Never should I love,
For never will you love me.

Never will your deep, blue eyes
Look in mine and read my mind,
Like a psychic running her fingers along the lines of my palms.
Palms that belong to hands you’ll never hold,
And handle with care like you would antique china
And at the same time grip with a firmness that tells me you’ll never let go.
You’ll never let go because you’ll never wrap your soft,
warm arms around me in the first place.
Your soul will never entangle with mine and fill that void
Left by a **** sliced deep within me.

A **** left by my father’s youth,
And my mother’s faith,
Whose knife cut out their acceptance for me
And gouged out my trust in them.

Can’t you see that you are the antidote to my lifelong suffering?
The Accutane to my welted face,
The braces to my crooked teeth,
The nitro to my aching heart
The rhino to my bulging nose
The morphine to my broken mind,
The running to my fading health
Running, running, running away
Far away from this broken house
Where your dreams never do come true and
Where you come out to yourself alone in the bathroom and
Where they can’t ever know the truth because my house is
Where God resides in the attic and
Where Jesus is the only one you should let in your room at night and
Where The Holy Spirit has possessed us all to live a lie because my house is
Where lifelong love is dead at the delivery room
And who is there to blame but me?

Who is there to blame but me?

But none of that matters to you.
It can’t matter to you,
Because all you do is love
And love
And love
And love
And love.

But you never love me.

Each year I have known you
I have reached out farther than the last,
Yearning for something I could never obtain.
Fifteen pushes past Fourteen,
Both of whom fall short of Sixteen’s growing arms,
Which are narrowly outpaced by Seventeen’s spindly, wirey fingertips.

Every Year’s efforts have met the same fate;
Failing to reach their target they instead grasp fruitlessly
Into a dark, brewing storm,
Full of tears,
And of crackling sparks of hope
That are met with the resounding booms of fate
Telling me that I am doomed to be alone.

Telling me that never should I love,
For never will you love me.

But I never listen.
Because I know you too well.
And I know that someday,
Someday soon,
You’ll make the happy accident
Of stepping too close to my many straining hands,
And I’ll pull you near to me
And you’ll realize that you never loved her at all.

And that you always,
always have loved me.

-The Boy Who Loves You Too

Years are mixing into decades like tasteless stew
while I sit here in the second floor of a double decker bus affiliated with universal energies that haven't been given names, and gods which haven't yet been killed over.
Sudden Spring makes me sentimental!  I daydream with my eyes shut and sunlight repeatedly washing over my face that Im racing on some enchanted eastern express en route to Benares while Lama peak Nepal is weakened with Earthquakes. Fallen monestaries still romanticized and newly forged in my mind. A few countries North, the radical religious groups are continuing the impractical path of world decay with frequent threats and televized beheadings.  We're guaranteeing ourselves a real apocalypse to save ourselves from a fake one!

Owls in suits recently drycleaned return home,  their bedroom drapes appear ethereal veils of cruelly false night-brides twirling from wind beating fiercely at the door. Next morning the
Hong Kong tram serrates the neon
acid streets where blankface ghosts are observing the hundred thousand faded shoes and wirey laces encircling the larger paths of Chinese cities like a hollow caffeinated sterile ball of yarn thrown over by the communist Cheshire cat. Bluehue sad sickness is the largest global airborne infection we all have to worry about!

Many Summers later, Debt and debt collectors are equal hell,
I'm home and showering off the society sweat and mutual bruises of some mundane corporate copy job where I copy and jab and jib and bob my head outta the sea of slate jaws and somber smiles. Everything has become a bore! The year is 2045 I'm growing gray and I feel like it, the world feels like it, too. Why did I let go of the poems? The rebel heroes in the 1960s who fought off nuclear holocaust with rhyme and meter?
We could really use that now!
Whatever happened to the soul of India budding in my veins and making me stiff with insatiable wanderlust? My prescription needs to be renewed and my passport expired two years ago. Nobody but the dead travel anymore and they aren't getting to their destination by plane. Those greenhouse gases really ****** us for good! All the aircrafts are now modern art and all my dreams are hidden in hypothetical fallout shelters crossing their fingers they survive before the generators power down on them.

