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Posts Tagged ‘words’

Love Me Syndrome

Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy

Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.

Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,

His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,

Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.

 

The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away

A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,

But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.

Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome

Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.

 

The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,

Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.

She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.

A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,

My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.

 

A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.

The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,

But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,

They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.

Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?

 

From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,

Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.

They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s

Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.

 

That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.

Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.

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By Fate
Roundly hollowed out by fate,
Between the dangling tresses of trees,
A pure light beams down,
Revealing floating dust specs
In still air,
And your attention.
To you, it means more than you know.
So you snap a photograph to study later.

My feet meander and compress the fuzzy grass of a park,
As my thoughts run ahead like children.
Ahead-
A slender tree with long, parted hair pulls me from a directionless path
To sit on its naked root for a while.
I lean back on its trunk and look up.
Warming my nose, a pure light beams down
Between the dangling tresses of the tree.
And all feels right. To me, it means more than I understand.

So I snap a photograph to study later.

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A faith in friends tumbles on like the urge in cannibals,
Wrapped up inside the bandages that sap the color from the jowls.
Around the bend, we’ll always find them,
You can’t live with them, and you can’t grow a flower without its stem.

Where do we pick up the eggs of each day to juggle, toss, to eat?
Shall we embarrass our mayor, smoke crack, but be discreet?
Or wait at the mall, school steps, the army barracks for excitement to happen?
Are you the one that starts the war, orders, and lights the dynamite, captain?

I wonder, what we’ll make of all this,
When the sun has cycled so many times,
My mind crumbles, letting in less hits the more I miss.
And the friends I once had, fall apart like broken nursery rhymes.

Will I still be hungry like the cannibal,
Or will the bandages grow part of me,
And the inner animal,
Dies inside and hardens into the mummy?

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What is paler than the moon’s glazed glow?

Its reflection.

 

They call it a desert, because it wants to be left alone,

But I ignore the angry sun and make myself at home.

I enjoy nothing here, but a few yuccas over there,

While I dig for water with a buffalo’s white shoulder bone.

 

I ride on a dead man’s horse,

Towards the black hazy heart in the sand,

Most who try to find it, will never understand,

You have to be raised like it to ask of such demand.

A dry way to survive, beats living in the city,

The ones that want to be left alone, gain the pleasure to do as they please,

Laws are fine as the grains I tread upon,

No one sees nothing, so no one sees me.

 

I ride on a dead man’s horse,

Heading Southwest Ajo,

Running away is my only course,

Fleeing is all i know.

 

Fill my bags with your belongings, and ride away the night.

And once I find the blackened heart in the pale reflection of the well,

I’ll finally begin to see the light.

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The Photographer

I can ease your pain,

Let me undress your frilly shell.

I can take your picture,

Hang it on my refrigerator,

With one of those magnet wooden clothespins.

So I can wake up everyday.


I want you to come alive,

To wake up yourself,

Into the sandy wrinkled sheets of an island,

You and I, to let your straps peel where the sun shies.

Reveal & relive,

I’m here to capture your intoned essence,

With or without the help of coconut bikinis.

I am scratching metal for something beautiful,

Something to replace the picture I have in my mind.

In fact, I’m hoping I can transfer it out,

So I can hold that picture,

And melt it into something recycled, but new.

I am the photographer,

With blazing pains,

But behind the lens.

Here, I am supposedly cool, Easing your own pains.

Sometimes I want to hand the camera to you,

And pose for myself,

Let the animal work its way out.

Take the picture,

Clip it to my refrigerator

Next to yours,

So we can call each other

Such wild things.

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