2973 lines
78 KiB
Plaintext
2973 lines
78 KiB
Plaintext
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ÚÄ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ä¿
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Ûßß ÛßÛ ß Û Û Ûßß ÜÜÛ ß ÛÛÜ Û Ü
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ßßÛ ÛÜÛ Û Û Û Ûß Û Û Û Û Þ ÛÜß
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ÛÛÛ Û ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÛ Û Þ ÛßÛ
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ÀÄ ÄÙ
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Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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ù ÄÄ´ volume twelve ÃÄÄ ù
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*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
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stop plagiarism - let out your soul
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Copyright 12/98
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ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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* All literature presented herein is copyrighted by their respective authors *
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In memory of those who left us much too early:
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Brandon Robert Shaw (1976-1997), Keith Childress (1976-1998),
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and my grandmother, Hao Nguyen (1911-1998)
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þ Table of Contents þ
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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1. A Picture Of You - Ray Heinrich
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2. Amber - Stephen Lush
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3. Anniversary - Twilight
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4. Baby - Stephen Lush
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5. Banquet - Introvert
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6. Block - Twilight
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7. Carousel - Twilight
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8. Climax - Angel Alice
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9. Construct - Stephen Lush
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10. Death Spell For A Departing Lover - Kate Braverman
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11. Delusion Angel - David Jewell
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12. Erotifest - Sweetest Infection
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13. Fightin' Irish - Stephen Lush
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14. Fire - Livid
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15. Fish Out Of Air, Bird Out Of Water - Drucilla B. Blood
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16. Go Home - Twilight
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17. Haiku 01 - Twilight
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18. He Hit Her - Ray Heinrich
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19. Hotel Heart - Dawn Green
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20. How Far Away It Was - Dawn Green
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21. Hurricane - Twilight
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22. I Will Not Forget You - Sarah McLachlan
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23. I'll Take My Sorrow Straight - Iris DeMent & Elmer McCall
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24. Illuminata - Angel Alice
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25. Just Rain - Angelstar
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26. L'Arbe - Dawn Green
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27. Living Circumcision, or Written In Jack In The Box On 26th And
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Guadalupe Early One Rainy Afternoon In Austin - Twilight
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28. Lost - Twilight
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29. Lovingly, He Signed - Twilight
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30. Lusting For Comfort - Gavin Otukoya
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31. Madness And None-So-Soft - Clotho
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32. More - Stephen Lush
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33. My Book - Keith Childress
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34. Never There - Twilight
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35. No More Summer - Twilight
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36. Nonlinearunlinkage - Waves
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37. Note To The Man Who Cheated On Me, Left Upon His Pillow - Twilight
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38. Oh, Pleas - Stephen Lush
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39. Plaster Mask - Angel Alice
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40. Playmaker - Twilight
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41. Rainbow Skin - Twilight
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42. Raining On My Porch - Twilight
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43. Ravenspell - Belasco
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44. Requited Love - Twilight
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45. Robots - Stephen Lush
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46. Roses - Dawn Green
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47. Seizons - Twilight
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48. Self Portrait As A Cigarette Butt Near The Side Of The Road
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- Mark Eugene Stevens/MrPoi
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49. SittingMan - Stephen Lush
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50. Spiderman - Twilight
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51. Starry Smile, Snowy Eyes - Twilight
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52. Sullen Girl - Fiona Apple
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53. Suspense - Stephen Lush
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54. Sweet Escape - Twilight
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55. System Down - Jimmy Flynn
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56. Tangerine Preserves - Twilight
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57. The Last Time - Shannon Downs
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58. Time To Rest - Ray Heinrich
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59. Touched Me In My Trance - Ryan Bloomer
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60. Twilight Or Dawn? - Gopal T. Venkatesan
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61. Twilight's Child - Twilight
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62. Untitled - Anonymous
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63. Untitled - Bloodshot
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64. Untitled - Kelli Burton
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65. Untitled - Stephen Lush
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66. Untitled - Stephen Lush
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67. Untitled - Twilight & Marcella Garcia
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68. Waiting Rain - Hilan
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69. When Words Shall Mean No More - KSDark
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70. Where Is The Light? - Christopher Stolle
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71. Wither - Stephen W. Brodie
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72. Without A License - Christopher Stolle
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73. Wretched - Dawn Green
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74. You Again - Mark Eugene Stevens/MrPoi
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75. You Are Not Alone - Stephen W. Brodie
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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
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A Picture Of You
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þ Ray Heinrich
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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old music sits
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across the room from me
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refusing to reach my ears
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and the hole the quiet makes
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becomes
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a picture of you
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þùúùþ
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Ray is an ex-Texas technofreak and hippie-socialist wannabe who
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writes poems for thrills and attention. He's always been married,
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loves dogs, evolution, electronics, and industrial design. He does
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not like republicans, but is willing to make an exception if you are
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truly gullible and can stand bisexuals. He owns a blue fish and loves
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to get comments at: <ray@scribbledyne.com>. An electronic edition of
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his chapbook: "years of water" (Word Biscuit Press) is also available
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free via email. Check out his site: http://www.vais.net/~heinrich/wb/
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Amber
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þ Stephen Lush
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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dreaming dreaming away
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drowned in regret and pain
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leaving myself in place,
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while my mind flies free
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unchained by disgrace
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swamps sink under my feet
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i can see my body dead
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twenty too short years
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i rot away my fears and guilts,
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molt death's wishful grin,
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the old flames and ghosts
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there i am, under the swamp
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purged of anatomy and form
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bones and softened core
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under lilypads and cat-o-nines
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slowly breathing in oil and algae
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and the fumes come to the surface...
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mosquitos and crickets weave a harmonic beat
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and the flares that glow on the swamp's edge
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burn so sweet.
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dedicated to Wendy Ingram (1953-1996)
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Anniversary
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùúù
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I last saw you
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a year ago today
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and as I sit here,
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I am wondering...
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are you thinking of me
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as I'm thinking of you?
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do you miss me
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like I miss you?
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do you remember me
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like I remember you?
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do you love me
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like I love you?
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and I wonder if we'll ever
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meet again,
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touch again,
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laugh together again...
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especially if you hate me
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like I learned to hate you.
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Baby
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þ Stephen Lush
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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somewhere there is a girl
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her face stares out of a car window
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her smile can smite a thousand fears
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and she is waiting, waiting
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a subtle half-glance
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enrapture in the divine
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pause to hear the person next
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and impulse to look away
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dancing, dancing the sun down
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being more ourselves
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for a few moments of joy
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shooing the rust from our blood
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habeus vita, dolce vita
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there is that girl
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with blush on her face
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and a swing in her step
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with lovelong pride in her silences
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you can hear her singing.
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somewhere there is a boy
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standing at a bus stop in the morning dew grass
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he feels once it comes, it will come at last
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and he is waiting, waiting.
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Banquet
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þ Introvert
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ùúùúùúùúùúù
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people are talking.
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so much noise,
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and cluttered space,
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pressing in.
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(suffocate)
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an elaborate work of plastic.
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i am alone,
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flanked on all sides,
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by sweating foreign bodies.
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(squeezing)
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an unknown in darkened corners,
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stirs to life.
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see me,
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within me.
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probing though my eyes,
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nudging my brain.
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(outside looking in)
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and maybe you know
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why i'm smiling.
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it's the one thing
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that silences,
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lays to waste.
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read me,
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like simple words,
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on cheap paper,
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battered on the back seat,
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a dime store novel,
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an invasion,
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of some inner sanctum,
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raped and abused,
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left out to dry,
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in the sweltering heat.
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(blister)
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perched on a desert throne,
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directionless,
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and ambient.
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everything moves,
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changes,
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and i remain,
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constant,
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gasping,
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flat on my back.
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(squinting)
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popcorn.
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popcorn and peanuts,
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and a calliope's tune.
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the circus invades your town.
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painted face stare,
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quizzically and somehow alien,
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at this blistered body,
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laid out on the burning sand.
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a bauble?
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fleshy and unique.
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their large flopping shoes,
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and blood-stained teeth
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tap restlessly,
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hauntingly reminiscent,
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of a lost childhood nightmare.
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kick my head,
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and move along.
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kick my head.
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the carnival passes.
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(nightfall)
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and dirt collapses.
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plunging down,
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to chambers dark,
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dripping wet.
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glistening formations,
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puzzle one another,
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and confound me
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with riddles,
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twisted hints of origin,
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and little people.
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tiny hands,
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with tiny fingers.
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tiny minds,
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with large ambitions.
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drill inside,
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and deteriorate.
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a disembodied voice
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drifts in,
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penetrates,
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perpetrates,
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snaps me in half.
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þùúùþ
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RIP, Jae.
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Block
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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Closed lid, concave cube,
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Encased in hardened grass jelly.
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Boxed in, folded down upon,
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Vacuum sucks and screams begin.
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Shrieking bullets bounce off padded walls -
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Splice the void, scratch the skin;
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Ricochet, blast away,
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But aimed bullets only return from whence they came,
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Target redirected to within.
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Loosen the straps!
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Release the restraints!
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I want out, I want Sun -
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Labotomize the headlock,
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Take these chains, swallow the key,
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And come taste my sweet black sin.
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Carousel
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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wavy silken curls
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ringlets of sunshine
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glistening aquamarine
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seawater jewels speckled bright
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flowing dampness in my fingertips
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strong sleek loins
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i dig my knees into his sides
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fit my legs within the muscle tone
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and hold on tight for dear life.
