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Old 01-15-2014, 04:06 PM   #341
do I "urk" you?
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Location: Ireland

we always said we’d go down in flames, didn't we Hil?
Written by: #1 synth

there were nights we lit candles
and sent them down the willamette river in brown porcelain boats

there were days we skipped rocks
into the mouth of the atlantic ocean
and bit our tongues until they bled

there were years we scrapped the barnacles off our hulls
with whiskey bottle shards
and cut our hair short
with the safety clasp stomped off our scissors

but there were also moments
in the dark
when your cold heel
brushed my calf
and God whispered
some song unintelligible
that soothed the wind
battering the aluminum siding

that broke our hearts open on the rocks
long enough
to light the candles
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Old 01-22-2014, 10:50 AM   #342
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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The empty moon
Written by: Eccer

The empty moon was floating
without a world
and the people dancing


And we were two, just you and I
Thus the void corresponding
with your presence, something you said..

"as if communicating, transmitting thoughts
I know you by mere gestures"

And there it was
That empty expression
foraging between
its space...

There's something eerie and overwhelming
when I walk alone with you

yor tapestry looming
ever so still
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Old 01-30-2014, 10:14 PM   #343
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Otherwise and Elsewhere, Soon
Written by: jiminizzle

Midnight passes in a car
on I79 Southbound
over each hill, fireworks
puff in the snow
and the city is in a haze
when it appears, the bridges,
the barges, the stadiums half lit
and drowned in smoke—

From above it reminds me
of that night in Altadena,
Los Angeles cast beneath us
like jewelry in some dark golden robbery.
The local high school girls were drinking
under the opposite hoop
while we shot around on our own
after telling them we didn't care
they were drinking, we just wanted to shoot around,
and the city smoldered below, some beautiful vision of hell
where you can dip down to the valley, to your worst self,
and then leave it behind, the desert, the ocean,
a road up the coast, half a day to Mexico—
nobody will stop you from forgetting this entirely.

There are still nights when I think of her,
usually when it's nice out and I have nothing to do.
I trail back to it: the warm air through the window,
the drunk girls skinny dipping off an open coast later that night,
sitting silent, motionless and naked in the back of the van
until the car-full of girls that pulled in beside me
had left and I could finish changing—
It's July, end of
the Santa Monica pier,
a girl asks to slow dance
to some busker's guitar,
to which I say
my parking meter is up
which is true
but stupid,
and I regret it almost immediately
as I fumble over
not quite getting
to the part where
I tell her that she's beautiful,
and it's that I'd embarrass myself—
but I've already done that
and catch myself red-faced and thinking of her
more and more with each step away, alone towards the shore
under screaming rollercoasters
and basketballs heaved in challenges,
overpriced wine and seafood restaurants,
roller-skates and shirtless teenaged summers
I never lived. It's that she had the guts to ask me to dance
in front of all those people just sitting there in that weird amphitheater
below the mexican cocina and the bait and tackle center,
next to all those people standing over the railing hauling fish in—
she asked me to dance next to a guy gutting out a croaker
and I think that's the most romantic thing anyone's ever asked me to do,
but my love life isn't worth mentioning,
so I find the path back up to the van and put a few bucks in
and get back to looking for ways to kill time.
I lose a game of chess on purpose at a chess park,
I didn't let him win or something; I just never expected to have a chance,
I don't play chess. I'm just waiting for someone to come along and clean me out,
behind some swaying palm tree, in some stiff coastal bushes before the moon comes up
over the cliffs and over the city, and I end up wandering the cold sand beaches below it all,
just trying to make it obvious I'm not trouble when people notice
the lone guy coming towards them from the other direction;
they swing wide towards the Promenade because maybe I still look like trouble,
so I turn to the sea—we all look out to the ocean sometimes, see the water rising and falling—
that's all it ever does, vapor and rain. Somewhere in the distance there are storm clouds,
but tonight it is hard to tell the difference between two things;
I have a phone but no good phone numbers
while the windows and patios fill up with conversations that aren't worth having,
and I am him tonight, I would be at the bar staring at the beer menu,
my empty phone, the bathroom 3 times before finishing a drink.
I would be leaving, looking at all the girls I wouldn't
go talk to like it was up to them and not me. I feel full of myself in a sickening way
like I ate too much. One thing I am afraid of is getting used to this.
It would be hard to convince me this is an atypical day, but then
why am I the only one among all these beautiful buildings and people
to not have anywhere to go that doesn't feel strange to go alone,
or do I only notice the groups and the pairs, and then in between
there're all these dogged determined people in shoes that look like murder,
people that I have no desire to know, only to be near.
But these things pass with time; I try to remember what she looks like—
it's not been long. But I can’t picture her—I remember my shoes,
the people around us, and in the middle of it all there was one thing worth seeing, that
had entered my life at its least glamorous and saw dancing, so to me she must have looked like the desert
or the water, or the 1 North, or the fence at the Mexican border, and staring it down
I went back to Los Angeles, less hellish and far less beautiful from down here,
and picked up a friend from his dinner party in K-Town. We head back up to the hills,
to the park in Altadena, and after some basketball the day ends upstairs in a garage beside an avocado tree,
and midnight passes, and otherwise and elsewhere, soon even the music slips from view—
you are in a familiar place, and maybe all familiar places feel the same:
hey, I think you're really pretty, will you walk with me
to my parking meter? it’s up. your friend can come if she wants to
but it's January now, there is no meter, no pier,
no face comes to mind, there is nobody left to talk to.
This is the first time you are alone for this holiday; put it alongside your last birthday.
Your car is up the road on Grandview, you will never see her again,
you hardly believe what you've told yourself has happened.
It's snowing, you have things to do.
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Old 02-12-2014, 11:05 PM   #344
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Written by: doubtfulsalmon

