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Old 12-13-2012, 01:05 PM View Post #11 (Link)
Squint (Offline)
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Lilies mean I dare you to love me.

When you slipped out of your white dress, I saw a pool of petals around your ankles. You kicked them with a smile. It must have been cold, because you walked into my arms and whispered "Color me".

And I did. With kisses that came and went, a flash-flood of hands over your skin. With the scent of wild summer nights that we spent chasing our paper boats along the stream.

We tripped over fallen logs who must have been lovers who had forgotten to breathe, because beauty is a drug and love is just as poisonous as ozone. I wound my toes around yours, and we lay on rosebushes. I watched you stitch your fingers into mine, and to color the thread of thorns, I chewed the inside of my cheek.

By the end of summer, you were turning purple and I had already gone gray.
Lilies mean I dare you to love me. Which flowers will dare you to stay?
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Old 12-15-2012, 02:20 AM View Post #12 (Link)
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Flowers in the morning. Poetry or a cup of tea by noon. There are long black cats narrowly escaping headlights everywhere I look but can't see. I know of their conspiracy but no one who lives here believes in caring who stalks the night.
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Old 12-15-2012, 06:17 PM View Post #13 (Link)
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One of the poems I wrote for the biweekly poetry contest. meh.


outside my window i extend a hand against the dead leaves that clung on bushes, as the autumn wind blows out the cigarette in my other hand. it was on wednesdays when i see myself stroll along the length of the playground continually, on all four seasons, identically, as if the habitual momentum in itself was absolute.

i see myself every tuesday wearing red and sat besides a different man every week, that put his hand on my lap, as i glanced at him, and then walk in front of him, as if we were strangers, amidst the eyes of gossiping mothers, with their fat fingers covering their mouth close beside the ear of the other, who leaned over to the next one similarly like a slippery slope, their children sliding on sand. i forgot how it was to play, or to do anything that existed before carnal needs turned me into a businessman.

I look around my room.

outside my window i see myself as a kid hit by a bus. the proverbial crowd gathers around, each one in a pantomime of emotions and sub-emotions, but I have the best view outside my window; I hover over the crowd with my crippled limbs and child-like eyes. it will take a few wednesdays before mothers can resume their constant clamouring.
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Old 12-16-2012, 02:45 AM View Post #14 (Link)
Jack (Offline)
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she's got skin the colour of malt whisky eyes as big as seashells a heart like molasses but she's leathering in the coca-cola blackness of a taxi-cab lost-soul dive bar. i want this to last forever but know everything is as quick as the universe.
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						Last edited by Jack; 12-16-2012 at 02:50 AM.
					
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Old 12-16-2012, 05:10 AM View Post #15 (Link)
Jack (Offline)
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sometimes she lies like the sphinx
she’s in from the cold acting like the wind wouldn’t weather her
on wednesdays she’s home early rocking like rainman
slipping on comfortable pants
the ones that look too much like a dull day sky

she told me when her mother died
she’d lie awake every night just dreaming
wishing to ride those plates
through the living room into her fathers skull
with her eyes wide as seashells and full of the same whispers
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Old 12-16-2012, 04:53 PM View Post #16 (Link)
Sachal (Offline)
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i don't think Death wanted her as much as i

(but i thought the pair should embrace.

I didn't think of her beyond the prospect of her. While she wrung her hair I thought of grinning suns and golden apples and which would be the sweetest to say. When I thought of 'say' I thought of the sky seething with sleet, of my open jaw and falling teeth. I didn't think of death as a gift wrap to god of eighty odd years, or as me the flea flitting between her gaze's feet.

I never thought of arranged marriage as knife and spoon spitting at each other wrinkles to wear. Worn typography, unfastened at the bottom and spiraling into separate strings,
self-loathing lamé.
)
but i think Death knew i never thought at all
  
						Last edited by Sachal; 12-16-2012 at 05:12 PM.
					
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Old 12-19-2012, 05:05 AM View Post #17 (Link)
Jack (Offline)
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the sky is coughing at us tomorrow’s just a lie
and the bed is swallowing swallowing swallowing.
for a gorgial second we share each other as the eaves end.
the carpet caring caresses us
the tiles are jewellery cockroaches
and we are still famous as Friday’s favourite few.
for mad infinity
she is but a dust dancing on the depth of my skin
and we are sharing the universe.
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						Last edited by Jack; 12-20-2012 at 07:58 PM.
					
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Old 12-19-2012, 05:25 AM View Post #18 (Link)
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This morning it snowed just beyond the front lines of the mountains, the ice skidding
over the cliff lip so the top reaches were dusted with white
but the Flatirons were as stoic and drab as ever, like chiseled clay.
At home my mother looks into a sky seething with sleet, throws up her hood, hefts the pickaxe
to open a wound around her potter's wheel: pump the wheel too fast
and it will skid across the ice, your pot flying off
not as a molded vessel but a lump, a root pulled from the rotting bottom of the lake.
I open the wound with mess that is not mess. I know where all my books are.
Beneath a picture of a man standing by a winter lake, or maybe the painting
of a water tower atop of hill of geological formations highlighted in bright folds,
a stack of origami paper about to explode into mountains. I could search
among the stacks for hours. Nothing is ever just how I left it.
My thoughts skid across the glossy surface of Fuji 3x5s like a crow over ice.
There is something cold in my throat that cannot be swallowed, only opened
in that helpless way one opens and closes an origami mouth
or picks at scabbed knuckles cracked by a night making pots on the driveway.
  
						Last edited by Isis; 12-19-2012 at 06:01 AM.
					
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Old 12-19-2012, 11:31 PM View Post #19 (Link)
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When I tell you I love you you don’t inject
but keep quiet and listen until my confession
turns into a speech in which you fall asleep.

Don’t reprimand me, as I mope around through
the pain of rejection, for it is a weakness I share
with fellow devotees in love with you.

Alas, if you do accept me--which contains a very small
statistical probability, I may add--don’t love me
as you love your shakespearean sonnets, for
it’d be I who’d be bored like hell.
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Old 12-20-2012, 02:19 AM View Post #20 (Link)
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i.
When I tell you I love you

you swallow the sky
as your mouth begs the question
whywhywhywhywhy

I just keep breathing.

ii.
When you tell me you love me

I think of the sea
a place where I can drown you
as your lips suffocate me.

The ice-caps are melting.
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						Last edited by Squint; 12-20-2012 at 02:21 AM.
					
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