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Vote for the best PAIR of poems.

I made all this up. Tee-hee. Teehee.

Three days ago
A girl rode in the elevator with me,
Her name was Megan.
She had just got back from playing
At Carnagie hall.
She was a prodigy,
I could see the magic in her hands.
I looked at her face.

I blinked, I wrung my hands together,
And all I wanted to shake her young veins
Until love poured out of her like a stream of blood,
And all I wanted was to slip my hand through her hair,
And whisper, and call her my beautiful
New York Angel. And
All I wanted was to touch her so softly that she’d start crying.
And all I wanted to do was say a thousand things
All at once, that would make her smile, get rid of the
dark rings under her eyes, straighten her hair,
and unbutton that red vest that was constricting her lungs.
I closed my eyes.

Time passed like a stream of blood,
She kissed my cheek
With such a terrifying desperation.
My eyes locked open.
She whispered something drunk in my ear
And her lips slipped on her way to my lips. And she started crying.
And she held me right there in between the elevator and something else,
Keeping me safe,
From the thought we were both so suddenly okay with.


The Two of Us

That time of night, and that last quarter of the month
when the moon looks like a nibbled apple
we walked back,

You and I, together - only in step - and sobriety
(of which was lacking) .
Some people thought there was more to us
than just being friends.

Taxi man dropped us two streets down
after I asked him twice.
I walked on the left, as usual,
allowing you to lean and sometimes
fall

but I’m big enough to keep you up
and your small enough to laugh and thank me.

It’s never that much different from
the last time we went out - not together
- the walk is always the same; predictable,
but the excess of alcohol in our blood
does give a certain edge.



To Read Aloud for Anne

The conduit of my design,
the sight of my third eye,
i don't respond to all the silence,
it makes me see the light.
The wind, it smiles,
passing gently,
thru every strand of her hair.
i cloak my envy, in times like these,
with benevolence so impaired.

The gift of re-occurring love,
these virgin thoughts aloof...
i've slipped into the gap again,
severing all my roots.
The sea is fierce,
but nudging gently,
when she decides to swim;
i murdered envy in sovereign silence,
and now without a friend.

A tethered sense to shifty feet,
with balance so adrift;
concurring all this aftershock,
a balance? What a myth!
The stupor shows,
connecting gently,
from her deep eyes to mine;
a glass of envy that was half empty,
will never be my wine.


Anne - "What was that? Sorry, I had the T.V. on, babe.."

Me - "Just something...I don't know. If anger is red, and envy is green; what color is jealousy?"

Anne - "..."


A Charge In the Right Direction

She breathes monotony
through harped lungs,
and whispers through harpooning lips.
She curses with a harbinger's tongue
and cures with a harlequin kiss.
Har-har-hardy-har,
she's a teratoma taking heart,
littering Sunset Boulevard with lisps
and broken sentences.
She breathes monotony.
She is a cornerstore democracy.
A failed attempt at shedding skin
A false sense of accomplishment.
She breathes... and I wait for it to stop.
Monotony... I wait for it to stop.
I would never wish it upon anyone.
At least not a girl. At least not again.
She's the exoskeleton of a former friend.
I would never call her family,
or even very fascinating.
Last edited by bassbeat77 at Jun 18, 2008,