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"slip" poems
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom For so many reasons. I will tell you the why. I think you know, Or perhaps, you think you know. Men are always O.K., Even when not. We expect the worse, Accept the worse, Nonetheless, We are forever unprepared. Wearily, we cry, In the bathroom, in private, Lest sighs slip by, We be unmasked, Early warring, strife signs warning. Copious, tho we weep Before the mirror confessor, It is relief untethered, Unbinding of the feet, An uncounting Of beaded rosaries, Of freshly fallen hail stones, Of night times terrors By dawn's early edition's light, and welcomed. But look for the mute tear, The eye-cornered drop, *** tat, that never drops, But never ceases formation and Reforming, over and over again, In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution, *The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing, And I see you peeping, wondering, What is beneath* Look for: the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit, thrift shop bought, extra worn, grieving lines neath the eyes, where the salt has evaporated, discolored the skin. worry lines, under and above, browed mapped, furrowed boundaries. the laugh line saga, where better days are stored, recalled, as well as recanted, publicly, privately. Why just men? I don't know, Perhaps, it is all I know. end.<nml> Jan 6, 2013
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Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Do You Know Why Men Cry in the Bathroom? (2013, can u believe it)
"My mouth hasn't shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn't stopped thinking about you since, well, before any kiss. And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree."
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May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
Alex Turner’s love letter to Alexa Chung.
Let me slide my velvet tongue up and down the insides of your milky way until I find my path that leads the way to yours heavens bet you moan the whole way One soft touch and your ambisions slipe away your body trembles as my fingers play; high notes, low on your body silent screams slowly slip away our bodies press their luck like human nature, its in our nature, to play that way. Our bodies colliding deep inside, I'm subsiding my hips bucking, yours riding mine, my fantasy you and me in Ecstasy.
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Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Ecstasy
The State of My Tagalog: Stuttering. Guess that's what you can call it. The insecure prose that curls downward On my notebook. It reeks of bit And piece And syllable. Singular Because language After language After language Enter my mind And slip it Just as quickly, Leaving only Fragments. Oh, the frustration As I ask For loose change From My sister cashier. I can't even ask for The right amount In Tagalog nowadays. "Singkwenta." "Bente." That adds up to 75, I think. Passing score on my Report card too. My self-graded Filipino class. Don't even know How I managed To spell "Ibarra," "Tanikala," "himagsikan," "Liwayway..." I'd sing and not spell, If they never caught At the bottom of my throat. ------------------------------------------- Ang Kalagayan ng Aking Tagalog: Nauutal. 'Yan ang pwede **** sabihin sa ‘kin. Walang tiwala sa sariling gawa, Patunong pababa ang mga salita Sa aking kwaderno. Ito’y sumisingaw ng piraso At bahagi At pantig. Nag-iisa Dahil wika Bawa’t wika Bawa’t wika Ay pumapasok sa aking kalooban At umaalis Ganun ding kabilis, Naiiwan ang mga Kaputol lamang nito. O, kay inip Habang ako’y humihingi Ng barya Kay Ateng Kahera. ‘Di ko nga kayang Humingi ng tamang halaga Sa wikang Pilipino ngayon. “Singkwenta.” “Bente.” Ito ay pitompu’t lima, ata. Pasang awa rin Sa aking report kard Sariling pagmamarka sa Filipino. ‘Di ko nga alam Kung paano 'kong Naisusulat ang “Ibarra.” "Tanikala," "himagsikan," "Liwayway…" Nais kong kantahin at huwag lang sulatin, Kung ‘di lang man silang sumasabit Sa ilalim ng aking lalamunan.
