surrendered before like this

He cannot match to her satisfaction

As he fears her, the Angel of Death

Knowing she will never age, never die



He knows she longs to keep her

Wanted her forbidden lover,

these emotions are unexpected

He will always be her temptation,

now he leaves but forgets to lock the cage



Never in my darkest of desires did I dare,

surrender in total abandonment of my soul

I long for more, but my captor now eludes me

Should I escape, there shall be no going back

So here, I linger awaiting his return in my arms…



II



In the darkest of my secret desires
It becomes unsettling as time passes
The silence of these days and nights
As I wait, longing for my beloved


I become lost, in a loving memory
Yearning to become alive anew
As only, he can touch my soul
Ever so profoundly, in every touch
Soaring in abandonment – awakened


I cannot envision a life without love
Since the day I have fallen from grace
I was dually blessed and then cursed
As I am alone in the mind’s memoirs
Awaiting the break of unbearable silence


Years have passed him by
His youth seems fading away
Still she is as fresh as before
From the first moment he captured her
Now he watches her from the shadows

Remembers the sweet feel of her flesh,
the sensation of her kisses of nectar
He never locked the cage, she stayed
She yearns for him each and every night
But now he finds himself too afraid

For he is only mortal, she is Eternal
An Angel of Death fallen in love
If only he dared to approach her
Take her now in a fury of lust,
could she still crave this withered shell?


Penetrating the stillness of the night
I can hear a voice, long thought astray
I can feel the blood pulsating in my veins
As I cry out for my beloved to come anew
Even as times passes, nothing has changed


Though my wings have has been clipped
As I had fallen into forbidden temptation
I remain the same, though he has now aged
I care naught for appearances, as in my eyes
It is the pureness of his heart, which lures me


I cannot help but wonder where he dwells
Grasping unto faith, that he shall return
Accepting, with no remorse of what was
Surrendering to this love, I so freely offer
United as one being, forever without end


He dares to approach her once again
Long ago he felt no love in his soul
But she has changed how he once was
An ancient naked body, he now offers
To this beauty that smiles to welcome him


He responds to the gentle touches she gives
Feeling like a young man again, once more
Lovers in this night of forgotten shadows,
daring to surrender to desires of the flesh
Allowing two hearts to be now, as one


Then he feels the agony within his chest
Age has taken a toll for a moment to cherish
He holds her as she trembles, knowing
The last thing he sees are an Angels tears
As in the final moments, he dies in her arms


After waiting for so long, it seems cruel
Befalling such heartfelt sorrow, losing
Once again my beloved, as destiny rules
Fallen from grace, atonement must be paid
Pleading now for redemption for my sins


I know there is no going back to paradise
As I have found heaven, here earthbound
It is now within my power, to make amends
Bestowing my love upon those in dire need
Finding peace in the light of loves true gift


A state of a higher power that takes hold
Ruling now these days, that comes forth
Nevermore in the darkest of my desires,
as I find the strength within to arise anew
In moving on, with all of my heart and soul


Copyright © 1/2013 Lucy Martins/Chris Smith

All poetry by Lucy Martins/Chris Smith are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©

Janis, she just mocks, how they knock off every berry
And the snow on the branch, now, “Calandra, never worry.”
Seasons come, like they fall, and they spring forever weary
In the Valley of the Orchids, rare are birds unto a journey

Feeble, does he brew; with the stones, shall he marry
Corralled is the smoke, tossing hills as it carries
Fuming seas in the sky, past the bricks and the rye
Cabaret, hear him, nigh does his skin peel and fly

On an arch in a prairie in a province in a land
Where the children are told how to fear their hands
Atop smoky pine feathers that burst when they're touched
We stomp and we squeak to the air on, we march

A prison laced in reddened storms drones on mountains ever-scored
Looking north by north bygone, the test, remiss, we’ll move southward
But on the sky sits Cerise Range and all around in spheres, a cage
And then, a beak we see invade! A crash and splat; of juice we’re made

May the fly, the mayfly evade the day the children hang
The Brewer, haste has made, pours his broth, begins the day
Hide, little child, like the fly, become the blanket on the marsh
Become the stock, but don't give up, next month won't be so harsh

Jude of June, that's what she’s called, she grooms her quill and tests her ink
The One of Blue, another name, she writes for everyone to breath, she blinks,
“O small brown bird, you speak the path? Well I have ever shone on some.”
The Summer Sun, that's who she is, who waits for Janis, soon to come

Jewel in the eye, dome of peace
Returneth casts our masks beneath
Iris besets, “Berceuse, my mess.”
Sad, for slowly nights a guess.

