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a breeze through your hair,
to untangle long term knots,
sunset shine falls across your face,
grass tickles legs,
the brightest stars begin to appear,
they show above branches that line paths away from home.
 Jan 2014 Yam Kaplan
A B Perales
It's better this way.
I'm better off as a
spectator to the
way everyone
else finds happiness.

They dress their
best and pray on
sundays.
I drink in stale
clothes and laugh
out loud in the
open park in
the dead of night.
High and at one
with the
thieving masked  
lords of the night.

Theirs are goals
and mine are troubling
questions that cause them
discomfort.
I try to pull on
the  answers
no one wants
to really
hear,
not even
myself.

They all long for
love and praise.
Heart shaped
chocolate filled
boxes is what
represents their
artificial idea
of love.

I touch not on
this subject.

I chase away my madness
while drunk and too
high to keep up with
my own shadow.

You'll find me in
the darkness if I let
you.

I'll have the pistol in
my pocket, a bottle
in my hand
and this dead
end love on
the mind.
Her lips thrum
like reverb droplets
as I steal
trembling kisses
before the mad dash
out the door
into sun brushed
ruin
 Jan 2014 Yam Kaplan
Tim Knight
Sex
 Jan 2014 Yam Kaplan
Tim Knight
***
Experience true love and proper death
in a single moment lasting longer than the average breath.

Feel every emotion under the fake-tan-sun-lamps
for the price of a walk and the Queen's head upon a stamp.

Talk about conversations you had in corridors with ex-girlfriends
with a clouded look back, blurred by your own camera lens.

Preach your side of the debate, recite Wikipedia pages,
listen and retaliate dangerously with more stolen words.

Holding hands under bedsheets and duvets and borrowed blankets
means absolutely nothing, like rain falling around those dog days.

Hot days and cold days and no days and everydays are the final lap,
finish, breath, throw up bits of sick and leave the stadium lonesome.

Walk away when the light is right
so the rings around your eyes look like jovial creases
instead of broken bits of I didn't last long pieces.
from COFFEESHOPPOEMS.COM
 Jan 2014 Yam Kaplan
Tim Knight
Creased lines in your cancer bed sheets
and red wine spills still remain
from that time you celebrated
your chemotherapy success.

Drug-blue cocktails were swapped
for beers from cans,
needles for straws and hospital-stock-
comfortable-armchairs for the advertised sofa in your part furnished floor.

Friends came with warm welcomes prepared
in the back of taxis coming from the city,
they came in wide eyed staring,
holding wine bottles remembering your once real wig of hair.
from coffeeshoppoems.com
I do not know your tongue
Nor have the time to learn it now.

I will test the depths of
your vindictive vicious vessel.

In the dark places
That hide in the hearts of such men
and the sliding doors of lust
and the vengeance that scars
upon thy face.

You will be forgotten
Like a distant memory
that leaves a bitter taste
and a pungent trail
leading to your lonely doom
in the haunted chasms of your mind
and frozen heart of any room
you enter.

How I mourned for you
The dry tears evaporate
and the delicate flower
that could have so easily bloomed
replaced by prickly thorns
now wrapped in the futures
of your twisted gloom.
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