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half man, half fish
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this aquatic beast of Neptune
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sculpted of wood, my dear Poseidon
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run, glide - take me swiftly
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as you swim into the night.
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round and round
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carving the niche amidst the air riptides
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laughing with the whimsical music
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the playful organ brings my delight.
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but my smile suddenly turns to dismay
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as the notes further space apart
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in an eerie, slow melodrama.
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and the air becomes still - stagnant
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while the clouds push away the sun
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and with a flick of his tail
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and a shove of his trident
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I'm sent sprawling into the sharp, jagged rocks below
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'help!' I cry, to no avail
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my voice vanishes into empty air
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alone - no ear is listening - nor cares
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wounded and broken boned
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i wait for my fair prince to come back around
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i wait
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blood sheds
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cuts infect
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i cry
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blood dries
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bones mend
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time goes by
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and suddenly, the golden glow of Helios burns hot again
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looking up, head raised from scarred knees
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i see him - he's coming - at last
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choked with tears
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wobbling to a stand
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my love outstretches his strong arms.
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i shake with anxiety
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my lips tremble with nervousness
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the pounding of my heart deafens.
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suck in, my breath
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squeeze shut, my eyes
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i turn upon my heels
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my back to the trickster carousel
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and stumble away.
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Climax
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þ Angel Alice
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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heart racing
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faster than lightspeed
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acceleration beyond comprehension
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guts wrenching in time to
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the diastole
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night shattering into a million
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mad fragments of dreams
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frenzy of images clawing at me,
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light and dark
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fucking feverishly
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music screaming, shrieking,
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rushing up,
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pushing up
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thrashing through me
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torn between hell and
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delirious ecstasy
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thrown into the very moment
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of me.
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Construct
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þ Stephen Lush
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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She said she loved something about him
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he could never underknow what
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light here light far
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the brightest lights burn without heat
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They knew already, they thought too much
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it broke them down it led them
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she paused with the cigarette
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and chased it with lemonade
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She claimed to have two selves
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but he claimed to kill dragons
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you knew by the way they blinked
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something wasn't selected
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They had each other's company
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then they had nothing
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they had each other's respect
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then there was nothing
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nothing but the lopsided fantasy
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that anything could be
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they finished their brunch
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they never ate lunch
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He bought her a rose
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she bought wedding clothes
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they clutched, burying nails
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into dreams -- small but proud
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he cared as much as he thought
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she was cruel in the way she coughed
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He rolled into the Pacific
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she rocked in the Sound
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one couldn't predict when he'd come home
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but his return kisses came with metronome
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December came and left stiff
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the Saint Augustine grass
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he took up old games with old friends
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they couldn't let the dream fade
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but success came and the time between them left
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there were children
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there were marks on her arm
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And in June the heat rose by degrees
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there were photographs of them smiling
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yellow joy bending the corners.
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Death Spell For A Departing Lover
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þ Kate Braverman
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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We are good at opening dialogue.
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It's our specialty.
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That and the goodbye scene
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we could recite in our sleep.
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It's the middle that defies us,
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the substance, the ordinary progressions
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that weave events into patterns,
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textures, the three-dimensional.
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No. You cannot read my letters.
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You cannot take your eyes off
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your reflection in the mirror,
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your extravagant rhetoric
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and unshakable conviction
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that you will always look thirty-four,
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that your charm will be indelible
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and bankable, like an occupation.
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You sense I know your secret name.
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You fear I will say it out loud
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and I will. Whore.
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You who live from interchangeable beds,
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feeling passion a pressure
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you can't deliver,
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tangled in ambivalence,
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trying to make love
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while adjusting your silk tie,
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shining your Italian shoes
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spare sports jacket in the back
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of your broken car.
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Your secret name is whore.
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You are in love with your mother.
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No woman is perfect enough,
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as pretty as you or her.
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Know this, whore.
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I am your greatest mistake.
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I will hate you as the seasons turn
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in August heat and sudden storms
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as you drive from one woman to another,
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one slice of city view after another.
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You will sense this following,
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this uniquely fashioned arrow,
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this intangible wound that will not heal.
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I am the shadow on the corner
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and a certain way the neon will scratch
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one window after another,
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relentless and haunting.
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You will come to know it,
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taste it, dream it.
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Me, lit from the inside,
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whispering your whore name
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mixing my burned mouth
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with the Santana winds,
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becoming part of you and the landscape.
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In the smog, in the mist
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in the moonlight and jasmine
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digging in under your skin
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in a way you will never forget.
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Delusion Angel
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þ David Jewell
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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Daydreamed delusion
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Limousine eyelash
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Oh baby with your pretty face
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Drop a tear in my wine glass
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Look at those big eyes
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See what you mean to me
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Sweetcakes and...milkshakes
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I'm a delusioned angel
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I'm a fantasy parade
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I want you to know what I think
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Don't want you to guess anymore
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You have no idea where I came from
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We have no idea where we're going
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Latched in life
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Like branches in the river
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Flowing downstream
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Carving the current
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I'll carry you
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You'll carry me
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That's how it should be
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Don't you know me
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Don't you know me by now...?
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Erotifest
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þ Sweetest Infection
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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Tasting the drug that is passion
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I am bleeding from excessive lust
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Biting my lips and nails
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A masturbatory circus in my soul
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I am darkness - I am woman
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Fragile only when embraced tenderly
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But a steel frotification at night
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Able to withstand the deepest cuts
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If they force me to bleed out my fear
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Bloodletting - the shedding of my skin
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And finding inside that I am whole
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I have caged the evil and hate
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And I thrust it to you
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Each time our bodies clash together
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And I prey on your strange innocence
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And I swallow it whole
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In an alternate universe of alcoholic carnage
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I find you delightfully edible when raw.
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Fightin' Irish
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þ Stephen Lush
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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yeah you could have had me
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--probably
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definitely maybe
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been my dearest guinevere
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to move away at the first sight
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of a knight with a rose
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i would have understood
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oh how i would have known
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to wait and wait for the pale rider
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settling for the lesser,
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gaining the attention of the better
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it's tragic humor
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that stains the dying flowers of shiftlessouls
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and yeah you might have taken me
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softly
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--not costly
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rose bed edged and milk white linen
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rocking chairs that
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complain squeakingly of being there
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window drapes that the breeze just wakes
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the scattered force field of the light
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on the floor
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i'd give all night
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and in the day you'd thirst for more
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it might feel incomplete
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and some things might appear to repeat
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but it makes you numb to stop
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you might have even been me--
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i wouldn't doubt it
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you could have looked from behind my eyes
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and known my every disguise
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or taken residence behind my heart
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and seen every road i left well-marked
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well abridged books of afternoons
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or when the rain drifted listlessly
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from their cloud masters
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how each drop hit me
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and my awareness lifted to another world
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of english towers and stone grey glass
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and the smells of paper and wood
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in the berth of the homes that left remainders
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on my freshwater consciousness
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yeah you might know me--
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but you don't respect or touch things
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that make life so unbland
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you could go to a beach
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and start with a grain of sand
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picking up my loves and memories
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in an Atlas-sized hand.
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Fire
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þ Livid
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ùúùúùúù
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Starting
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with only sparks
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you have grown into a
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beautiful flame always
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moving in your many wonderful
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directions never to dismay the
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eyes of your lover but to fascinate
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them you incinerate the undesirable you
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warm the irresistible you don't have my
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heart anymore you have my soul but the glow
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has gone dim it's almost gone you are gone
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the darkness grows cold in the absence
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of the warmth the warmth of your
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beauty and I choke I cough
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I gasp and I cry with
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all this smoke in
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my burning
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eyes.
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Fish Out Of Air, Bird Out Of Water
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þ Drucilla B. Blood
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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(I am) in a (waking) dream and I am driving I am driving I am being
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driven and the road is smooth smoother and the tires make no noise
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except for that strange in-flight resonance like how when you are
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driving (being driven) and the windows are closed so it is your own
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universe except for here the windows are open, the breeze...the weather
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is mild like early spring or late summer more early spring...there is a
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fresh quality a newness to the air that makes it seem like water and
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when I breathe it is more like drinking never drowning like i am in
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water my element water i am swimming (being driven) and all around me
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blurs i am focusing on everything at once on the whole picture so that
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PARTS of the picture, the elements that make up the picture cease to
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exist. I am dreaming (being driven) in a waking dream and there is all
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around me sound and action but all within is silent and still,
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reflective and warm over all warm. I am curled in the front seat,
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dreaming of being driven I am the passenger I am curled in the front
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seat my head is out the window my hand is playing with the air pressure
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out of the window floating in the air beating against my hand my eyes do
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not focus, they are closed the wind closes my eyes but still I see my
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hand being floating in the wind whipping my hair against my face
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drinking.
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I am being driven in my dream, the driver is dark and silent and he
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knows all of my thoughts. I know he knows even though he says nothing
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just as he knows my thoughts even in my silence. He is driving with
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unblinking eyes. There is a raven and it flies between the telephone
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wires and then lands folding feet under body clutching the thin wire in
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claw then taking off again still unblinking and the raven, any bird, to
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take off it must first throw itself into the air like a kind of
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trust - in order to fly it must jump up and off and for those brief
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seconds it is more like falling than flying and then it soars but first
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it must jump that one small jump tucking feet under and spreading black
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wings glinting silver and the driver still does not blink and still my
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hand out of the window dreaming floating and both of us are flying
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driving (being driven).