Those past inspired goals faint and lifeless carried by anchors to underwater trenches. Back when my hair was down and long. Dandelions were polished in rainwater outside Vietnam Hostels encased in zipper basket backpacks on stock with incense,  teardrop ecstasy stains and cantinas filled on liquid dharma platinum with the zen seal bottlecap. Well off they go! hearts of an aspiring mahasattva sticking to the back ends of sticker stapled scooters gliding
down to the outdoor booths in Saigon.
As was expected, even the scooters were left to fizzle away in the cyclic guyas once all oil tapped out when I was 37.

Sedative Queens have tightened their authority on all of us and I'm sleepy in the wholes of days where thoughts barely catch wind off the finish line. Nobody is a firecracker anymore. Radios no longer work in closets!
I heard they used to. Radios worked anywhere.
All sound is dead. The angry ghost of an eighteen year old watches out his  kitchen window observing the approaching storm and listening to The Velvet Underground feeling like the world is gonna conflegrate to rock & rubble from the creamy ******* skies ready to drown us out.

Hepcat hideous mangled in gradual oppression diseases!
***** teen hormoned out of homosexuality, I thought we'd gotten past that ignorant belief!
Animal axed in syringe oblivion muscles tense then loose, consciousness BLANK.
Ozone overdosed on air miles and morning commutes, they said it would never happen!
Happiness hung on air, we've been told that our experiences depend on how we choose to perceive them, so maybe all this worldly wack has been my fault!
Dragons exist behind snowy beards contrast to a blood red tie sitting up on Senate! Why'd we been told they're make belief? They're burning everything down!

It feels like Summer no matter what season it is these days. Those Alaskans sure work a good tan!

All in all, years are mixing into decades like tasteless stew,

And we're running low on bowls.

The coppery screeches of metal against metalorange dust floats down from the hingesrain pitter patters on the silvery paintof the old chain link fence.Breezes float in and out of the wirey criss-crosses.The sky is lavender.Cement holds the posts in place,the fence is leaning to the left.a frisbee and toy airplaneare amongst the litter on the front yard.As no one dares to cross the gate.At night, the lights of the other houses on the streetare lit. Except for this one.Dead branches shake against the windows and the gate screeches slowly.Rotting wood falls off the house.Lightning strikes and fire sparks.Slowly the house is burned.the fence leans to the left.1/28/10

The old man with no luggage
wears a pilling houndstooth jacket
and suede fedora with a
leather strap and horse-bit buckle.
Stark seams line his trousers.

He has:

Wirey gray hair, calloused wrists,
a popped blood vessel neath his thumbnail,
and deep crevices in his palms.
He folds his boarding pass into a kite,
as he looks into the sun
through the tiny cube of a window.

He sees:

The geometric shadows
cast in early afternoon.
And skyscrapers.
They cut through the sprawling
grid like an artery.

Sit with yourself and wonder
at the musings of the heart
soft tom-tom patterns
fluctuating
in the wirey veins of vessels.
Contracted tightly
at the seminal moment
of things undone.
Breathe breathe breathe
You are here
unkempt knots
loosed down your shoulders
rising with the tide.
Lay within the beach
dig deep into the sands.
In this scene
lost parables
and crustaceous creeds sinking,
stay that way.
Speckled grains
formless and void,
to be shaped
lined and caked
do these hands dare?

             Anwar Francis

there's an animal outisde
he doesnt know his name
he doesnt give a ****
he walks around town with that cool kid swagga step
drop in the hip, lean with it

he carries that aire of
i've been there
or ill be there

smoking on that camel, cigarette

he smells of cigarettes too
and perfume too

wirey thinned stragely stuff covers his face
but he's got that clean cut
and theres dirt on his shoes even though they cost
that fat dime,
more like a quarter.

but he's an animal no doubt
doesnt know his name
doesnt give a ****

farther reaches
long speeches
endless capacity inside your head
further you fall the higher you get
it will only be a matter of time
before it reaches you

how long would it take to end it all

have you seen the snow tops in colorado
try to imagine the river of passion within
have you ever got lost in an english garden
where have you been

hide and seek
nothing has fallen out of reach
you just don't know how to lean
there is hope inside that body
but the light is dim

raging on toxians
coping a feel
although the visions through your eyes
are opaque
your body is an etch a sketch of scars
the red ribbion tied in your hair
a reminder
that something once did exist
but it has been long since it resided here

farther reaches
larger objectives to obtain
tiny body
wirey frame
a lion heart
freed from a cage
hollow eyes
of sorrow
why dream of tomorrow?

