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Voters: 5.
Vote for the best PAIR of poems.

I don't love you anymore.

There are places I’ll never belong to,
there are streets that just move way too slow for my taste,
trains that slide on the tracks way too fast
but will never be punished for that.
There are people that talk way too dumb
and cafés that serve coffee too hot.

There are days I don’t want to go through,
nights that I can’t fall asleep on, because
I have dreams I just don’t want to live
and a life that I can’t patronize.

There are secrets I don’t want to keep -
but I don’t want to share.

Lets pretend I just did.


We bathed in the backlash of
a single ruptured lung,
her spit a pantheons' fist,
her fist a mnemonic graft -
while she stumbled,
her arms outstretched,
we dodged.
The coughing waned and
her voice broke upon our spines,
as saliently as the rain
beats against our calloused skin.
We coat our hands in lye;
bury them in alchemists’ soil,
and sprout limbs that cannot
handle the synthesis of aging.
We cling to bones
being worn throughout the seasons;
as the bells atop tulip stems
pendulate until they break -
the weight of their existence
a toll many cannot take.

We shroud this land in jaded plooms,
a battalion of bloom -
as defeatist as we are conceited
in our verdant hoards,
her fortified limbs become
the veils that launder light instead.
Our existence is constant,
yet our roots have no backgrounds,
for there's nothing more unnatural
than a mother burying her son.
Her fingers wrap their way around
our embodied boughs and
in a single breath she lifts us
from the dirt and scatters us
to the Earth for yet another year.


I can't help but feel like I missed it.

That moment where a mini-Jesus falls from
the heavens and lands on my right shoulder.
That moment where he looks my in my eyes and exclaims,
"What up, G? Yeah, I know I know... Jesus shouldn't be black.
But I am. Now deal with it."

And then I'll start to ask him why he's here
and he'll pull out a giant axe and cut off my head
but leave my heart beating.
"With no logic, You'll have no trouble believing."

My head hits the ground
and pivots around
eventually stopping to face my own body
and look at the mini-Christ holding a
dogwood axe...

Yeah, I haven't had that moment yet,
because my nose still itches.

Be alone and be Complacent, Take it to the Head and take it to the Face and,

Shit, I think I’ve been thinking
Will my head explode if I’ve fed it too much
Or will it explode as I’ve given enough
I think I’ve been thinking
“Don’t do that,
it’s not good for your self esteem
Don’t do it,
it will make you feel alone, be alone, you wont come out.”
My shell
keeps me warm and its
wombing sensation keeps me calm and
Your eyes don’t shut
and they only do when
you get so tired, in the morning,
so tired in the night; when
There’s only twenty or so hours in a day
But it feels like there’s forty-eight
Carmel, that first piece still really gets me. I'll say I actually adore it, and that's no overstatement or far out compliment. I just love it.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
You think it'll be ok if I edit it in, Jamie? Don't want to overstep in case it'll hurt the poll.

And thanks guys.
This is not a pipe