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Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
The State of My Tagalog (Dual Language)
The State of My Tagalog: Stuttering. Guess that's what you can call it. The insecure prose that curls downward On my notebook. It reeks of bit And piece And syllable. Singular Because language After language After language Enter my mind And slip it Just as quickly, Leaving only Fragments. Oh, the frustration As I ask For loose change From My sister cashier. I can't even ask for The right amount In Tagalog nowadays. "Singkwenta." "Bente." That adds up to 75, I think. Passing score on my Report card too. My self-graded Filipino class. Don't even know How I managed To spell "Ibarra," "Tanikala," "himagsikan," "Liwayway..." I'd sing and not spell, If they never caught At the bottom of my throat. ------------------------------------------- Ang Kalagayan ng Aking Tagalog: Nauutal. 'Yan ang pwede **** sabihin sa ‘kin. Walang tiwala sa sariling gawa, Patunong pababa ang mga salita Sa aking kwaderno. Ito’y sumisingaw ng piraso At bahagi At pantig. Nag-iisa Dahil wika Bawa’t wika Bawa’t wika Ay pumapasok sa aking kalooban At umaalis Ganun ding kabilis, Naiiwan ang mga Kaputol lamang nito. O, kay inip Habang ako’y humihingi Ng barya Kay Ateng Kahera. ‘Di ko nga kayang Humingi ng tamang halaga Sa wikang Pilipino ngayon. “Singkwenta.” “Bente.” Ito ay pitompu’t lima, ata. Pasang awa rin Sa aking report kard Sariling pagmamarka sa Filipino. ‘Di ko nga alam Kung paano 'kong Naisusulat ang “Ibarra.” "Tanikala," "himagsikan," "Liwayway…" Nais kong kantahin at huwag lang sulatin, Kung ‘di lang man silang sumasabit Sa ilalim ng aking lalamunan.
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As we vibe, I slip and slide into your in-slide and slide deep inside till our bodies coincide, as one, we ride the rising tide. As we vibe.. I show you a different side, of your insides, from me being inside. Our physical interaction guides the chemical reaction that touches your soul and blows your mind. Our bodies confide, in each ours confines, until we find, supreme satisfaction of a different kind...
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Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Confines
my hands are tired from having no purpose so why don't you take the load off and slip your fingers through mine
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Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
if you wouldn't mind
You have the right to love and be loved as well. The right to, not just break but, shatter from your shell. Run free, run proud sing to me and sing it loud. Slacks and dresses spinning and twirling, backs and arms bending and curling. Dance like the puppets do not seeing the strings touching you. *please puppet master loosen your grip please god let his hand slip* Listen to me love theres no need for the begging and the pleeding, theres no reason for the weeping and the bleeding. Never stray from whats true in your heart and like a soft candle light, it will guide you through the dark. Now I've spoke with your master it's not such a disaster, he told me with no laughter, "No one will ever out last her." But the grey sky above has killed my sense of love and with so much to talk about but nothing left to say, I bit my tongue and just walked away.
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Sep 17, 2011
Sep 17, 2011 at 10:46 PM UTC
Puppet Show
some nights you will feel like there are a thousand galaxies exploding in every inch of you and you are burning too bright to ever be looked at directly, and some nights you will feel impossibly small, like your whole body could slip through the spaced between atoms and never reappear in this world again, and some nights you will feel like a paper doll, carefully crafted and easily blown away, fragile, too delicate to ever be touched, and some nights you will feel like each cell in your body is made of the strength that holds the whole planet together, and that is okay because you are made of stardust and miniscule atoms and breakable bones and the building blocks of everything in the universe, and you are too alive to never feel anything more than human
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Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
universe
I want to make love to you but not in the way you'd think I want to brush your soul with my fingertips and slip in and out of this world in your arms I want to show you the galaxy inside of my heart and watch you discover each star I want to press my lips against your body and write the story of our love in sloppy wet kisses I want to deeply inhale your wild spirt and get high on all your hopes and dreams I want to wander the maze in your heart and hang my portrait over the cracked drywall. I want to feel you searching my soul and shouting out in joy at every piece you find I want to strip you of your insecurities until you can bask naked in the warmth of my love I want to paint our lives in vibrant memories of days filled with laughter and nights filled with passion I want to have all of you in every moment of every single day for the rest of forever And if that isn't making love. *I don't want to know what is.*
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
I Want To Make Love To You
It’s the name of the game. We're slaves to our secret place. Even if we discreetly meet, since we hate being apart. Safe and sound with you baby, all I need is your sweet heart. Our secrets intertwine, We play and tease and test. The tension simmers up inside. We form an explosion of emotions, as powerful as the windiest storm; but we only see each others eyes, lying naked on the floor. And when I said “No I love you more” you melt and slam the door. Gently kiss my hair, and nibble on my neck. Caress me everywhere, till I softly moan in your mouth; and it drives you wild, so you quickly go down. Kiss my legs, then my thighs. Now my whole body shakes, you **** on my every curve. I pant louder and louder, then scream “please don’t stop”; but you want me so bad. Oh and you are rock hard, so you slip right inside; and we make passionate love in the dark
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Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 3:16 AM UTC
Magnets
I am adept In the art of being okay I have mastered the craft Of covering my troubles I use all sorts of fancy facades Acrylic, oil, watercolor You name it. I can paint over nearly anything You will never know How late I was up last night Or why. My eyes flicker Like candlelight But you couldn’t see You couldn’t possibly see I’m too good For that. I can dance, too Waltzing away my sorrows Carefully tip toe-ing the Pas-de-I-am-fine I get a standing ovation every time I’m very talented, you see. But my all time favorite Is my disappearing act I’m still perfecting it Right now But one of these days I’ll show you How I Slip Slip Slip Away Right through your fingers.