the cliff -overhung-
ageing lips to granite
alien landmass,

america, many months
wide, thrice overweighed

thrice, etched in
earthquake laughs

like a tor shadow, cobbled from
eye contact, a conversation in DPM
that melded into the rockies, a
con glom erate:

a cairn.
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Old 02-20-2014, 10:58 AM   #345
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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the jokes
Written by: 5wFisher

the jokes are on me
have a drink while i rethink
my position

i'm up to my neck in politics
lunatics lick their lips
thinking i'll back down
into submission

but there's no quit in me
i feel like society
has it all figured out
for the heavyweight bouts
to fight while i linger
in the crowds
and that's fine by me
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Old 02-28-2014, 09:37 PM   #346
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the flowers' debts
Written by: Dregen

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Old 03-06-2014, 08:07 PM   #347
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soft dances; skeleton shoes and the neuromechanics of depression
Written by: Dæmönika

They waltzed between trees
and by slow-flowing burns,
twisting with the winds fine contours.
Their hair flicked and bobbed
with the stumbling footfalls
of amateurs enjoying themselves.

Then a crackle of a twig
made by nothing incarnate,
and the trees drooped and withered,
the burn emptied of water
and the wind whimpered and died.
They looked into each others eyes
as the moon sank into oblivion
and kissed their final breaths.

One whispered voice to another voiceless, said
Are we alone?

The voiceless responded,
just silence and all its manifestations.
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Old 03-12-2014, 09:15 PM   #348
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Written by: #1 synth

If it is at all possible to jump the icebergs in the Hudson,
One bank to another,
Then one day I would like to try
To skip my bones like a smooth stone
Into a blood stream.
And when I fall into the water, I hope the moon pulls
Away the river like a tucked linen sheet
And leaves my heaven breathless in my throat,
Like a chipped gravestone that cries out its namesake
And over again
Until the earth fractures its jaw
And unhinges its axis
Long enough for us to see the stars.
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Old 03-26-2014, 10:35 AM   #349
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i want to be like kafka.
Written by: doubtfulsalmon

ugly wind.