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Because there is no difference, really, between fish and bird...bird
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swims air as fish flies water and floats and bellies and wings...fins are
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just wings are merely fins to the other and fluid motion IS flight. So
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we watch, grounded. I am flying, my hand supported on all sides by air
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and yet forcing air upwards, down and still somehow in control of the
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motion...fluidity. Graceful and upwards my eyes I am watching there are
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clouds they are split between where there is blue and I can see things,
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floating. And all is mystery.
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"Can you drive me there" why do I have to ask...the driving is a motion
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of itself floating on rubber floating on asphalt and never really
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touching what would real contact FEEL like because really things never
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touch for fear of burrowing deeper than surface and creating...what? A
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hole where there used to be...nothing.
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Nothing like this time a sign and forward mask my presence there is an
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understanding that comes from the touch the hole and yet it is the lack
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of understanding that prevents contact...if understanding comes from
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contact and contact comes from understanding, where do we begin...or
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end.
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I see now why people intoxicate themselves - there is a fear of other
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humans which prevents communication, prevents contact...intoxication
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takes this fear away somehow and people make contact only once the sober
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moment comes we still do not know where to begin like a fish out of air
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a bird out of water...
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And sometimes it even feels like flying walking. Dreaming I am in some
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kind of mood and the everything that is around me is buzzing and at this
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moment truly I am life I am alive and I am flying because really it is
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all I know, to live. And to dream creates a separate reality like
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wishing and seeing and then KNOWING why this is always so.
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Two days ago, yesterday, then today and I am in this car. I close the
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window and everything yawns. I prop my head upon my hand and watch
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blurred trees become each other and blend with dizzy grass and air. I
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breathe now don't drink - the one who is driving is still silent and I
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watch him his brow furrowed and it is more than the road. Somehow I love
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him and I know all will come to be right and I know all will come to an
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end before it comes to be right but do not care just watch. And
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sometimes the sun touches his face, eyes and he squints and I am
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dreaming this, squinting, struggling to see more.
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There is a quiet place where the driving stops. I am no longer driven.
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Lay down a blanket on a field so wide there is nothing but field upon
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field stretching mile after sand-dune-walking mile and this is where I
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am nothing to keep me down to hold me there I float I weep for the
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sensation inside I am air - no, inside I am water, I am water floating
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on air and this is boundless. There is this field and I (we) are alone
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together. There is something around us all of the time that pulls us
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together (in my dream this person, this bond exists) and keeps us apart.
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It is beyond love. It is beyond marriage. It is beyond sanctity.
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And it feels like floating...
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Go Home
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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just another night
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of being alone
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just another night
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with only my mind
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to keep me company
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the darker half
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my worst enemy
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surpressed for so long
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threatening to come out
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to come back again
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and haunt my sanity
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go back
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go back
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go back from whence you came
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within the latching folds
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lock back up
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keep the key
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i don't want you here again
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unwelcome guest
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intruder
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go back before i sic the dog
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back on you again
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before you plague me
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with your irrational point of view
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with your deadly sinister plans
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schemer, disbeliever
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drown drown drown
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let the waves crash over you
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force the ice to form
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in layers
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so thick
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turn the blue to dark green
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go back
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go back
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let the good half take back over
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again
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to whisper its heavenly tunes
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into my ears
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again
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i don't need your company
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or mixed company
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it's time to leave
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he's coming back again
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so girl
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there's the door
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pack your bags
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and leave.
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Haiku 01
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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Erasing your ghost
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Chalk dust drifting to the floor
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I blow you away
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He Hit Her
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þ Ray Heinrich
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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he hit her
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and watched the bruises
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take weeks to turn to yellow
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he took his fist
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and punched her breast
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as hard as he could
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and watched her face
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as she fell to the floor
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and someday
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he'll be honest enough
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to say it was me
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Hotel Heart
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þ Dawn Green
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ùúùúùúùúùúùú
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people pass through your hotel heart
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on their way to something better
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or perhaps just needing a place to stay for the night
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your valve doors are always open
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never closing for even the ruffiest ruffian
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some stay in the lover's suite
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with magic sprinkled everywhere
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some stay in single rooms
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with twin sized beds
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taking as little as they've given
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stealing pieces of the mystique
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towels, shampoo, bar soap
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everything not bolted down
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revolving doors makes the getaway
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painless and quick
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but the hotel's getting run down
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the bellboys have all resigned
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the maids don't clean anymore
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the west wing is closed off
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and the visitors are getting less
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remodeling is the next stage of development
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How Far Away It Was
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þ Ray Heinrich
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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i'm standing over my father
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in the hospital
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he's stopped breathing
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i'm holding his neck
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and shoulder
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and i've been rubbing them
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because he always liked that
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and it's the best i can do
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while i'm waiting for him to die
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waiting for his next breath
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and it comes
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and another
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and then
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i'm waiting for his next breath again
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and i count
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one thousand and one
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one thousand and two
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one thousand and three
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like he taught me
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standing in our garage
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watching a thunderstorm
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on the gulf coast of texas
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sometime
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when i was maybe six
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he taught me to count
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between the lightning flash and the thunder
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taught me to figure out
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how far away it was
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Hurricane
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þ Twilight
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ùúùúùúùúùú
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shrieking winds
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howling in my stomach
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puncturing holes
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rips in my pierced bag.
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shrinking and swelling
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aching, breaking
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gasping for air
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then being blown away.
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bent over, doubled
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cramps that bring tears
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sucking in, holding in
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because they won't escape.
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help me
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i'm twisting
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save me
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i'm drowning
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catch me
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i'm falling
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eyes pop out
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i'm dizzy, i'm lost
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dark curtains drop
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i'm blind, i can't see
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legs give way
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i'm stumbling, i can't walk
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Silence.
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The calm has come.
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The eye swirls leerily overhead.
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Oh please brace me -
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It's coming back again.
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I Will Not Forget You
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þ Sarah McLachlan
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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I remember the nights I watched as you lay sleeping
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Your body gripped in some faraway dream
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Well I was so scared and so in love then
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And so lost in all of you that I had seen
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but no one ever talked in the darkness
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no voice ever added fuel to the fire
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no light ever shone in the doorway
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deep in the hollow of earthly desires
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but if in that dream there was brightness
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if in some memory some sort of sign
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and flesh be revived in the shadows
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blessed our bodies would be so entwined
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and I will,
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oh I will not forget you,
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Nor will I ever let you go.
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I remember how you left in the morning at daybreak
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So silent you stole from my bed
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To go back to the one who possesses your soul
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And I back to the life that I dread
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so I ran like the wind to the water
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'please don't leave me again' I cried
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and I threw bitter tears at the ocean
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but all that came back was the tide...
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-I will not forget you.
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I'll Take My Sorrow Straight
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þ Iris DeMent & Elmer McCall
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
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We both know the reason why you've called
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So stop wastin' time tryin' to soften up my fall
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I know you wanna sweeten up the taste
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But if you don't mind, I'll just take my sorrow straight
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You almost make it seem like somethin' nice
|
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The way you take your bad news and you pour it over ice
|
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That's a kindness I don't appreciate
|
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'Cause I like to take my sorrow straight
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I wouldn't say that I'm any stronger than the rest
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But no matter what you say
|
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It ain't gonna hurt me any less
|
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'Cause in the end, there is really no escape
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So, I go on and I just take my sorrow straight
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Illuminata
|
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þ Angel Alice
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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Firefly, firefly,
|
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I see you in the night.
|
|
I follow you in wonder
|
|
as you burn your tiny light.
|
|
When will I be like you?
|
|
When will I glow bright?
|
|
When will I illuminate
|
|
the darkness of the night?
|
|
Share with my your secret,
|
|
I promise not to tell,
|
|
For just one night of splendor,
|
|
I'd endure the hottest hell.
|
|
Firefly, take me with you
|
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in your radiance through this dark,
|
|
Firefly, teach me how to shine,
|
|
for I am just a spark.
|
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Just Rain
|
|
þ Angelstar
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
When the rains did come
|
|
They were emotionless
|
|
Not the bright rain of a season long awaited
|
|
Not the warm rain of a desperately needed cleansing
|
|
No torrential downpour of a storm raging in chaos
|
|
Not the cold, cold rain of despair
|
|
Not the urging rains of conviction
|
|
Not the sad, bitter rain of a lost lover
|
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just rain
|
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L'Arbe
|
|
þ Dawn Green
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
it's time to tear that tree down.
|
|
so many memories it has.
|
|
our names carved in a special place
|
|
when we were young.
|
|
laughing times, secretly in love.
|
|
|
|
it's time to tear that tree down.
|
|
you know the one.
|
|
take down the branch
|
|
where we had our first kiss
|
|
so that my heart
|
|
does not break again.
|
|
|
|
it's time to tear that tree down.
|
|
so many times we'd watch
|
|
the sun go to sleep,
|
|
and the stars play,
|
|
entwined among themselves,
|
|
as my hand held fast to yours.
|
|
we'd tell each other our fears,
|
|
and realize we weren't alone anymore.
|
|
|
|
it's time to tear that tree down.
|
|
its bark is weak,
|
|
its leaves long since decayed.
|
|
i don't think i could
|
|
look out this old window
|
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without seeing where
|
|
you would wait for me,
|
|
where you still wait for me,
|
|
beneath the tree.
|
|
i swear i won't be long.
