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Isabella OBrien Jan 2013
I intently studied this nauseating flirtatious jive
shared badger from you to me of our relationship already framed and fitted
we never fell asleep at decent hours, ****** dry
we were just another product of society
we questioned the reality of a world never belonging to one
so to be swayed in the music cold, taking it upon ourselves to never hold our heads too low
we connected the tissues past pure plentiful parking spaces
I saw it happen to us, taken over by fixation
letting words fall from my *** into the world where you stood bewildered, courageous lark it was, you made me into girlish shrieks
expecting a slight coldness from you I decided to sulk eating the dust
I attracted my own thoughts remaining unhappy as you were oblivious our chosen concrete pathways: the negative.
Child, as we were envisioning snow angel memories
hallucination, love, courting to a distant yield.
Child, a rush of adulterate naked plea
who wandered busy streets grasping mace and typewriter keys
make fun with your water bottles I'll dedicate a song to you
Child, salting your French tongue we shall fall apart only once we lie beneath the ground curtaining our once frenzy shell
Child, who put her ******* to the air as she wrapped her ******* with bandage
wearing those skinny jeans a hipster queen lenses in front of her face never did a thing
Child, make away with a masculine feverish clean your witch hands do graze his bare skin
Child, who broke glass bottles on her head to prove she was real, grew lady ***** as they were called
in an effort to uncover what happened to the corners in a circular prism
bid farewell your worrisome thoughts of homicidal suicide
Child, scare the stop signs, the fragility of your former state has asthmatically fallen
do not break me in half though your capable eyes do trace the outline of my body and feel my bone hidden beneath thin skin and weak muscle, veins of blue
Child, who tore out the steeping cool of a farfetched acid tripped visionary iconic lie crucifying their  dirt stained bare feet to welcome pain, a hello name,
Child, who blasted **** yo couch into their ****** distilment we have nothing to lose let poured
down CO2 fill my lungs as I readily lie hiding from herb grace o’Sundays
oxytocin expelled from our uteri we turned our back on the slight touch of pale skinned parts
skipped meals skipped beats my heart weak fluttering grows strong with the running of my fingers in
your fresh cut hair
they questioned my appetite, whispered missing, she never met the standard, they had forgotten
we let ourselves become our own nonconformists but we never admitted to it
we yelled Bullocks at those who threw us into a status quo social movements mainstream.
craving to be old fashioned, we lowered the skirts in our mind and forgot to swat the message that
our ******* made us inferior
Futures of Singularity we were scared of an age of machinery
tossing our new cameras flat screens cellular devices iproducts we read books and intelligence floated above us.
Tracy Malloy Aug 2010
Hello you
Yesterday I had an epiphany about what you do
You have spoken about the hero-status of the uniform
And the depravity beneath it
However
However
The work, the career of rescue and disaster relief, whether from heaven or hell
Is heroic
I have saved lives
Battling uteri that would send the mother out the same door through which the infant just came
Wading through the sea of clotted blood
To find the flaccid muscle to hold death at bay
Have pumped hearts that lie quivering
Slapped and pumped infants with the fixed dilated pupil
And no matter the role we play in that
No matter
How tired it kills us
And how we find rejuvenation
It is heroic work
Even when we cannot bear the role any more
I have been recuperating from that job since you have known me
And I want to say I had forgotten the price.
And that you continue to pay the price of hero-work
The real price
August 4, 2010
Corset Apr 2016
Yesterday will not hold us
Out beyond the starlit night
Under the dark dress of eclipse
We will see so many new things
Its churning maw pulls at us yet,
Licking its lovely lips
Longing for its blackbearded
Bliss
Ever and anon
Remember this
Even as we hurl ever closer
Men will be born again
Even though the years
May crawl
Beyond the memory of me or you
Earth shall be consumed
Rivers will run the sky
Eden will burn as promised
Death will be a welcome release
Time will be devoured
Houses shall quake
Ramparts will fall then float
Our eyes will not see origin nor pain
Ufology will be made of us
Grand designs will be grafted in gold
Heaven will laugh at our feet
Outrageous it will claim us all
Uteri and tears
The membrane of existential life
Abstinence of unimportant
Letchers and angels alike
Light will be dark,
The darkness shall be light
Immaterial will be substance
Material will be no more
Every thought will be as body
Placating the will of man
Apple and seed no longer
Calling in false voices
Implicitly with demand
All that we are
Nestled once again
Orphaned by humanity
In the atmosphere
With the children of our *****
Infinite and everlasting
Long forgotten the red earth
Languishing in her blue dress when
Finally, she points her taunt breast
In to the maw of the black mouth
Not even mountains will withstand
Drowning in this black abyss
Young Biota,
Ours is not of lifetimes
Under the cherry moon
Even as the clouds we know rumble
Valentine notes into the wind
Even as his harpoon tongue
Nimbly nibbles our innocent mind
Death will not hold us
Earthen molds will not
Attain us,
The word will not sway us
Heaven bound passengers
Will behold the golden galaxy
In due time of passage
Light as light will travel
Long into the black vein of
Nothing more than thoughtless
Orbs of creation
Through and beyond time
Hanging it's weary head
On the lips of love
Life defined as desire
Dripping it's ***** robe
Unashamed, it will
Sneer into the mob and
Can not be held captive
As animals in a cage
Painting the wall of caves
Time is man made
It does not exist in the
Veins of the everlasting
Eternal word...Love
Dulce Berkowitz Nov 2017
There will be a soft rain and the smell of the ground and swallow circling with the shining sound and frogs in the pools singing at right and wild plumps trees in quivering white Robins will were there feathery fire. Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; and not one will know  of the war, no one will care at lost when it’s done no one will mind, neither birds or trees will be making perished uteri; and spring herself when she awakes at down would secretly now that were done.
-DB

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