sky is germanic
and my white skin stinks of kafka

the tree trunks, the birds -ch
-tz and -ö

my syllables are pinched
my legs are disgusting twigs
that flickle like a dead daddy
long legs, a fingerbone pylon under the weight of snow with pine

a time lapse of swiss army knives that sprung metallically
kalashnikovs in ukraine.
riotous teeth, like ukraine,
pointed to a penknife tip that is resinous and rusty like
a stringy kalashnikov in ukraine

there is no self obsession in this weather| i can't maintain my health

and my lips crack|my six jointed necks crack|my ear drums crack| i am a

beetle that waited eighteen years to roll off it's back|i am not vain|i

am not vein|i am not vein.
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Old 03-28-2014, 12:56 PM   #350
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chaotic lullabies
Written by: alaskan_ninja

i was a spider,
crawling through trees and frightening children
and weaving nets to trap the little flying bugs and angels
and at night i would feed and worship the moon
with blood sacrifice, and i would hum and call out
to you

you were a water moccasin, and your venom
outpaced mine by factors of millions
and in the rain-specked forests people trod in fear of you
and they caught you with forked sticks and tore your neck in twain
i would mourn for i could do nothing else

the earth was a house built from fallen logs
and the foundations shuddered as we made our repose
in damp shadows, where my old haunts built up into sticky clouds
and crumbled to dust
and you would devour me and bite the small creatures that crawled in
and they lay and twitched as they died

the soul was a fish in a river of darkness
and in that glittering, flowing milky way it devoured stars and
sent planets careening off into the void
at its center laid a secret i could not bear to weave
and so i bound up my eyes and lay in a crook of branch
and you slithered on so stealthily
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Old 04-07-2014, 08:15 AM   #351
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It's Your Fault For Coming Over
Written by: Jammydude44

behold the eyes, they're smitten behind
the smouldering stare
the stare she's got there
until the tide takes over her tongue
she's folding her smile
scolding her thumbs

perturbed, her lips bow downwards to grip
her brow keeps descending
she's gonna ad-lib
in front of her eyes the shells become shocked
she's bitterly beating
us up with her looks

she snaps the evening
into two

oh why did you wake us up?
why did you wake us up?
if you were only gonna throw me the sodding book
why did you wake us up?

the truth's in her hands, hidden from view
she's outwardly putting
the point into view
mascara is running and her cheeks are in bloom
the music gets niche
and we're left alone in the room

she snaps the evening
in two

oh why did you wake us up?
why did you wake us up?
if you were only gonna throw me the sodding book
why did you wake us up?

we were just sitting over there
problematising the come-on
when you turned heads
and then you said what sounded like...

she snaps the evening
she snaps the evening
she snaps the evening
she snaps the evening
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Old 04-14-2014, 08:41 AM   #352
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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When God's People Hit the Road
Written by: #1 synth

We migrate over the face of chaos
Where Adidas melt to pack-rat dens.
We crawl like wraiths
Through candles spray-painted on the border wall.

High noon
Light burns through the prison slats.
Our shackles chafe until our wrists rupture
Oceans of black sky bursting with constellations.

We sleep in Guadalupe’s womb
The nights our mother dies
And we are told it is illegal for us to pray at her grave.

Our skin is restless cracked clay.
Our bones dance like tanagers
Waiting for rain.

We have been waiting a long time.
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Old 04-16-2014, 06:01 AM   #353
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Elsa in the Spring time
Written by: rushmore

All the powder pristine peninsulas, so soft in
snow and wet in toe, all the minds in heavy

And when we talk we really talk and there's
no impediment to the beauteous

I can never be elsewhere, your absence is,
Elsa, everywhere

Near the ssea (near mme),
near my ttongue so I can only

All this born of vernal wood;
I feel flower bed
I feel better when
I feel flotsam
I feel geranium!

It is wonderful to be wonderful,
when tea is endless &
you feel vast.
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Old Yesterday, 08:36 PM   #354
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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batman forever
Written by: alaskan_ninja

i was back-broken and faceless
in sprawled cities, drunk on disaffection
and high on fake promises
and faded like the future grown into cracks
between the old pavement and the sky

in gutters new creatures evolve, scurrying
through shadows and never seen except by the hopeless,
as they sit against apartment buildings and flick cigarette ash
at the stars
and pretend it is snow

i hang up my cloak and mask and fall to restless sleep at dawn
and the night terrors come like they always do, more powerful
the longer i put them off, though i forget that in moments
busses scream as regular people tease me
with their routines; i long for those uniforms,
cheap suits or paper hats, coveralls stained and stinking
but all i have is the camouflage of the night
and the night creatures

i will choke down fast food and walk the streets,
trying to find patterns in the burnt-out streetlights
and the wheeze of furnaces in the night, coughing steam
that gives birth to fog, like the fog in my head, like the smoke in my eyes
things roll on
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