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May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
The Art of Being Okay
By and by Man will try To get out into the sky, Sailing far beyond the air From Down and Here to Up and There. Stars and sky, sky and stars Make us feel the prison bars. Suppose it done. Now we ride Closed in steel, up there, outside Through our port-holes see the vast Heaven-scape go rushing past. Shall we? All that meets the eye Is sky and stars, stars and sky. Points of light with black between Hang like a painted scene Motionless, no nearer there Than on Earth, everywhere Equidistant from our ship. Heaven has given us the slip. Hush, be still. Outer space Is a concept, not a place. Try no more. Where we are Never can be sky or star. From prison, in a prison, we fly; There's no way into the sky.
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29.6k
Science-fiction Cradlesong
Her titillating tattoo tantalizes me deeply, to the tenth degree. I see it as I slip her silk dress slowly down her left shoulder. A lizard lying on a boulder, contrasting with her silky smooth soft snowy skin. I kiss her shoulder, and she shudders and sighs a deep sigh. Goosebumps rise up her body as a sturdy gust seizes the moment. The forest we make love in quakes and shakes as she shivers and quivers under the touch of my hands. My left hand holds her upper arm, while my right grips her hips. She closes her eyes, smiling, giggling in amusement. I spin her slowly ‘round, and look into her hazel eyes, her soft ******* and thighs against mine for warmth and gentle touch. I kiss her lips. Strawberry. And we slide down to the ground. The scariness we have found slips away in our grace. We sinners share our shame, our lust, and come to a conclusion, and bust each others doors down, sweet ****** on this cold ground.
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Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
(Her titillating tattoo...)
Teen sits in his room reflecting on the walls and tables Sometimes this place is a cafe and is a little bit unstable Crosses his legs, forgets the dread, self-hood brings him back from the troubles inside his head Take his hand, lead him out the door, stoke his fire a little bit more Adolescence, Adolescence be free Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me Rests his head upon the floor, even the most grotesque things won't bug him anymore Young man doesn't watch them dance, he knows he must grow his own steps before they slip through his fingertips Adolescence, Adolescence be free Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me Young man, be your own man You're halfway there, so don't disappear again The cafe is crowded, yet you're not alone, not stuck in one place like a drone You move across the room, bright and tall, and never again going to fall Like you did the day before your soul returned to just being a kid Adolescence... you are adolescent.
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Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
Scene 3: Adolescence
#*Lord Jesus, Plower of my heart, though the darkness descends around me and heavy moods fall over me, though the warm feelings of intimacy begin to fade and encroaching melancholy threatens to set in like a cold reversal of the winds, still I will rejoice in Your presence with me, for You are causing me to press beyond— beyond the delightful sense of You and into the delightful assurance of You. If I know nothing else, I know that You are here, You are faithful and You love me. So I will keep clinging to that when everything else seems to slip like dust through my fingers and all hope of good things in this life grows dim. I will cling to the promise that You are clinging to me, that You’ve got me no matter what, that You are never leaving or letting go. For You are the unchanging I AM in my ever-changing circumstances, through my ever-shifting emotions, over my ever-shaking life and around my ever-feeble heart. Here is my hand, Lord Jesus. I put it safely in Yours and trust You to lead me through this dark night. Work Your holy, harrowing fingers deep into the soil of my heart until every idol is uprooted, every stone removed and every broken place restored. Thank You, Jesus. I love You.*#
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Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
~ The Assurance ~
Isn't it awfully nice to have a ***** Isn't it frightfully good to have a **** It's swell to have a ****** It's divine to own a **** From the tiniest little tadger To the world's biggest ***** So, three cheers for your ***** or John Thomas. Hooray for your one-eyed trouser snake, Your piece of pork, your wife's best friend, Your Percy, or your **** You can wrap it up in ribbons. You can slip it in your sock, But don't take it out in public, Or they will stick you in the dock, And you won't come back.