|
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|
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Living Circumcision, or Written In Jack In The Box On 26th And Guadalupe
|
|
Early One Rainy Afternoon In Austin
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
speared steel palms
|
|
feet crossed over
|
|
hanging solely by wits
|
|
and sheer willpower.
|
|
the cries of the hurt
|
|
the sick - the wounded
|
|
unmercifully pounds in the ears
|
|
lacerates the brain
|
|
and ruptures the eardrums.
|
|
no heaven to cry to
|
|
only hell's flames
|
|
frolicking at the foot
|
|
only gasping wheezes
|
|
part the chapped split lips
|
|
as the lungs constrict
|
|
shoved to collapse.
|
|
but only their moaning -
|
|
THEIR cries
|
|
bring tears
|
|
gushing waterfalls
|
|
drenching the fire below.
|
|
raising up my bowed head
|
|
i scream at the raging sky
|
|
pulling myself up
|
|
to only be weighed down
|
|
more and more
|
|
by each begging wail
|
|
until my hand's holes
|
|
stretch into bones
|
|
and the wood
|
|
supports my back
|
|
and pegs become shoes
|
|
upon my feet.
|
|
Oh, my sweet darlings
|
|
Oh, my lovely children
|
|
I will carry your burdens
|
|
I will pack them upon my back
|
|
I will be your father
|
|
sister, brother, lover
|
|
let me protect you from my fate.
|
|
Oh, my beautiful loved ones
|
|
pull the skin with clenched lips
|
|
rip it off with your teeth
|
|
I will remain erect for you
|
|
I will be your living circumcision.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lost
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
speed into the majestic indigo,
|
|
dark amethyst clouds racing above,
|
|
smelling the deep, wet stench -
|
|
of rain in the air -
|
|
as notes blare, pounding my ears
|
|
and street lights blur into streaks,
|
|
illuminating the highway.
|
|
long straight road,
|
|
leading to nowhere, no place
|
|
in particular,
|
|
only the wind, tune, dampness -
|
|
rushing through my strands,
|
|
flapping in the pitch.
|
|
inhale smoke for a second -
|
|
topped with a coating of refrigerated cool,
|
|
top down, spirits spurting forth;
|
|
pound meaty thoughts like cubes
|
|
and watch them vanish out of sight,
|
|
out of the blue.
|
|
stars reach to splatter kisses
|
|
upon my tender, exposed neck -
|
|
I laugh, then, to fool myself.
|
|
|
|
pierce soapy iridescent swirling bubbles
|
|
out of which childhood dreams are made;
|
|
stare at the pictures
|
|
stare at the stone
|
|
time after time, the rushing disillusion,
|
|
the contortion in the funhouse mirrors;
|
|
hazy wisps must separate
|
|
permeate
|
|
swallow the hook
|
|
and the bait folded upon it -
|
|
take hold of the wheel,
|
|
stop running away
|
|
pick the path from a fork in the road;
|
|
lead yourself up to heaven or crash.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lovingly, He Signed
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Lovingly, he signed
|
|
and gave me this new hope
|
|
of never again being
|
|
another masturbatory toy.
|
|
Lovingly, he signed
|
|
accompanied by a kiss
|
|
as he tried to be more human
|
|
by slowing down his thrusts.
|
|
Lovingly, he signed
|
|
while expressing glad affection
|
|
and seemed to make an effort
|
|
to satisfy my emotions.
|
|
Lovingly, he signed
|
|
then laughed and went to sleep
|
|
used just for his purposes
|
|
pretending to meet my needs.
|
|
Lovingly, he signed
|
|
as I lay wide awake
|
|
ripping his note in disappointment
|
|
I tiptoed out the door -
|
|
Forcing me to not feel a thing
|
|
Forcing me once more.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lusting For Comfort
|
|
þ Gavin Otukoya
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
My search for love has took me far and wide
|
|
To the shadowy pits of darkness, to the guiding light from the angels
|
|
Until I thought at last I found my loved one
|
|
But her heart wasn't set on me
|
|
So I look to Moon now as my Maiden of Love
|
|
For she never leaves me alone at night
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Madness And None-So-Soft
|
|
þ Clotho
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
I'm in drastic need of numbing
|
|
because that sinking feeling's coming
|
|
that I'm starting to decay...
|
|
I've tried that ferris wheel,
|
|
that pain was just too real -
|
|
Here comes my limousine...
|
|
Now it makes no sense to be upset,
|
|
I've got nothing you want and that's all you'll get
|
|
It's all quite simple really...
|
|
In the end - scrape me off your trip.
|
|
I want nothing...you want nothing...
|
|
I'm in trouble that you won't believe
|
|
because everyone's after me and I don't know who...
|
|
I'm in that state of mind,
|
|
you know, that morbid kind...
|
|
Here comes my private plane,
|
|
and my pilot's tumor does cocaine...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
More
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
there cannot and never will be enough to go around
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
My Book
|
|
þ Keith Childress
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúú
|
|
|
|
stiffening ache
|
|
courses through me
|
|
over I turn, only to discover
|
|
yet another new pain
|
|
the pain slowly ceases
|
|
and reality seeps in
|
|
rays of light shining through
|
|
bringing day once again
|
|
i awake
|
|
|
|
events yet to be
|
|
run through my head
|
|
the fire in my head burning low
|
|
slowly rises to an inferno
|
|
thinking and reasoning intercede
|
|
i lift myself from my knees
|
|
|
|
slowly i become more aware
|
|
drawing in my surroundings
|
|
floods of thoughts almost overcome me
|
|
images of people
|
|
a book of minds
|
|
it's an old book
|
|
one that I've read
|
|
|
|
It's not yet finished
|
|
writing this book is a daily thing
|
|
every day a page or more
|
|
encrypted in a code of thoughts
|
|
only a few can read
|
|
|
|
the weight presses on me
|
|
I carry it still
|
|
it being only a light burden
|
|
but eventually I fear
|
|
its weight will overcome me
|
|
and so I must rest
|
|
|
|
Rest is not an option
|
|
I must keep writing
|
|
putting down my pen
|
|
closing my mind
|
|
blocking these thoughts
|
|
and refusing to see
|
|
would be like a wall
|
|
blinding me
|
|
|
|
þùúùþ
|
|
RIP, Keith.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Never There
|
|
(dedicated to Brandon Robert Shaw, 1976-1997)
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
in the short time
|
|
that i knew you
|
|
you were taken for granted
|
|
i was never there
|
|
just another friendly face
|
|
just another laugh
|
|
another song to lift the air
|
|
didn't notice just how much
|
|
you brightened up the day
|
|
and until too late i did not know
|
|
how much you were in pain
|
|
how you walked the streets at night
|
|
alone with your pockets in hand
|
|
if i could do it all again
|
|
i promise i'd do you right
|
|
i'd be there under the streetlamp
|
|
beside you at the movies
|
|
helping you in life
|
|
if i could do it all again
|
|
i'd know more about you
|
|
than you did of me
|
|
but now i've learned my lesson hard
|
|
since you've been taken away
|
|
everything happens for a reason
|
|
maybe this is to show me
|
|
force me to pay attention
|
|
to all of the details
|
|
friends are hard to come by
|
|
no matter of which degree
|
|
and now your service is going on
|
|
right now as i cry
|
|
don't feel right attending
|
|
too much guilt to dry these eyes
|
|
can't face that lonely coffin
|
|
with only you inside
|
|
and for the very last time
|
|
i fail you once again
|
|
i'm not there to mourn you
|
|
i'm not there to hold your hand
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
No More Summer
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
flee into the corner
|
|
back against the bed
|
|
furious steps pound in ears
|
|
closer and closer
|
|
racing toward me
|
|
his arm pulls back
|
|
and i delve into my shell
|
|
to await the incoming slap.
|
|
blackness blurred
|
|
fall face first upon the mattress
|
|
dazed for a moment
|
|
i attempt rebalance
|
|
i wobble to a stand
|
|
but why?
|
|
to be hit down again.
|
|
|
|
'hello,' i greet once more
|
|
the flowered pillow case
|
|
the next time pollinated with red;
|
|
lose myself in the whirlwind
|
|
face into the storm
|
|
trying to keep the balance
|
|
and hold the roots
|
|
- my tiny feet -
|
|
beneath the soul,
|
|
into the ground.
|
|
losing count of the blows
|
|
and feeling the purple
|
|
pummeling my fragile face
|
|
its persistent knocking never ceasing
|
|
knuckling its cold how-do-you-do
|
|
upon the staining door.
|
|
|
|
hear the lightning
|
|
see the thunder
|
|
which then brings the rain
|
|
bleeding down my cheeks,
|
|
hot, wet, and sticky -
|
|
watered-down sangria
|
|
falling down in
|
|
and splattering the sheets.
|
|
|
|
i realized then
|
|
that i had seen
|
|
the last summer of my life
|
|
already wishing for yesterday
|
|
but no way back in sight.
|
|
i had fallen down the hole
|
|
but clung dearly to the rocks
|
|
i had been relentlessly struck down
|
|
but i was strong enough even then...
|
|
for only nine years old,
|
|
the only thing i knew to do
|
|
was to get right back up
|
|
and take the next punch
|
|
even if it were...
|
|
to just fall down again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Nonlinearunlinkage
|
|
þ Waves
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
and i remember, we all used to go over to her house
|
|
and jimmy would laugh and point
|
|
and the twins would have us all going in circles.
|
|
o' course mama would call us all in for dinner around then.