Part-time, will’o’writs she can dust
A cat's tail christened, paw in a gust
Navigating, where galleys waste strewn
The suns of Aude across its boon

Deliver us Toulmask, lost and protested
Past Bejeweled Silken in millions, nested
In Scepter where embers aroma holds on
To the sands like rocks destroying its spawn

Into the nest, deep. With Man, reborn against winds and dusk
Will best the heaps, lifespans of each, in caverns each a husk
Cut deep with scythes. The Trembling, Bellowing, Festering,
Reckoning, unending Octobering deathening, surrendering:

You! Bird, the bell rings
Brown bard, the sun sings
Sky guard, no venerate
Berried lark, thou emirate

Welcome, into ends and to makers
Watch with, admire, be your desires
Forget time, velvet rubs you and penetrates
Valley’s of orchids that start, to disintegrate

One day as leep by a captivating woke essence in your handscaught in your arms woke getting up after nearly having died ...you gave me your breathing air and calm your back to life, releasing the fear more gregarious, after opening my senses almost incinerated i learned that the stars trembled me to reach it

I started a new life to sharing with you,
sometimes i feel that in your hands sap this life to revive my acuity,
what to unfold my body, she quadrupled making me shiver by quakes your tenderness.

But today on the eighth day of the universe,
divided my feet walking to you for every step of light sonica,
road on it being over your carnal finesse frosted still light beams for aboriginal embracing love with your gutted threat to the end dump body, being today only light story emerged from any pythagorean indigo.

Eight feet by my raving not walk on forgetful slip hugs and achieve that without it on my feet, making you a path of kisses on a piecemeal moan  covering your pleasures in quiet regia union, sealing and my memories to mummifying the most sensitive areas disown make me when you suffer from almost feel much pleasure.

Your feet chafe my eighth willing body as your hands it to me, this is your feet eight  feet, and your finger eleven flute my way to you open your columns wet and trembling, born in the tropics decorative colors flashing your eyes when mine yours take on your innocence as a mother's dismissal, genesis as a maternal layoffs in the grotto shaggy times makes me roof for to paint with my kisses and my mouth full of oils,  full streaking manias those desires that are further under your skin, deep lining up to associate to me ...!

My seven feet is the semi - obese and language lenticular spider mine, unleavened filling the food, its highest sing syllabic, make your paint  blue and moan molecules liquid call themselves, with its concavity make the bio - live surgery last transplanted hallucinate ... vibratory column of my responsibility on your body, cutting all fear, every element of your flesh lying addict to me hanging on my conscience all descontrol physionomy, losing my light steps sonica falling into the abyss of your distances fragrances, falling in ovation interapeutica licking your body my breath, like a sixth sense.

I meditate burning between your legs, dying as i was born of a woman wild servant, fawn as an almost died for a hunter, i prefer my conscience advance day and night to your legs to die of living where one day saw in the recesses; the greatest pleasures with ambitions to break all your secrets, all your defenses to break your falling on my tyranny, allegory huge walk along the invisible to other united take that helped me your surplus usages, enter you and your being, feeling peace penetrate you, not feeling loving preact, or not to have you in the distance but hugging everytime you Drodida to moisten your words to me,  stuttering of desire.

My six feet organizing penetrates you feast on enraged cowbells,wishes with malice and early pregnat, alcamphor extreme longevity and erectile espermiosicotic, with smoothness and irradiating polish your rattling,
spitting cushion on my bones,
like a sapphire on until your clothes,
and as a inseparable attachment unit dispensable.

My bringing night of Saint John in your prayers for imaginary pain coexist
in between taking you doing it my trees by spoil collude copulate,
taking you stormy ray to the phenomenon with the masses elephantine hitting you on your shoulders, your ******* armpits challenge your beasts i want my grind with canines and incisors to create a new universe of shed your joy to laugh about our loving.