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Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Monte Python's ***** Song
They look out from the terrace. At the borders of sight live rocky hills behind brown and golden and olive crop under a cloudless sky. BANG! An artificial cloud. “Mira,” she points, “Venga!” They fly down stairs, diving like sparrows into the street. Boys sprint across pavements and climb; men vault over fences in time for news to reach ears. "¡Ya vienen!" Excitement and fear. The rattling of cow bells and galloping nears. Men bait and dodge horns and escape through doors and up and over red wooden bars. Sticks beat on the concrete ground and closer, louder, gallops sound. Seconds away – until the last, he side steps into a house; indoors, apart, he runs through the foyer and up the stairs around a corner with long strides too fast to follow. She chooses left and sings soprano when doors won't budge and        it                       crashes                                        in. She turns and the fear is paralysing. "FERMIN!" "FERMIN!" "FERMIN!" He hurdles the stairs and explodes but it rams her to and fro, thrashing her head against the wall where horns sin and gore cement and brick. He clasps the tail and heaves its hide from side to side as hooves smash crates of wine - they slip and slide in fractured glass; he finds a horn and yanks the head! He's yanked instead near dead before the men arrive down stairs to punch and kick it; strike and stick it smack and hit it; 'til it fits and quits and flees the foyer, fast and frantic, flying flustered by the frenzy, finally finding pattering paves it peters off down the street. "¿Que ha pasado?   ¿Quien ha sido?   ¡El Balbotin   y la Chicha!   ¡Que una vaca   les ha pillado!" "¿Estas bien?" Dizzy she's there with searching hands and scolding. "Podria haber sido peor"
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Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
Fermin el Balbotin
They look out from the terrace. At the borders of sight live rocky hills behind brown and golden and olive crop under a cloudless sky. BANG! An artificial cloud. “Mira,” she points, “Venga!” They fly down stairs, diving like sparrows into the street. Boys sprint across pavements and climb; men vault over fences in time for news to reach ears. "¡Ya vienen!" Excitement and fear. The rattling of cow bells and galloping nears. Men bait and dodge horns and escape through doors and up and over red wooden bars. Sticks beat on the concrete ground and closer, louder, gallops sound. Seconds away – until the last, he side steps into a house; indoors, apart, he runs through the foyer and up the stairs around a corner with long strides too fast to follow. She chooses left and sings soprano when doors won't budge and        it                       crashes                                        in. She turns and the fear is paralysing. "FERMIN!" "FERMIN!" "FERMIN!" He hurdles the stairs and explodes but it rams her to and fro, thrashing her head against the wall where horns sin and gore cement and brick. He clasps the tail and heaves its hide from side to side as hooves smash crates of wine - they slip and slide in fractured glass; he finds a horn and yanks the head! He's yanked instead near dead before the men arrive down stairs to punch and kick it; strike and stick it smack and hit it; 'til it fits and quits and flees the foyer, fast and frantic, flying flustered by the frenzy, finally finding pattering paves it peters off down the street. "¿Que ha pasado?   ¿Quien ha sido?   ¡El Balbotin   y la Chicha!   ¡Que una vaca   les ha pillado!" "¿Estas bien?" Dizzy she's there with searching hands and scolding. "Podria haber sido peor"
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1664 I did not reach Thee But my feet slip nearer every day Three Rivers and a Hill to cross One Desert and a Sea I shall not count the journey one When I am telling thee. Two deserts, but the Year is cold So that will help the sand One desert crossed— The second one Will feel as cool as land Sahara is too little price To pay for thy Right hand. The Sea comes last—Step merry, feet, So short we have to go— To play together we are prone, But we must labor now, The last shall be the lightest load That we have had to draw. The Sun goes crooked— That is Night Before he makes the bend. We must have passed the Middle Sea— Almost we wish the End Were further off— Too great it seems So near the Whole to stand. We step like Plush, We stand like snow, The waters murmur new. Three rivers and the Hill are passed— Two deserts and the sea! Now Death usurps my Premium And gets the look at Thee.