|
|
|
|
times was when we all used to sit around sometimes and just look at the
|
|
|
|
clouds in the day
|
|
and we could see shapes in 'em
|
|
and everybody's shape was thier own
|
|
one time you said that cloud is a chicken
|
|
and to me it looked like a rabbit
|
|
|
|
times was
|
|
|
|
i want to get me a digital watch that just blinks the word "NOW"
|
|
|
|
i know.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Note To The Man Who Cheated On Me, Left Upon His Pillow
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
i came...
|
|
i laughed.
|
|
i saw...
|
|
i cried.
|
|
|
|
i went.
|
|
|
|
i died...
|
|
inside.
|
|
|
|
Goodbye.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oh, Pleas
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
ure in [groves{ripe}]
|
|
where the breadwinners fight ^swordsmen^
|
|
and the /shadows/ and the \stars\ marry
|
|
for the p r i c e
|
|
Don't give in to the nothings
|
|
Love the now for what it is
|
|
-consequence--never agains-
|
|
#include "forgotten"
|
|
No{yes}/*infinite loop*/
|
|
@betrayer of hope !! LostLand
|
|
selfish longings {$LUST}
|
|
..princess of the :adv.-n.-adv.:
|
|
Little precious Hazy Logic
|
|
-=A_war_eness=... --- ...
|
|
[calligraphy of the iron streaks of the
|
|
{}
|
|
|
|
|
|
1010~110~1100000::10111101111
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
<
|
|
dedicated to flood
|
|
inspired by shay
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Plaster Mask
|
|
þ Angel Alice
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
years, it's been,
|
|
since i've seen the light,
|
|
she's covered me a long, long time,
|
|
claiming friendship, swearing love, stealing fire,
|
|
she may be pretty, but she's a liar,
|
|
she has no heart, she's only a plaster mask
|
|
|
|
painted gold
|
|
inlaid with gemstones,
|
|
glittering and shining in the light,
|
|
everyone loves her, she's such a sweetpea,
|
|
but no one looks at me,
|
|
i live in her shadow, invisible.
|
|
|
|
i see you,
|
|
quietly staring,
|
|
silent and pensive, watching her,
|
|
seeing the plaster beneath the flaking gold,
|
|
gray, inhuman, and cold,
|
|
but you don't see through her, to me.
|
|
|
|
please, help me
|
|
tear her off, shatter her,
|
|
i can't do it, my muscles have atrophied,
|
|
they don't respond to me anymore,
|
|
they *like* the whore,
|
|
they think she's sweet
|
|
|
|
as sugar,
|
|
but she's poison,
|
|
deadlier than sin,
|
|
she's trying to drown me,
|
|
she's getting greedy, she wants my body,
|
|
she's hungry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Playmaker
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
The contempt never ceases
|
|
always resurfacing
|
|
spreading its disease
|
|
just another prisoner
|
|
just another bed
|
|
bound to the headboard
|
|
tied up to the posts
|
|
just another pawn
|
|
in a user's game to play
|
|
when will the tables turn
|
|
when will I be the one
|
|
who rolls the dice
|
|
Growing tired of sleeping
|
|
on the black squares
|
|
of this checkerboard
|
|
Can't surpress the buildup
|
|
Can't restrain the rage
|
|
just another means
|
|
to a selfish end
|
|
of masculinity, of sin -
|
|
and raw animality.
|
|
Sweet words you whisper
|
|
just to satisfy your desire
|
|
I block them out
|
|
I resist emotion -
|
|
Glance away from searching eyes
|
|
I feel nothing.
|
|
But yet I can't escpae
|
|
losing this twisted game
|
|
Being the one who's played
|
|
instead of the one who plays.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rainbow Skin
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
sallow, sunken pits
|
|
dented hollow holes
|
|
reflect bruised violet and evergreen
|
|
hints of ochre in the light
|
|
press them
|
|
and find fleshy softness
|
|
push upon them
|
|
and they'll give way
|
|
sucking probing fingers
|
|
into a black void of squish
|
|
slip-sliding into mush
|
|
slurp into slush.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Raining On My Porch
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
The stars are twinkling
|
|
The moon is out
|
|
Light breezes caress the rustling palms
|
|
And it's raining on my porch.
|
|
|
|
The sky is shining garnet
|
|
Wispy clouds race by
|
|
Salty waves lap softly onto the sand
|
|
As young lovers consummate their passion,
|
|
entwined upon the beach.
|
|
|
|
Whales sing their happy melodies
|
|
Seagulls soar into the night
|
|
Blurred red lights blink softly beyond the pier
|
|
And the dolphins somersault swiftly in delight.
|
|
|
|
Moonlight shimmers upon the water
|
|
A tranquil hush falls lightly down onto the dunes
|
|
But lightning strikes...
|
|
And it's raining on my porch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ravenspell
|
|
þ Belasco
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
In her eyes of endless night,
|
|
Reflections there of candlelight.
|
|
Into her arms I gladly fell
|
|
As she cast her ravens' spell.
|
|
|
|
Her eyes to mine, the spell was cast-
|
|
I pray'd the gods this night to last.
|
|
In shadows deep, I found her lips:
|
|
And feather's touch of fingertips.
|
|
|
|
Then night took wing, becoming day:
|
|
How could I tear myself away?
|
|
As I watched her standing there,
|
|
The falling stars caressed her hair.
|
|
|
|
Now ebon dreams bestir my sleep
|
|
With firey mem'ries burning deep.
|
|
If truth be known, she binds me still-
|
|
Her ravens' spell, it always will.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Requited Love
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
No well-wishing card from you on my birthday,
|
|
no Happy New Year's kisses.
|
|
No hugs on Valentine's,
|
|
no St. Patrick's Day pinches.
|
|
No colorful eggs on Easter Sunday,
|
|
no Memorial Day flags.
|
|
No fragrant flowers on Mother's Day,
|
|
no Father's Day ties, gift-wrapped.
|
|
No fireworks on the Fourth of July,
|
|
no Halloween treats nor tricks.
|
|
No turkey on Thanksgiving,
|
|
no sentimental Christmas gifts.
|
|
No more tears left on your death day,
|
|
Only my abandoned, cold emptiness.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Robots
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
seeing with their electronik eyes
|
|
photographing quiet stones in time
|
|
processing data -
|
|
gigo compactors
|
|
helixes and matrices of punch-card thoughts
|
|
10 hello ; print a flashing endless gosub
|
|
cases of decision, linefeeds and operands
|
|
constants of x and y
|
|
z moves left-handed into zenith's variable
|
|
compiling the answer, scripting the question
|
|
in a language only they can understand
|
|
999 RETURN
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Roses
|
|
þ Dawn Green
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
tickling ropes of the noose,
|
|
tightening around my neck.
|
|
it kisses my throat,
|
|
makes passionate love to me.
|
|
it's the only thing that matters
|
|
this moment.
|
|
kick the chair from under me,
|
|
straddling the air,
|
|
the noose plays at my neck,
|
|
nibbling, biting, tearing,
|
|
'til i am overjoyed
|
|
and hanging up there.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Seizons
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
in the whipping whirlwind -
|
|
in the blur of flying debris,
|
|
reach out, dare a touch -
|
|
the autumn leaves drop in open palms:
|
|
nervous synapse
|
|
*spark recognition*
|
|
*ignite bonfire*
|
|
that fumes toxic...
|
|
and blackens...
|
|
tracking burn scars,
|
|
leaving only smoke and must.
|
|
fingers clench...
|
|
white knuckles pulse purple,
|
|
bones crack,
|
|
and the leaf withers...
|
|
crumbling finely into a powdery dust.
|
|
but then spring smiles again
|
|
and sucks away the winds,
|
|
catches Nebulous by the tongue.
|
|
leaves sprout anew,
|
|
<<bright neon chartreuse>>
|
|
budding, blooming...forgetting,
|
|
ignoring the increased stillness.
|
|
temporary regrowth...bliss,
|
|
until only a vacuum remains -
|
|
and the leaves dry up in a blaze of fiery combustion,
|
|
crying out in flaming colors
|
|
...falling, falling, Falling...
|
|
Autumn's tears are scattered on the dry cement
|
|
and then He blows again...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Self Portrait As A Cigarette Butt Near The Side Of The Road
|
|
þ Mark Eugene Stevens/MrPoi
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Dripping sticky
|
|
tales of discarded
|
|
abuse
|
|
and stolen breath
|
|
the pulpy shell
|
|
mops mildewed earth
|
|
and awaits
|
|
the final drag.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SittingMan
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
creeping man with his birds on
|
|
a park in a city in the world
|
|
his story is true, his life is
|
|
common like the rags he clutches
|
|
but he still loves what little
|
|
the day brings him as those
|
|
with briefcases and heels stride
|
|
past not unlike the shadows
|
|
in the sun
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Spiderman
|
|
(dedicated to "Lance")
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Silky soft cotton candy strands
|
|
wrap around, dewdrops glittering
|
|
Sparkly bluish-white,
|
|
Swaying slightly in the breeze
|
|
like a line of clothes out to dry,
|
|
While radiating sunshine
|
|
And pulling into the light.
|
|
|
|
Daring to touch, one tiny pinprick -
|
|
I become entangled.
|
|
Paralyzing bite, venomous fangs -
|
|
I am entranced.
|
|
* h y p n o t i z e d *
|
|
Hear the tiny squeak from behind the glassy wall,
|
|
-animate behind the frozen face-
|
|
hunched behind the locked closet door,
|
|
I plead: "Please, oh please, set me free..."