The five feet; rub your skin like a shower delicate pituitary
******* kilometers of rivers into criminal triads morbid on your face ...
as well as the sand masturbates the waves,
on the sand and wave nail with my eyes my spells dominating you,
rolling you thousand times to my love trades.

You shall be called Drodida; worship the everlasting orbit of my sight,
when i go for your absence mount your toxin grotesque gasp;
the stalk watered voluminousity  your mouth singing your sweating my
groaning  telling my cries thinking with my worst vanity,
the turn on rotation vanitatory what you just do me with your stalks and not my serous waters in my effervescent mouth in your ******* astral, arrested in any language your thinking lubrication retained me and your touching, what i always touch in you.

The five feet as a tightening necromantic porosity your skin that change shape your temples and declaims pretending aridity lovers bad; lords nomades covered them your area leafy tagled branches covered to neat legends of penalties appealed fables o mytofagic eaters; brotherhoods of the worst disease of not having small Mt. in high with it my staff rooted in resisting demolition and other eroding sorrow, reverie spoil it captive in your infinite journey of ecstasy explosional femic.

The four feet light make a gentle sonica, dry your language lenticular stalk ciliary zone, enter your supra entails, the cave unexplored wider,enter with both arms with herbs pulsating symmetrical cottoned sleeping in your walls and grotto forms  desensitized, insense redeem the pain of window pastoral bishop uniting both peni-***** areas full of gems balsamic, percusionatives full of eyes.

The three feet,
running is my hand movements on your ******* imprisoned,
they are my two hands scratched by scratching the delivery of your birth.
touch my hands that know not touch, when he was born without willing,
but my biohands touch your skin attached to transfer and progressive evil of love for the shores of cry to the center or your body centers clung to my hands over your thoughts rampant, wanting to stay in the fact to see you perisphery merge at twilight of our our sunken eyes friction and wet kisses dormitation delightful of travel and destructive of wickedness;
fulgurative but doubt of living or dying your enjoyment perpetuate.

The second feet,
you are you loving me on my feet vertically like a weak tower,
ash as rain that spread my fire for you.
i take my hands and i took a walk in the seas of ******* bellowing.
you took the scrub the eternal holy and spinal vocabulary of your mouth muted outrage both enjoy your subumbilicales areas.

The first is my feet Drodidaged,
it full landed liquid bathing you, your eyes full of ***** petals and replete, as bastions fallen with their helmets  gnawed your moans, that resound in memory of trees expectant that divert all about us practice,
only your tilt knee …will exalt   the  time for my happiness excessive.

My feet first,
it is my son music turret  ram rope breaking your every arbour grotto, asleep by the dream Drodida you commanded you do to me,
to rock for you and cutting wheel kissing my return to continue all apocalyptic dreams and your most ****** on my ways about it forever astral.
Plane  it me  come the way to sleep with me,
come see how i am able to teach Drodida
ways of sleeping next to me !!


Jose luis  / 0ctober 2003 -  Copyright 15 – all rigths reserved

There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
           hang
                  ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
           in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
         round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
            in primal urge
     to take out the words
in one long
      graceful arc
             of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
      and let myself feel
  what I cannot show:    
the daily coldness gnawing
    at my innards
      blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
             until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
               out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
         those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
  It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
      to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
            in clear spirals,  
                    a prayer commences to
                        be spun:
for the harsh
               and bitter
be flushed out
             in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
           for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
       core

Loving you is like an ice,
It's cold,hard,
and limpid.
I can see the real you,
But soon it melts.

Loving you is like a flower,
It blooms when it's autumn,
Sunlight penetrates the petals,
But soon it wilts.

Loving you is like a tissue,
it erases the tears,
brings the laughter,
But soon it torn,
drowned by the burden of love.

Loving you is like a book,
Those beautiful verses
are you.
But soon it ends with
a full stop.

Loving you is like a music,
rhythm rhymes.
the only thing I want to hear,
But soon the rhymes scatter.

