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A guy and his gal were abed,
when she looked over at him and said,
"The way your ***** is bent
is my only lament."
So sideways they did it instead.
© 2012  J.J.W. Coyle
 Feb 2016 Xan Abyss
Mara Siegel
white sheets in a strange room
dim lights, bright eyes.
i love it when you **** me, i love it when you're inside of me.
 Feb 2016 Xan Abyss
Koggeki
Fiery
Furies,
Lapping
At the base
Of the door.

Whisper
Cloyingly sweet,
"Let me in..."

OH!!
If only
To rapture.
Dizzy, the rush
of thoughts incapacitate
synapses firing, neurons
    throttled, a crescendo
    of dendrites branching

Experience roots
inwardly, tearing the humus
           of pregnant dreams, scratching to see
                               the blood beneath the scab.

     The greater the itch, the greater
        the disturbance of sleep,
            bound by a tangle of vines,
            deafened by the cobbling-together
                of thrushspeak, the cry of clouds
                contorting into unthinkable
                     and suggestive shapes        

   Bleary-eyed, the lost wages
   of sleep gambled away
   on a ticking clock.
A solid center presages
two generous edges
to shoulder the weight
of the curve: the bow
relinquishes tension
to the anchors of the
taut bow-string.

The wayfaring archer
tends to the curve,
notches the arrow,
selects the target,
gauges the wind,
surrenders --

Riding like an arrow on the wind,      
sure to find its mark in Breath,      
and the end of Breath it portends.
      

A reveler
abiding the flirt
of angle and arc,
finite and eternal,
arbiter of the holy
moment, the dance
linking death with life;

So unbearably
near the horizons,
desire yields its grip
to the coaxing
womb of the curve: tension
sighs into the space
between arrow-head
and its mark.

And in the transmission of feeling      
is the spirit of Life,      
clinging - so gently - to free itself      
of its own burdens.
      

A sudden violence
voids archer and stag:
Continuity rushes forth
to meet the sacrifice.
The heart of the bow
resumes its tension.

And the curve
evaporates,
all but a trick
of Timing.
Mathematically inspired.

Italicized portions are from "Memory Is A Prison" (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/557707/memory-is-a-prison/), a work of automatic writing the meaning of which is further illustrated here.
Unfolding into itself, inviolable
in prosaic self-*******,
a boundless repertoire
of shape yearns forth surreptitiously
from inscrutable amniotes to claim
time as its own:

  Here a thicket
  of sycamores, there a baldaquin
    of pinnate branches, yonder
      a periphery of marigolds, below
        a cacophony of hyraxes, above
    the corpuscle of a lynx, the mid-flight
   jink of a darting swift and moribund
  crawl of a mollusk;

     Hymenoptera coaxing
     their haploid broods into teeming
     life as a cell of the swarm
         and viviparous apes cajoling
         suckling chimerae at the fathomless
         fountainhead of a rosy breast;

       Higher still,
       Cirrus cephalopods traversing
       the trench of sky, dandelions
       hitch-hiking the drift of a barren plains'
       wavering hum on cockchafers'
       forewings and a turbine's
       bombinating pulse, the chattering
       of roots ravenous for depth --

Jittering bangtails the hallowed echoes
of lascivious manes --

   inchoate sprout-hood the daedal
   nonage of towering evergreens --

      the plaintive shrift of elegiac
      redbreasts a goad to silent elation --

A likeness unlike
     (vocabularies of vertiginous blinds)
          (the eyes of ignorance closing)
             (the mouth of the mystery)
                that spurns the truth of tongues

                     is nature naturing.
A somewhat uncharacteristic display of vocabulary. Rather than ostentation, my intent here was to convey the scope of nature in vivid but elusive prose.

Proteus, ever changing to remain fundamentally himself, perfectly embodies nature's unity-in-multiplicity. He evinces a dynamic view of nature espoused by Goethe, and in authentic Platonic thinking. Essentially, the entire web of life is a single organism, and each discrete life but a cell therein.

"Nature naturing" (*natura naturata*) is commonly known as "Spinoza's God".
 Feb 2016 Xan Abyss
Bianca Reyes
It kills me to think of your innocence
In how you loved everything
In your belief that everyone was good
Then I barged into your life
Ruined you in ways unimaginable
I swear I loved you but I couldn't show it
I tried to tell you I was broken
But this pride wouldn't allow me

I can't apologize and I can't console you
I restrain myself from trying to see you
You'll move on and everything will be okay
The memory of me will be nothing more
Then a blemish on your perfect skin
My perfume will no longer intoxicate you
It'll blend with your scent and attract everyone
You'll find someone deserving of your love

I will cover every part of my body in shame
Hiding the scars left by your loving touch
Strands of my hair that twirled on your finger
Grey every day losing their pigment
I can smell you everywhere I go
Like a stain that set and cannot be removed
Your whispers of promises and happiness
Are now haunting voices driving me insane

I'll continue to be made of rotting material
With a memory of love I never deserved
You'll be this glorious human being
Who realized never to settle for the worst
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