snare is sprung
flesh from the forrest fruit
the humming drum
         of its fright
an untamed meat
          struggles like the life
wirey noose tightly
wrist hook and thumb
ridden to bone
energy shrugged
        in fits of the struggle
defeat
     and then the meat
        is untenanted

he/she/they
sits quietly
in front of hour glass
grains of sand in tempered sand
a cosmic distortion wakes them
from his/her/their trance
a wirey-haired dog
a cat just the same
speaks to them
a question is raised:
what else speaks
so eagerly, when i listen?

You sow that seed
                Hands so tired, they bleed
               Wraught iron, black coal
               Freedom last, like pure gold
               My young, my youth, all gone
               Wisdom teeth, break new,
                All because God knew
                It was time for me to grow
Up in this world, limited flow
Call shots, make my own
Giving birth, sowing a seed
Times two, to let them see
Me in one and the other in me
Casting jewels upon the great sea
Open doors, closed eyes, braiding her
Hair between my thighs
Hot days, long nights, fan me cool
Sweet jazz lullabies
Craftiness catch a bliss, new dreams
Hit or miss
Weight up, walking the town, giving inches of my emotional crown
Full, tired, ready to quit, old mother
Wisdom provides mother's wit
Advice and guidance, like the wolves
Leading the pack, her firmness in words destroyed distractions during attacks
Played out, not true, I am only 22
Lived hard, liquored down with
Bad choices, ****** the sweetness from my voice
Now it's firm, hard, no sway
Like my body, no room to play
Times have changed, my life too
Can't imagine it without my two
Still jewels in my eyes, but now I
See more than just their lives
I see my own, hard and tried
Too many tears, so many goodbyes
Fears of the worst, nightmare scares
It's all too much for my wirey gray hairs
Simple, and complete I sowed my seed

I long to look
Into your beautiful f'ing eyes
Like staring into the earth
And the sun
Simultaneously
I long to run
My fingers through your hair
Is it soft
Or wirey
I long to trace
Your jawline with my fingers
Already memorized every feature
You're beautiful
How lucky you are
Not to be chained to me
As I am to you
But then again
If you were
My dreams would come true

theory plays itself out
from a distance
a tree walks
towards me
brim flicked
exhausted
          grinning
                  smoking
within inch of meeting
he has been flying and

my pink skirt skips
a beat to meet him
flame-like
swirl-like
matches
ti leaf twists

I drink sap
acrid and sweet
take small bites
leave marks
to match scars
carved into bark
and shining shoulder

where his fragility shelters
in my airborne hemline
anchors fabric down
to fragrant ground of

wirey connections
bearded chin grooves
soulpatch blonde tinged
in glowing moonlight
i press my cheek to his
welcome him home



what the fish thinks...

she hasnt swum so deep in centuries
philosophies of gills glittering
wander starlike flowerlike
through autumn

spring has come
rejuvenates dead
coral gardens

"it's real..." she quivers
gills gasp and expand
oxygen through
her silver body
dapple-lit
she wonders
calmly

and, if a fish could breathe
in Essex salts and Polish skin
she would breathe him in
absorb him in ways
she never thought
she needed



Continuing...

i haven't had a visit from someone
quite like this

sure i've had family and friends
kid sleepovers and barbeques
potlucks and gatherings
bearing gifts and pupus

but this
this is different
this is a visit from a friend
with intention

no  "how are you(s)"
we past that long ago
no  “Are you hungry”
we already know we are
starving

just silent query of
edge smiling study
accompanied by a shake of head
equivalent to tail wagging
and, ohhh, how i like that

i liken it to a yellow vase
watching seven rocks
eclipsed by a morning

seven sunsets
digit multiples

© on Nov 16 2023 09:42 PM PST, Epsileta Wolonskaya

p.s. if it were truly copyrighted...
"©"... you wouldn't or shouldn't be able
to simply ctrl+c and then ctrl+p
from page to page...
html code would require you to retype it...
you couldn't control and paste it...
if it were truly copyrighted...
that's how the meaning of html and law
should be understood...

    yours sincerely, a Kierkegaard Bachelor.