The only thing I know
about loving you is,
Your smile is dangerous,
that I was stupid to fall
into them.


a.b

See where love is divined

Fly a kite on Cape Hatterious as you move among shadows in the wood follow the deer it’s a perfect guide to the gentle heart you
Posses with brightest red blanket throw it out ward let it flow gently down on a grassy field it too lights the way to valentine
Encounters or stand on the platform of a subway let the silver cars flash by like a slide show at high speed as you look at the windows
Envision your heart’s desire seated within speeding into the dark tunnel the inky black where you pull out memories that are white as
Orchids and have a delicate nature that draws from you tender lingering thoughts that can bring mist to your eyes from sadness
Touched evoked by a flashing scene that you remember that was cherished now it holds a pang regrets like a great cluster of fruit
In those by gone times what acute lines they drew they characterized their true meaning others didn’t care to take the time to know
Those in that way but you found it all satisfying when eyes engage others with a piercing lens that looks up and out of the heart loves
Joy bells ring and you are given to singing carefree paths you stroll down with a certain someone the sun breaks forth with special
Ray’s two hearts beat so powerfully intoxication occurs time and space is lost you unknowingly have taken a divergent course that is
Simply grand funny how another’s touch the holding of a hand can effect earths reality and usher you in to a place of wonder if it could
Be outwardly recorded I guess it would sound like distant gentle thunder sight is afforded lovers that others never find or notice the
Natural world holds sweet refrains that spill from shaded glens or shadows that walk side by side in the brightest sun light oh to fix
Your compass only to these climes at least at this special honoring of those who love and are loved these are just shared thoughts for
You to feel and experience on Valentine’s Day this is a little of what I see in your lives that are so richly blessed I’m not forgetting those
Who have lost loves to me it is outwardly sad but inwardly I know love never dies just close your eyes and inwardly a glowing will
Occur whoever is missed is available through love’s undeniable portal it happened it doesn’t have to defy logic it was it always is if you
Ever told someone you loved them you if you were truthful you always will their might be impregnable material in this natural world
But love burns and penetrates other worlds its felt only as soft as a wisp of wind but if you hold it pursue it at its end there you will
Find your special valentine living their hearts and minds touching you examining you in finest detail and they aren’t limited as you by
Earth bound restraints breathe deeply a romantic breeze seeks only your heart lips and eyes and in the best sense it is mind blowing.

No light penetrates
The overwhelming warning
Of the Heavens,
A warning of brokenness
That cannot be avoided,
A cool quietness smothers the trees,
An eerie implication.
Halted are the simple treks for survival.
Forgotten holes of yesterday reopened.
As the clouds resurrect,
A thankful calm washes away
The fear of the unknown.
Fear comes before growth and
Preparedness need not be remembered.
With the rain comes baptism,
With the storm comes renewal.

Composing Hallelujah

Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.

So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******* with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.

Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****,
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.

My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.

Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the ******-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?

It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,

Depression

I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.

So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******* with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.

A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:

Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?

-

Ever greet
Someone so
Sickly sweet?
Her candy
Apple red
Puckered lips.
Her minty
Fresh white
Glistening teeth.
Her short
Honey combed
Locks of
Angel hair.
Its all
Too much
For me
I swear.
The scent
Of acid
Cotton candy
Penetrates the
Small room.
Innocently dressed
Classically groomed.
With a
Smile that
Says "I
Could just,
Like be
Your bestfriend!
I'll try
To hop
On your
Boyfriends ****
If you
Turn your
Back for
Just one
******* second!"
Call me
A sour
***** but
I hate
The fake
Super sweet
Little *****
That walk
Around like
Theyre the
****, like
They've got
Some god
Given right
To act
Like fake
Crowd pleasing
***** *******
I'll fill
Your face
With bruises
And stitches.

Dark and desperate caves fill our destiny,
Continuously moulded by the hands of white horses.
We shall pledge our allegiance here,
And I will finally become one with your forces.
Ships and ships of cargo pass through,
Carrying only our thoughts and queries,
Stopping only for the wise and free spirits,
And starting their journey whence the worries.
Can I meet the blue spirit that lives here?
If to ask for something so simple, so special.
Lagoons lie outside and ****** us with golden sands,
But temptation cannot withhold how we feel.

