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Daniello Mar 2012
In the bottom of the subway mouth
foamed in summer sweat and the ink
of rodents on chipped slate tunnels,
in the breath of the compassionless lick
of dirt swabs, of empty swayings,
murmurings, square eyes, and slit mouths,
where a trembling roar like an elsewhere
lion is an unfortunate savior, I saw
in front of me a real dream, just barely
(and perhaps not)—but in one of its
moments, I did feel cracked—felt the
sudden unbelievable shockwave of
shattered skull heat, white, blinding, a
quick wisp of eternal time, before back,
to the undream of dreams. This real.
Laughable and despairable. Of hot
waiting, dying lassitude. Before going
on cramped with the others. Nowhere.
Ek Apr 2019
neon pink across my face
the blurry blacks of dance
a prize of beauty to be blessed

on the dancefloor acting
a girl's not just a girl
she's the light of the night

and tuneless swayings
swell of mightiest feelings
a dance is hers to be given
G Popovic Jul 2016
I must have fallen in love a thousand times,
By glancing at every pretty girl,
Who passes me by,
On the sidewalk or the subway.
Whose tender glances and fleeting eyes,
Leave me rapt in utter ecstasy.
Those whom I wish I could entice,
With poetic words, or feeble attempts,
At honest love-making.
Those ignorant ones, whose ****** motions,
Are like those motions of the heavenly bodies.
Whose swayings and turnings,
And peripheral lookings,
Leave me catatonic, and in a silent admiration.
Those whom I wish I could flatter,
With poetic words or tender little love bites,
Or perhaps leave, as they have often left me,
Charmed, enchanted, and with heart burning.
Whose very hearts, hearts I wish that I myself could unlock.
And yet I do nothing.
Whose flaxen, raven, or curled hair, I wish I could entwine with the nimble figures of my hand,
And smooth over or fashion,
As if like an artisan, tying the knots of my shy love.
Whose batted eyelashes,
More so often than not,
Batter me, as if they were Borealic winds.
Whose eyes; green, blue, brown – or a mysterious black,
I wish I could gaze into, endlessly,
And drown in their luster.
So, yes, I’ve fallen in love a thousand times,
With sweethearts in the pomegranate flowers;
Like that sweet-sounding Hungarian girl in Podgorica,
And that German lass,
Wo weilest du jetzt?
Half of my own blood,
Whom I encountered in Ulcinj.
Ajo që ka sytë si në qiell.
And the plethora of ones I’ve never met,
Nor will ever truly meet,
But view longingly from the periphery of my vision.
I love them all fruitlessly.
1) “With sweethearts in the pomegranate flowers;” - Poem by Rumi “Come to the Orchard in Spring…”

2) Podgorica – Capital of Montenegro.
3) Ulcinj – A coastal town in south-western Montenegro.
4) “And that German lass,
Wo weilest du jetzt?
Half of my own blood,”                                                                                                       She was half Albanian but our conversation was carried out in German.
5) “Wo weilest du jetzt?” – Excerpt from Richard Wagner’s work entitled “Libretti” (Act One).
German - “Where do you now rest?”
6) “Ajo që ka sytë si në qiell.” – Albanian. “She who has eyes like the heaven.”
Daan May 2015
Cover me like the veil of whiteness, warm.
Hold me, so vulnerable, yet free of harm.
I'll kiss you, may my mourning lips charm
straight to where your feelings swarm.

Come outside, with me and gaze upon
Come away with me and wander through
The land, the sky, the clouds, the grass.
Dazzling dreams of talking endlessly.

Close your eyes and trust my voice.
Let's conclude this affair with final sayings.
End the night of impulsive choice.
And decline the ways of sudden swayings.
We shouldn't do this.
Can't we just leave forever, together.
No.

— The End —