|
|
-mouth not moving, not a twitch-
|
|
"I wish to love you, but oh god -
|
|
do you ever scare me."
|
|
|
|
Too dazed, unfocused,
|
|
Blurring whorls, funhouse mirrors,
|
|
But within your wrapped protection,
|
|
my pseudo-shell,
|
|
Secure and safe, I'm buried here with you.
|
|
You swirl me in your entropic whirlpool,
|
|
but head over water, above the currents,
|
|
Blowing air into my mouth
|
|
to help me breathe.
|
|
|
|
Twist up the cobwebs
|
|
in our shared spindle
|
|
Catch me in your sticky glue
|
|
and take my hand
|
|
-we'll hold our breaths-
|
|
-let's tandem jump-
|
|
Come, why not parachute to freedom
|
|
...with me?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Starry Smile, Snowy Eyes
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
starry smile
|
|
snowy eyes
|
|
cold white fluffs drifting
|
|
carving icy inlets
|
|
freezing all greenery
|
|
banking upon the sides.
|
|
|
|
pleasing lips
|
|
burning ears
|
|
searing crimson oozing
|
|
dripping into canals
|
|
scarring all tissue
|
|
numbed by anesthetic fear.
|
|
|
|
comforting hands
|
|
tender skin
|
|
royal violet inflicting
|
|
rupturing tiny passageways
|
|
hiding metal hooks
|
|
deep within the woolen mitten.
|
|
|
|
starry smile ...stared at
|
|
snowy eyes ...ignored
|
|
|
|
mistook the rocking of the boat
|
|
for the passion of the storm.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sullen Girl
|
|
þ Fiona Apple
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Days like this, I don't know what to do with myself
|
|
All day - and all night
|
|
I wander the halls along the walls and under my breath
|
|
I say to myself
|
|
I need fuel - to take flight -
|
|
|
|
And there's too much going on
|
|
But it's calm under the wves, in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
|
|
Is that why they call me a sullen girl - sullen girl
|
|
They don't know I used to sail the deep and tranquil sea
|
|
But he washed me [a]shore and he took my pearl -
|
|
And left an empty shell of me
|
|
|
|
And there's too much going on
|
|
But it's calm under the waves, in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
Under the waves in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
It's calm under the waves in the blue of my oblivion
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Suspense
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
The monster is coming!
|
|
My heart is beating,
|
|
My footfalls are squeaking,
|
|
And I look around the corners.
|
|
Look inside closets,
|
|
Gaze into shadows,
|
|
Slink between hallways,
|
|
Run into the orchards.
|
|
And I hear the "thud thuds,"
|
|
Of a demon of green blood,
|
|
Who wants to eat my brain,
|
|
I worry, worry away.
|
|
Running from the creature,
|
|
I'm in a class-B double feature,
|
|
I pinch and never wake,
|
|
Round the wall edge, and
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sweet Escape
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
step upon the hard, grey squares
|
|
(the gears within the industry);
|
|
try to balance as they spin
|
|
and slip between the cracks.
|
|
get lost within the grooves
|
|
- the plunging, piercing cold metal -
|
|
pulverizing this nubile flesh
|
|
*grinding* and *smashing*
|
|
as i'm spread thinly
|
|
from one interlocking piece
|
|
to another.
|
|
crimson trickles down the blood wheel;
|
|
wearing the mark of each peg's branding tarnish,
|
|
i lose myself.
|
|
i'm blinded.
|
|
slowly, i am skinned.
|
|
|
|
after tossing about,
|
|
i catch a glimpse of light -
|
|
something new in some clearing
|
|
for those who have escaped...
|
|
instead of smelling the cold winter
|
|
of the righthand side of the periodic table,
|
|
the warm, floral scent of summer rises
|
|
into my bloodied nose -
|
|
providing a soothing effect,
|
|
pulling me in gently,
|
|
and rubbing on the healing salve
|
|
that seeps into my core
|
|
and makes me new again.
|
|
|
|
i learn to balance on those gears
|
|
and now i even find it fun;
|
|
but even so -
|
|
amidst the tungsten and titanium,
|
|
the steel and the selenium,
|
|
i found something sweeter.
|
|
and though tastes swerve to acidic...
|
|
i'd much prefer the sugary sanctuary
|
|
that i call home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
System Down
|
|
þ Jimmy Flynn
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
We are of a lost generation. Happy only in the company of others who are
|
|
lost and lonely, searching for the self not found, we wallow within each
|
|
other and things. For we really never taste; all has been tasted by those
|
|
before us, then diluted and presented as gifts to us. A meager reward for
|
|
their supposed future.
|
|
|
|
Pushed in and eager, time lies. Now their flags and words hold us in,
|
|
unpatriotic and sick. Alas, I have found it better to be free than to
|
|
fight for freedom. For in what war would you fight when you are defending
|
|
tyrants and liars? Thieves, all of them are. Of my life, my happiness, and
|
|
now I feel my spirit being crushed by their ignorant reign. My fellow
|
|
soulmates, my brethren are growing tired along side me as only they can, for
|
|
their will has been tapped and enslaved just as mine.
|
|
|
|
When we gather, no, wait - rather, I should say when we are permitted to
|
|
gather, we feed on each other. A Dionysian celebration of the spirit they
|
|
try to contain. A revival of self and of self-indulgence, a purification, a
|
|
bonding of the lost generation, shameless to admit to being just that.
|
|
|
|
28 JUN, 95
|
|
Keesler AFB Mississippi
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tangerine Preserves
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
I yearn to return
|
|
to the alternate reality of my past
|
|
so far away
|
|
on that plane gone by so fast.
|
|
Though the sun did not always shine
|
|
I was always basked in warmth
|
|
overlooking the ocean
|
|
I melded with the earth.
|
|
Two bluest moons rose every night
|
|
instead of the just one white
|
|
and the wispy clouds
|
|
smelled faintly of strawberries
|
|
amidst the strands of light.
|
|
They skipped through a sky
|
|
that was smooth, yet slightly speckled
|
|
orange swirl Dreamsicle
|
|
tangerine cream popsicles.
|
|
The hills? They were soft...
|
|
and jiggly like Jell-o
|
|
black cherry flavored dessert
|
|
slippery dark red dirt.
|
|
Despite the natural disasters
|
|
I somehow always felt quite safe
|
|
but then came the intruders
|
|
and weeded out the place.
|
|
Now, so much time has transpired
|
|
and I wonder what it's like
|
|
if it's how it used to be
|
|
or black, dark, and void of light.
|
|
But I guess I'll have to stay here
|
|
in the plane of today
|
|
preserving those memories of the past
|
|
while making my new surreality.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Last Time
|
|
þ Shannon Downs
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Madness. I always believed it was this thing - this monster which crept
|
|
up slowly, silently, attacking from behind, leaving one no recourse but to
|
|
run naked and screaming through the streets. Panting, legs moving slower,
|
|
slower as fatigue sets in, eyes wide, mouth wet with spit. Truly insane in
|
|
appearance. And all the people would glance your way while passing,
|
|
quickening their step and shaking their heads in pity. "Such a shame," they
|
|
mutter beneath their breaths like a mantra, a prayer to ward off that which
|
|
offends and frightens them.
|
|
|
|
Functional madness. I could hide it, keep it under wraps. I consoled
|
|
myself with the belief that I possessed a special sensitivity to the world
|
|
around me. Sounds, smells, tastes, expressions, hits, words, pain, joy. I
|
|
am like a sieve as it all pours through my being, each grain passing through
|
|
- so slowly. My mind, working overtime, tries to understand, figure it all
|
|
out, processing this jumble of stimuli. I am still while this happens
|
|
because I am so tired. My mind silently pleads for respite.
|
|
|
|
Silently - until the wine ceases numbing, the smoke stops easing my
|
|
thoughts, the drugs the doctors give me leave me shivering like a child on
|
|
the floor, vomiting and gasping for air. Then I begin to scream. Begging
|
|
without shame, without pride to anyone who will listen,
|
|
|
|
"Let me off this terrible ride!"
|
|
|
|
Without shame. Without pride. Without hope. No one is there.
|
|
|
|
The next morning, I feel fine. "Perhaps we should go out for
|
|
breakfast," I say to him, the boyfriend. "Let's go get a really good cup of
|
|
Colombian coffee, shall we?" Mmmm. My spirits are up. So off we'd go. And
|
|
I chatter, chatter, chatter about this and that and the other. Chatter,
|
|
chatter. And he listens, quietly, as if anything I say really means
|
|
anything. As if it makes any sense at all. As if last night did not happen,
|
|
me on the floor in a fetal position, choking, rubbing my head and chanting
|
|
over and over and over, "It'll be O.K., Shannon. You'll be O.K. It'll
|
|
pass. It always passes."
|
|
|
|
Maybe he wasn't listening at all. This thought stops me. My mind
|
|
freezes with the thought, focusing in tight, like the lens of a camera. I
|
|
look at him suspiciously. No, I don't think he is listening. I should test
|
|
him. Ah, but what does it matter? What is love anyway? It too will fade
|
|
away and pass, then return again in another form. Around and around, up and
|
|
down. It all passes through me. Why not him as well?
|
|
|
|
Ow. My head hurts. Hadn't noticed before, but pain in one form or
|
|
another is a constant presence. Slight pressure all around my cranium, thick
|
|
fingers squeezing uncomfortably. And with my drug level tolerance, hah!