Will you...
Will you?
Only if to find my weakness,
Only if to be beaten,
And a tie commences which penetrates us.
Like children opening eyes to the new world,
We dance inside and emotions are spilled.
We cry so softly, echoes of joy are heard.

Stepping from these dark and desperate caves,
The moon congratulates our arrival to Earth.
Pacing every step with golden statues surrounding us,
But not millions are as valued as what you're worth.

The sun cannot replace you,
The moon cannot compare.
Without you I can't do,
All I need is you to be near.

Effortlessly, I lose myself within You:
Forgotten, yet never quite out of reach,
Your name penetrates the thin arch of my spine,
As I curl my legs up towards my arduous chest,
Burrowing deep into the cavity that
Should hold my red, pulsing heart.

I can feel You all around me;
Memories dance like poetry,
Tumbling out of my lips into the empty air,
And, for a moment, Your warm breath
Caresses my face, as I shift toward
The unimposing wall, letting the cool plaster
Press up against my outstretched palms.

You're never more tangible,
Than when I lie in silence
And listen to the rhythmic hypocrisy
Of my own, insidious breath.
Even spoken sentences, are full of white
Spaces, in between pauses and punctuation.
Empty, and cavernous- blank canvases
Awaiting Your subtle presence.
Hungrily, words rush from me
As if to pave the way for Your fleeting occupancy.

Is this how it feels to be alive?
Father Time wraps his long, gnarled fingers
Around Your soft, golden neck,
Until all the vitality is lost beneath his sorry,
Decrepit hands, which yearn for Your being,
So much that they crush it into yesterday.
While, I sit helplessly observing, a defiled bystander,
Preparing Your eulogy while You laboriously heave for air.

Now, alone in the cool dark of my bedroom,
I repeat my penance a thousand times,
Silently, whispering a lovers remorse,
While twisting and squeezing the last drop
Of feeling onto an indifferent page,
Diluted by almost there prose
And ambiguous metaphors:

My wilted rose, I feel You now
Your once silk petals pressed upon my lips,
Hardened by all that has passed,
A frail remnant of what You once contained.
Pinks and reds of the sunset fall stagnant against
Your rosy cheeks and evanescent silhouette.  
Oh, flower of all flowers, why must You wilt
Upon my plucking of Your fleshy stem?
Is not the beauty of Your ardent life
Strong enough to flood out
The doubts which devoured Your fragrant
Body like malignant parasites?
For while time must tread along,
Can you not stay the way You once were then?

You showed me life, yet took it away
When You exhaled the world with a final leap,
Leaving me here to gather the fragments of a story,
And a vocabulary of feelings
That I can no longer sense.
So, instead, I hover motionless
Above my vacant corpse,
Filling the spaces that You left
With the skeletons of words.

My Sorry Muse, my Own Remorse
Embodied in a Soul,
You took Your  life and gave me words,
But my voice: the afflicted toll.

There never was a face as fair as yours,
A heart as true, a love as pure and keen.
These things endure, if anything endures.
But, in this jungle, what high heaven immures
Us in its silence, the supreme serene
Crowning the dagoba, what destined die
Rings on the table, what resistless dart
Strike me I love you; can you satisfy
The hunger of my heart!

Nay; not in love, or faith, or hope is hidden
The drug that heals my life; I know too well
How all things lawful, and all things forbidden
Alike disclose no pearl upon the midden,
Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell.
There is no escape from the eternal round,
No hope in love, or victory, or art.
There is no plumb-line long enough to sound
The abysses of my heart!


There no dawn breaks; no sunlight penetrates
Its blackness; no moon shines, nor any star.
For its own horror of itself creates
Malignant fate from all benignant fates,
Of its own spite drives its own angel afar.
Nay; this is the great import of the curse
That the whole world is sick, and not a part.
Conterminous with its own universe
the horror of my heart!

