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4 67%
Voters: 6.
Vote for the best PAIR of poems.

I Can Take A Hint

I'd sworn off of cigarettes,
after watching the flesh of filthy fingers
tap their way through Fibonacci.
I'd kissed the lips of such an addict,
spat tar and social intellect for days.
I'd fallen in love with a pickett fence smile,
only to find that the grass
had been greener on the other side.
I'd descended from a smoke ring,
with no choice but to breathe it in.
I'd given nothing other than a new meaning
to the word devotion.
Until finally I shuffled through a deck of cards,
and sat there envying the king of hearts.
I bet that he doesn't hurt anymore.

As The Clouds Come Marching In

Inhale to taste the rot,
and tap your veins to the rhythm of joy
like a fiend for a smile
that charms and destroys.

Cerebral plates begin to shift,
causing category eights underneath bone.
Only now do you think to yourself,
“Is the escape possible?”

Now impending disasters call out hurricanes
to a crying wind,
lock you in,
preparing you for a bumpy ride
through hell and high tides
the last thing you need to worry about is escape.

For we all have been there,
maybe just not as deep as you are.
Reaching depths where
the pressure of a helping hand
is enough to invert pupils,
cracking the surface of degradation.

You climb to the top,
a safety harness above
that acts as Jesus
turning water into crystalline redemption
while you become drunk
with the stumbling thoughts of a second chance.

Like looking through a Prometheus ball
of comfort and wonderment
dragging you closer to home,
closer to self.

But as the aftershocks cease,
allowing thoughts to rebuild,
taint self-proclaims tyranny
over your will;
sending you back to the flood
where you’ll be better off drowning.

"Theresa Falls Up The Stairs, Theresa Falls Down the Stairs."

I have been writing of late
.....reading, righting
tell me, you hellbent piety
when Christ did equate with X.
mas, mas,
menos es mas:
round men and chimneys
.....light 'em up! Chew the fat!
Plaths and Paths
less traveled, still raveled,
in belt buckle bruisings and sirenless cruisings.
Oh, disgusting muse!
your tongue in my
eyes: soundless sights soft as skies, color
me surprised
--the blue, that is, of airless faces.

Dear Diary: Nametags on bombs.
Nailed wristankles, hung out to dye.
Now that's a ****ing stocking stuffer.

"Black Magic"

as Jim D. Atkinson darkly hummed,
a violin case’s echo clicked;
the music that shotgun shells now numbed
turned cold to beat the floor like bricks;

a violin case’s echo clicked,
eyes skyward, trigger strummed;
turned cold to beat the floor like bricks,
the usher’s arms crossed and drummed,

eyes skyward, trigger strummed;
children’s voices frozen, reverberation thick,
the usher’s arms crossed and drummed;
inhuman shadows made by a single chalice wick

children’s voices frozen, reverberation thick;
hymnals dim and thumbed,
inhuman shadows made by a single chalice wick;
“God give us courage” universally gummed,

hymnals dim and thumbed
the music that shotgun shells numbed
“God give us courage” universally gummed
as Jim D. Atkinson darkly hummed
as Jim D. Atkinson darkly hummed.