|
|
Excedrin? Motrin? Nothing. Tylenol...oh! But be careful of Tylenol. I
|
|
heard that mixed with alcohol it can cause liver failure and I must have my
|
|
drink. "No Tylenol," I remind myself.
|
|
|
|
Am I...do you think...well could I have a problem with alcohol? NO! I
|
|
drink because I appreciate wine, the tastes, the tannins, the body and
|
|
aroma....Fuck this. I don't need to justify myself to anyone. Who is this
|
|
sitting beside me? You're not even listening. Damn this headache!
|
|
|
|
Suddenly I'm not feeling well. Not feeling well. Years have passed
|
|
like moments. And in many of them, I have not felt...well.
|
|
|
|
"Blah, blah," I say to my deaf, mute passing love interest as he drives
|
|
me towards home. His face is tense. He's wound up tight. Nervous. Perhaps
|
|
I should lay down when I get there. My bed. My wonderful, warm bed. But,
|
|
God! It's only 10:30 in the morning and I haven't done anything all day! I
|
|
haven't written a thing, completed nothing...Jesus! I have so much to do!
|
|
God, I forgot to call my sister, and the letter wasn't sent to the loan
|
|
company, and my agent...I'm so lazy. What a waste, why even try.
|
|
|
|
Home again. Damn this headache! Damn! The house feels small, cramped,
|
|
like a cell. I can't fill my lungs with air. The fingers tighten.
|
|
|
|
It takes a while, you know. I've never tried to time it or anything. A
|
|
stopwatch is the last thing I can focus on when it begins. But there are
|
|
triggers, pulled from the shadows of the dark, leaving behind a deafening
|
|
echo of disaster.
|
|
|
|
And she's off! The feeling of doom is impending. I begin to spiral,
|
|
caught in a whirlpool - a draining sink. Going down, down into the slimy,
|
|
dark and cold piping, down, down. I can not grasp for anyone or anything
|
|
because my hands are tied, you see. I can't move them. My tongue is mute.
|
|
The shaking begins. "Where is he? The boyfriend? I must look such a mess,
|
|
such a spectacle. Just like my mother..."
|
|
|
|
Pat, pat. I gently begin to rock myself and rub my head, murmuring.
|
|
"It's O.K., Shannon. It will pass." I can't breathe. "Breathe!
|
|
B-R-E-A-T-H-E!" I am twelve again, a desperate child in need. Where is he?
|
|
Somebody help me! I want this to stop. Die.
|
|
|
|
"I don't want to die. I just want out of this body!"
|
|
|
|
Is he here? Is he talking to me? I am deaf. Silence. It is passing.
|
|
Passing. My breathing slows. Oh, but it will come again. And again and
|
|
again and again....
|
|
|
|
The void begins seeping through me, black as ink. No hope. No will. I think
|
|
of sleeping forever. I think of death. I think of God. Where have you gone?
|
|
Will you take me into your arms, if you exist? Will you hold me and carry me
|
|
away from all of this? Surely a just God would understand, if there is a
|
|
God. Death. Even if there were nothing, that would be divine. Simply to
|
|
cease to exist. Ah, such thoughts cradle me with warmth -
|
|
|
|
I already know how I will do it. Not like before. Not enough pills. I
|
|
would do it in the garage, if I had a garage. Never with a gun and jumping
|
|
from a high place? Yick! No, this time with the right pills and a good open
|
|
vein. This scares me. I am afraid of the pain. I inventory the pills in my
|
|
house. One bottle of Darvocet, half a bottle hydrocodone, expired. It will
|
|
do. Motrin, Klonapin and a bottle of wine. I take the blade from the tip of
|
|
the exacto knife - careful - in the red tool box and carry it gingerly to the
|
|
bathroom. It sounds a light chime as I lie it down on the porcelain sink.
|
|
It glistens, catches my eye - my fancy. This should do it.
|
|
|
|
I am not afraid of death but there is something in me that still wills
|
|
to live. It is a small, flickering light. I can hardly see it now, even
|
|
though I'm squinting hard. It no longer provides me any comfort. Escape. I
|
|
am prideful in my lack of fear of death. I know that there are those in the
|
|
world who suffer greater indignities than my own and yet they persevere. But
|
|
I am weak. Humanities sieve, you see. I feel all their pain. I am mad.
|
|
|
|
I look into my bathroom mirror and my image is clouded, as if I am
|
|
almost invisible, ghost like. I begin to cry, though I don't know why. I
|
|
place a pill in my mouth and swallow. Then another and another and another.
|
|
I cry harder. "Please let there be a just God! Forgive me! Understand."
|
|
No answer. I swallow the wine. Then another pill and another....holding
|
|
back the urge to vomit. I pick up the blade, shaking so violently. Look at
|
|
my hands! The light grows dim, then dark.
|
|
|
|
I am in a car going very fast. The boyfriend is beside me. He is
|
|
saying something, but I can't make out the words. All goes black.
|
|
|
|
I am in a beautiful golden field, floating. So pretty. So warm, then
|
|
CRASH! I feel my body convulse and shake. Cold steel! My back is so cold.
|
|
I'm so cold.
|
|
|
|
"Where am I?" I scream. I'm choking. Something is in my throat. I
|
|
feel the rustle of cloth and air around me, rushing past. Words, bright
|
|
lights, so cold.
|
|
|
|
Hospital.
|
|
|
|
"You Fuckers! NOOOOO! This is my life! MY body! You have no right!
|
|
No right!"
|
|
|
|
A sharp pain in my arm and all is black again. Then someone gently
|
|
touches me. Where on my body I cannot discern. Just the faint impression of
|
|
being nudged. I open my eyes. Above me stands a fair skinned man with the
|
|
most beautiful green eyes. I love his eyes. I allow myself to fall into
|
|
them, like diving into a cool, smooth pool.
|
|
|
|
"Shannon? You truly intended to kill yourself, didn't you? To die?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes," I answer meekly. "Because I am mad." He scribbles something on
|
|
a pad of paper he carries with him, then looks up and smiles.
|
|
|
|
"We're going to take you somewhere where you can get help, O.K.?"
|
|
|
|
I wonder who "we" is and nod weakly. Everything is sore, like I've been
|
|
squeezed through a rusty metal tube. The man with the beautiful green eyes
|
|
disappears, leaving me cold and shaking. I'm so tired. Weary, really, and I
|
|
close my eyes and fall into a deep, dreamless, black sleep. The kind of
|
|
sleep I love so dearly that I would give my life for it.
|
|
|
|
I fell into that blissful slumber a mad woman and awoke...diagnosed.
|
|
|
|
"Bi-polar disorder," the psychiatrist says, handing me sheets of
|
|
asbestos yellow paper. "Manic-depressive, you've heard of it?" I nod.
|
|
Well, what should I think of that? What can I say? I take the papers and
|
|
lay them limply in my lap. I listen.
|
|
|
|
Madness. I now understand with perfect clarity that it is not a monster
|
|
nor that frightening, indefinable bump in the night. It has a name, my
|
|
recent diagnosis. It never crept up from behind me but from inside me, for
|
|
it is a part of me. Of who I am. I am Shannon Downs and I am bipolar.
|
|
Bipolar. "This will be the last time," I think resolutely. I have named the
|
|
madness. And I will tame it. I want to live.
|
|
|
|
I feel the rush of the forced breeze from a bellow stoking a fire inside
|
|
my mind. It is warm. It comforts me.
|
|
|
|
þùúùþ
|
|
Shannon Downs, 28, lives in Los Angeles and works as an independent script
|
|
writer and television writer for such shows as "Murder One", Stephen Bochco
|
|
Prods. She has an M.A. in Film from Columbia, Chicago, and B.A.'s in
|
|
Philosophy and Political Science from Rockhurst College. She also studied
|
|
a year in Rome, Italy, through Loyola University. She has been crazy since
|
|
adolescence but her weirdness was always attributed to her "artistic
|
|
disposition." She says she could have used some help a little sooner before
|
|
things got way out of control, but she's diagnosed, on meds, and doing fine.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Time To Rest
|
|
þ Ray Heinrich
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
the twilight
|
|
your song
|
|
and slow
|
|
the night starts
|
|
like the day
|
|
slow
|
|
and it is time to rest
|
|
no need watching
|
|
anymore
|
|
the passing day
|
|
its fingers
|
|
pick your face away
|
|
and there
|
|
is no need to pretend
|
|
it's better to forget
|
|
as this night
|
|
covers the day
|
|
as the next
|
|
will cover it
|
|
and the rhythm
|
|
of your song
|
|
in the twilight
|
|
listening to your song
|
|
against the bank
|
|
and the river
|
|
silver
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
Touched Me In My Trance
|
|
þ Ryan Bloomer
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
dark dusk in the corner
|
|
of my unseen hallucination
|
|
like a bleak memory that haunts
|
|
cut at the strings of time
|
|
with a dull thought
|
|
take heed as the rust falls
|
|
blight the wounds that you inflict
|
|
with your silent grin
|
|
in the corner
|
|
of my unseen hallucination
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Twilight Or Dawn?
|
|
þ Gopal T. Venkatesan
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
'Neath the awning of your brow, two dark sapphires
|
|
Sparkling embers that can light a million fires
|
|
Each look, an arrow, that pierces my heart so
|
|
Shot from the bow, formed by the arc of your brow.