The soft blue-green of the moon’s light floods into my bedroom.
The day: over
Time ebbs away, nonexistent
The memories on the shelf fall off
The shattered glass grabs onto the moonlight and hugs it
The light dissipates
It leaves an empty shell, the remainder of light curling and taking off
to cover a faraway land with a soft reassurance of mist

The drowsiness underneath my eyes dwindles away
This is the noise that keeps me awake.
Exhilaration is pumped into my hollow bones
Painful buzzing cuts into my brain at random. The light of the moon fluctuates
The bitter food still alive on my tongue overwhelms my senses
The sharpness of the light penetrates my eye with force. I can’t see anything
The light bends, white and bright, the stars burrow into my iris
My bones are jelly, my brain is a cocoon of abhorrence, my heart is a balloon
It pops.

The beast within me ***** away at the jelly, fed.  
The creature in my brain breaks out and flies away to infest another innocent.
The noise slips away. I’m a paper girl limp on the bed.
Unable to move or feel or think or to have a heartbeat.
Quiet blossoms inside. I exist as a metaphor. I ***** my eyelids shut.
i hope they won’t fall off
The stars wink away. An infinite, dark sky looms overhead.
The darkness is a blanket, firm and reliable, warm. I drape it over myself and vanish.
Entropy lives within me. I nurture it, because it is my friend.
It flies away into its nest of clouds. It is distant. It will not come again for awhile.

Shadows shift onto the floor and murmur.
Dreams await.

© 2018
Xandra Lynch

what is this
the sound of a voice
a faint crackle
over the line
burning icicle dipped
into ink of my dark
zipped in a fracture
           through space
woven in time
the sound of it
           penetrates
a heated
         arctic zing
of light
into the soul
and your words
caress places that
would not be reached
in life's daily hold

I would look into your eyes
my blues to yours
two vast oceans
never ending
This might express
the divinity
of the word "love"
This might express
a fraction of the feeling
                and this alone
could be all consuming
but the real expression
would be my mouth
devouring yours
      my tongue
exploring your lips
and all that's inside
my starlight
infusing your being
as we press into
the silken matter
as the levity of skin
that brushes like silk
as your actual saliva
and ***
are my nourishment,
like heaven's milk
and our cells
ignite in slow movement
as we gasp and sigh
the air around us
invisible velvet
I want beyond
internet
I want beyond
a small, mirrored screen
I need to drink your luster
as we inhale the soft, molten folds
as we break open
and drink deep
inner liquids
as we crack
and the flow of the
      electric river
slides
    through
and within,
intermingling
auras tingling

Just take me,
      already
let me feel the imprint
of your fingers
upon my wrists
let your kisses mark
my secret spaces
Rush into me
as a river
before we
  simultaneously
         combust
for if I have to hear your
vocal chords
one more time
I will
    explode
into
     fragments
of
     crystallized
                  dust

His days are filled with books and a beautiful view.
He reads all day, then watches the sunset, every day from his room.
All kinds of books that penetrates him to another world,
for as kind as he is; at school he tries to go unnoticed. Find a corner and curl.

Nobody knows this boy who has so much to offer.
He doesn't get a chance, 'cause the cool kids like to see him suffer.
He slowly peeks around the corner, to see if they're around.
He has to get to English, the bell just rang the final sound.

Almost there he see's the door,
picking up the pace he trips to the floor.
He hears laughing and see's them pointing at his falling body.
It's the same everyday. Is there someone real he thinks. anybody?

Late that evening just finishing his latest book,
he goes to his view just to take his evening look.
Something was different, there was beauty he couldn't see.
Definitely something different, there was odd colors' behind his red oak tree.

Adjusting his view to perhaps get a better peek,
he saw a beauty he couldn't explain. He tried to holler down, but couldn't speak.
She came out from behind the tree,
Who was she he thought, for he could not see.

Cautiously he walked outside,
usually reserved he didn't know why.
He saw her just staring like a woman with so much on her mind.
He wanted to speak to her: what would he say? Just be kind.

"Hello", he said, as he took a step closer.
She turned around, and it was over.
The boy never knew something so beautiful could be so close.
For after a romance novel, from his dreams they arose.

After her initial shock she said "Hi, you must be my new neighbor."
"I just moved here from Florida, I'm not use to the chill."
The boy mesmerized thought he took one too many pills.
He tried to talk, but it just wouldn't flow, and as she stared at him
he saw her face contort, and she started to go.