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25.3k
I did not reach Thee
Seems like Words are failing Maybe We should use our mouths For other things How about kissing? Right there On that part of my naval As I brush your hair Maybe I'll let out a little sigh As you linger there for a while Look up and smile Pretty eyes got me gazing Words may be failing but There's other ways to speak Your hands gently trailing got my body feeling Weak Self control startin to slip Better watch my mouth As I bite your lip It stings But not the way words do No need for censorship This mouths being used for other things Maybe to let out a laugh,a little grin As you make your move To help me relax and Leave your mark on my skin Raising the heat Got me craving! Tongues may be wagging In the morning But ours are for tasting So what do you say? Mmm don't speak. My hearts racing Legs shaking As you play your mouth piece Sighhhh And I Might just have to pull you in tight Might just have to have you all night But don't worry It's our lil secret, I won't say a thing Words may have failed us But mouths don't need words To do wonderous things ;)
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Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Mouth Piece
Creeping voices in the night Shadows lurking out of sight Haunt me till the morning's light No sleeping for me tonight Looking at my bedroom door My feet barely touch the floor Something whispers down my core Something that I can't ignore Melted candles in my hand Things I would not understand My hope slips away like sand This was not what I had planned Slowly walking down the stairs Feel a breeze sweep through my hair Shadows lurk; in silence stare Naked thoughts are all I wear Out of breath I walk outside Shaking fear that builds inside No more places left to hide Guilty thoughts of mine collide Drenched in coward's blood and fear I lost those who I held dear It's all blurred, nothing is clear Shadows from my past appear As the silence speaks to me Gets too loud it deafens me My past will not leave me be Pain and torment I foresee Dazed and drawn by these lost souls Broken thoughts I can't control Ghosts slip through this gaping hole Darkness has taken its toll From the darkness dreams come out Nightmares flailing all about Closing in, I hear them shout It's the end, I have no doubt "What the hell is it you want?" They retreat and me they taunt One emerges, tall and gaunt "Your life we will no more haunt." "You have paid for your wrongdoing," He tells me, his voice booming "This is now your redeeming You are free." he says smiling I look at the rising sun I no longer have to run My sentence is served and done The ghosts have finally gone.
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Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Wake
He stood fifty times his height, his palms pressed against the glass separating him from the road in their glamour; blurred images of car in their splendor – and there isn’t the familiar scent of coffee – I call this pandemonium. Nothing beats a day in a café redolent of the finest Arabica, he’d inhale deeply and recall : unroasted gives the sweetest scents of blueberries – roasted’s entirely different: fruit, sugar, perfume – They call this addiction. Mnemonic – a wind chime lost in the array of winds. “You used to be my cup of tea – I drink coffee now.” These words slip out of his dry lips, and a lone tear trickles down a milky cheek; They all say if they’ve got love, they don’t need money – And he’d say if he’s got coffee, he doesn’t need love – He calls this heaven.
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Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
coffee
Hold you down. Tie you down. Handcuff you to our big bed. Slowly tear your clothes from your warm smooth body. Down to your bra and ******* Kiss you all over and lick some parts. Then I'll slowly start to unbutton my shirt and take off my pants, leaving me exposed. Slowly, is how I'm going to crawl on your body as I feel your wetness through your ******* and I start to rub my hard **** on the wet stain. I'll slip my hand under your back and unhook your bra and then slowly slip it off with my teeth. Then I'll rip your ******* off with my bare hands. When I see your nice sweet ***** I'll kiss it and then start to lick it. Squeezing your thighs and eating you out as you say my name in pleasure. Then I'll unlock the handcuffs and carry you and put you on top of me. I'll slowly start to slip my hard **** inside your tight ***** As you make your faces of pain and pleasure. As you go up and down on me, everytime I'll go in deeper and gain speed. I'll claw at your back as you're riding me and smack your *** As I'm playing with your **** you'll move your hair out of your face. Your sweat hitting my chest, mixing with mine, and me close to ******* I'll look into your eyes as I whisper I love you and you whisper it back. Me letting go will cause you to ****** and our bodies will shake in pleasure. You feel me *** hard inside your ***** You bend down to kiss me and I kiss you back softly.When we leave that room we know that we might have just made a baby...
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Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
The Room
She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders A tangible dream and my favorite good morning She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became Blood and tears "I trusted you" and "I’m sorry" Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you" I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote
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Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
I'm afraid so
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets through the green heaps and brown bags through the downtown whisperers and sage solitude souls Army bands prepare for march (their trench members filling packs with canister and cane) the high command and tricked militia head pinned quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle Traffic patterns change at the COP connect camouflage bearers break formal stride battle men slip between colorful floats unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary) grin in their second suite dying rooms Twitching men and rubbernecks sit discreetly on the corner wall JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence) chess men hold steady with ivory cues Flames belt from the distant foundry streets come alive with crackle and dust members of the attic group glance down from their perch an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now) sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare It’s not far from the steely mud holes from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the ***** the ivy trellis and flowing white gown are a nocturne fit for this elevated rolling highland
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Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
James Street Parade