He said "wait don't leave. I'm just not use to people talking to me."
He was actually a handsome boy if they would take the time to see.
He said, "my name is Cole and I live in the white house just there."
He pointed to it and noticed she didn't look. Instead at him she stared.

Her gaze made him uncomfortable, for he thought it a prank,
but the more he looked the deeper he sank.
She said, "Cole, I like that name,
mine is Lila." Lila Verame."

He saw her shiver and recalled her comment about the chill,
so he took off his jacket, and placed in around her hoping the warmth she would feel.
"Thank you" she said as she looked in his eyes.
Cole said "your welcome, this should keep you dry."

Lila giggled and said, "what do you mean?"
"There is a storm coming. I can smell it. After awhile you sense things that don't have to be seen.
She never heard a boy talk like this,
she said "so after awhile living here, there'll be things I can sense?"

Cole puzzled, said "sorry if I talk a little strange."
Lila smiled and said "no I like it, from where I'm from it's a nice change."
In Florida it's all about how good one looks in bikini's.
It's nice down here to have you talk about the scenery.

Her green eyes sparkled as he talked like never before.
Lila laughed, smiled, and even seemed interesting all the more.
So many thoughts were exchanged before the first rain drop fell,
and as Cole walked Lila home, she knew there was more to him than anyone could tell.

Back in his room he pondered the day and thought; just wait til school.
I'll be a ghost; just made a made up fool.

Cole didn't sleep as he thought what would transpire.
It was a small school and she surely would burn like a candlelit fire.
Being new and so beautiful,
It was going to be interesting for sure. Very eventful.

Anxiously and nervous he looked in the mirror,
no matter what he did, he knew he would be inferior.

The steps leading inside came faster than he ever could remember,
God why couldn't we have had a huge snow storm like it does in December?

He stepped inside and sure enough,
there stood Lila with the boys who thought they were so tough.
He avoided contact hoping not to be seen.
especially from Lila. Lila Varame.

The day went on and not one class did he have with her.
Although sad, at least she wouldn't see all the trouble the cool guys stirred.

Finally at lunch, walking outside,
He found his spot. His spot to hide.
Today seemed different for more guys sat at the cool spot.
Then he saw why. Lila, they swarmed to her like flies do to the rot.

She seemed confused and not liking all the racket,
and then his eyes lit up, as he saw her with his jacket.
No it couldn't be. If only she knew how Cole got treated.
He wouldn't fight, for everyday he went home defeated.

Finding courage he never knew within,
he strolled the cool kids way confident and with a grin.
Lila saw him for the first time that day,
and the smile on her face couldn't be contained.

He stopped as he noticed her smile,
their eyes never leaving each other all the while.
No, no, no, this can't be.
I'm just Cole. Why would she be looking at me.

But she was looking at him and walking all the same,
and then he heard the cool kids laughing saying his name.
It's over he thought, now she will see,
here they come to humiliate me.

A fire started to burn deep inside,
no more he thought not this time.
As they made their way,
he stared in her eyes feeling something. No matter what he was going to stay.

They teased and goofed trying to make him feel alone,
but with Lila looking he stood like a marble stone.

Through all the jokes he stood staring at her.
"I've been looking for you," she said. "Please get me away from them nerds."

For the first time in his life Cole didn't go home and read a book,
he spent it with Lila, and in her hands his she took.

The boy, the nerd, got the most beautiful girl in school,
and deep down she was so kind too.
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months.
Cole was the new man in school. He was even blunt.

What if I told you that Cole and Lila found what some don't believe.
What if I told you they were soul mates. Is that something you could conceive?
Well in this book Cole found love and not through they eyes of a character in a book.
In the moment of opportunity. The opportunity he took.

He could have kept to his novels and his evening sunsets,
but he saw beauty and he took that chance.
Who would have know their love would have reacted.
who would have known, he'd find love by sharing his jacket.

Some people never get the chance,
to show their is more to them than what you think.
Just take the time open your ears,
or you could miss out on something special....faster than a blink...

Malignant, an echo of
calamity
penetrates the aura
of American freedom
as humanity
asphyxiates
an arsenal
of political fascism
shape shifting
into beads
branded by mercury
abomination