|
|
|
|
Braided raven black hair, decked with jasmine flowers
|
|
Lissom neck, festooned with pearls that twinkle like stars
|
|
You are sinuous as a liana, yet graceful as a swan
|
|
Oh, lovely one! You must be the reason I was born.
|
|
|
|
Who are you? I wonder,
|
|
Oh, beautiful one!
|
|
Face soft as the moon, yet fiery as the sun.
|
|
A blossom of the sky, spawned by the eternal cosmic ferment?
|
|
|
|
Where do you come from? I wonder,
|
|
Oh, lotus lips!
|
|
Sinewy grace, in the delicate sway of your hips.
|
|
From the inner sanctum of the netherworld of serpents?
|
|
|
|
Basking in the tender glow of the limpid moonlight
|
|
I listen to the still drone of time past midnight
|
|
Smitten by your image, I lie awake thro' the night
|
|
'Til reality cuts by the sword of the morning light.
|
|
|
|
My love is ripe beyond bearing, nights have passed,
|
|
When I profess my love in person, this burden I will cast,
|
|
My heart is frantic with haste and races like a steed
|
|
A plowman with a single ox, in land all wet and ready for seed.
|
|
|
|
Tonight I will wait at the peak, from midnight 'til dawn
|
|
Where the white waters that crash far below are born
|
|
Near the mountain caves where herds of elk sleep
|
|
Beside the fragrant lily-pond, so dark and deep.
|
|
|
|
The night is aging, do I wait in vain?
|
|
Like the parched desert sands that thirst for rain
|
|
Godspeed, my love, come hither to me
|
|
'Cause Venus has risen and Saturn sleeps.
|
|
|
|
Once, at the hoot of an owl, or the leap of a deer
|
|
My poor little restless heart, would melt in fear
|
|
But in the dark of this night, nothing can stop its wandering
|
|
On the long serpentine mountain-ways of your coming.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Twilight's Child
|
|
þ Twilight
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
tip tip tiptoe
|
|
in a little jig on hot, red coals
|
|
i dance upon the stars;
|
|
flames lick at calloused heels,
|
|
and tilting my head back -
|
|
inhaling the gaseous fumes,
|
|
i french-kiss the luminous night.
|
|
and i sing at the top of my lungs:
|
|
'Mr. Moon, come out and play
|
|
with me tonight!'
|
|
i wish i may, i wish i might,
|
|
lift up my dress
|
|
i want more blue, i want more light.
|
|
blow silver dust into my eyes
|
|
blind me with thy radiance
|
|
weave dirty tricks into my tangled tress
|
|
feed me strength, fuel my might.
|
|
i love you, oh i need you,
|
|
birth me as your spawn, your daughter
|
|
mix me into thy sparkling drink,
|
|
pound and strike me with your passion -
|
|
*i'll spill your heavenly seed*
|
|
and i'll weep upon the starlit skies eternally...
|
|
and be your one and only
|
|
true twilight.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Anonymous
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Forget his name
|
|
Forget his face
|
|
Forget his kiss and warm embrace
|
|
Forget the love that you once knew
|
|
Remember he has chose someone over you
|
|
|
|
Forget him when they play your song
|
|
Forget you cried the whole night long
|
|
Forget the way you two once knew
|
|
Remember now he has her
|
|
|
|
Forget you memorized his walk
|
|
Forget the way you once talked
|
|
Forget the things he use to say
|
|
Remember he has gone away
|
|
|
|
Forget the time that went so fast
|
|
Forget the love you thought would last
|
|
Forget he said he'd leave you never
|
|
Remember now he's gone forever
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Bloodshot
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
a wisp of smoke circles a dark and disfigured body.
|
|
a fragrance of burnt flesh fills the room
|
|
and a man with towering height and cocked head stands in the aftermath.
|
|
|
|
moonbeams expose his creamy, pale complexion and handsome features.
|
|
with a clash of darkness,
|
|
his black feathers spread,
|
|
his arms rise to the heavens forming a rainbow of flame,
|
|
and lightning strikes the soil.
|
|
|
|
with powers unknown to you and I,
|
|
the dead rises.
|
|
the regenerated souls filled by the beauty's hate
|
|
and the little soul ravagers feed on his command.
|
|
building its strength to further extents.
|
|
|
|
and you pitiful souls watch him.
|
|
watch him feed off
|
|
the hungry,
|
|
the poor,
|
|
the helpless,
|
|
and families with low income.
|
|
|
|
until you become the dead.
|
|
until you become the risen.
|
|
until you feed.
|
|
until you taste the flesh and love it.
|
|
and then you become another dark soul.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Kelli Burton
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
follow the stars as they drown in the sea of blackness across your face
|
|
eye the way they land in heaven and covet your existence
|
|
you wish to die and live up high among the bright lights and a God
|
|
you never knew they wanted you or your life or your mind
|
|
follow the stars as they drown in the sea of blackness across your face
|
|
they wanted to live as you wanted to die
|
|
but now they cry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
kisses like butter taffy
|
|
melted waxen honey
|
|
flaxen pure
|
|
whitewash cure
|
|
bleached of past and future
|
|
dripping with marks
|
|
in the spine of an empty book
|
|
white phosphorus
|
|
lava flowing between lips
|
|
cut and recut until memory slips
|
|
"savior, your love is not for me
|
|
it's for some other"
|
|
shadowed by someplace between
|
|
sunrise and dusk
|
|
torn between the beggars
|
|
and the one I use
|
|
lemonade romances
|
|
the skylight points up
|
|
"what's out there"
|
|
just the moon
|
|
low, yellow, and laughing
|
|
It pains, the fields need to be reaped 'gain
|
|
one more touch
|
|
to help forget that much.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Stephen Lush
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
Quakerstate oil greasers
|
|
eye my shirt and tie
|
|
as I breathe contempt and elitism
|
|
though my silver sighs
|
|
I'm up there, I know it
|
|
it's "inhuman" but I'll grow into it
|
|
it's freedom, don't blow it
|
|
have an ace in your sleeve and a smile.
|
|
|
|
Lazy June erasers
|
|
scraping 'gainst my mind
|
|
they want quarters nickles, dimes and dollars
|
|
any damn thing they can find...
|
|
some might have jobs and some look fine
|
|
but I see down the street
|
|
and it's panhandlers in line
|
|
there's the bus rider row
|
|
and they all want what's mine.
|
|
|
|
There's two flavors of folk out there,
|
|
you'd have to agree
|
|
one's with nooses 'round their necks
|
|
the rest cutting them down from the tree
|
|
took me daylong and I finally got myself down
|
|
so baby, if you don't love me
|
|
your feet ain't gonna touch ground.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Untitled
|
|
þ Twilight & Marcella Garcia
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
When I looked up into my starlit heaven, I found that I had gazed upon a
|
|
silver cloud with your face on it. I called for it to come down, but it only
|
|
smiled and began to sing a soft melody. As the notes became louder and
|
|
clearer, I realized that the song was the same song that was playing when we
|
|
met so long ago. I remember that day like it was yesterday...holding hands
|
|
while skipping together in the waist-high grass. The sun frolicking upon our
|
|
shoulders and the breeze playing hide-and-seek in our hair - and especially
|
|
when you brought me down to my knees, our figures hidden by the wild grass
|
|
blades, and your lips chased the sunbeams across my face. I remember that
|
|
day, and I cry because that was the day you told me you were leaving - this
|
|
land, this home, and me... And so ironically, you said you had to go off to
|
|
fight in distant lands - in such a peaceful, soft voice. But then, as you
|
|
kissed away my forlorn tears, you had something special to give me. So, as
|
|
you took my hand, and led me down a path where the wild grass leaves were
|
|
pressed into the soft dirt, to a tree. There was a tin box that you had put
|
|
there and a hole that you had made. And reaching in the dark chasm, you
|
|
retrieved a tarnished heart-shaped box and handed it to me. As I opened the
|
|
squeaking lid, I saw a beautiful intricate locket. I still wear it. I always
|
|
have, even though you've been gone for over twenty years. You told me to
|
|
open it only if you never came back.
|
|
|
|
And I wait.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Waiting Rain
|
|
þ Hilan
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
when rain comes
|
|
he is waiting on
|
|
his roof thin tin
|
|
buckets his habit
|
|
tied to his waist
|
|
|
|
he boils it
|
|
lets the steam
|
|
float away
|
|
eats what's left
|
|
the acid crying
|
|
|
|
short lines
|
|
filling inside up
|
|
he hovers over
|
|
ink spilled on
|
|
his blank paper
|
|
clothes stains
|
|
|
|
inhales sentences
|
|
tries rising in
|
|
his balloon leans
|
|
out to the sky
|
|
but the air cools
|
|
quick pressurized
|
|
|
|
in his recliner
|
|
in each hand
|
|
a remote control
|
|
flipping drinking
|
|
flipping watching
|
|
|
|
for the weather
|
|
growing silent
|
|
still hands thirsty
|
|
sobbing and mute
|
|
tired waiting for
|
|
|
|
þùúùþ
|
|
Hilan is twenty-seven years old and has been writing poetry and fiction for
|
|
ten years. He has lived, at least for a few minutes, in thirty-nine of the
|
|
fifty United States and currently resides in semi-rural Pennsylvania. He
|
|
intends to teach creative writing at the college level after completing
|
|
graduate school. Hilan has published work in American Knight, Fox Cry, Manna,
|
|
Old Hickory Review, Word & Image, and several other journals.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When Words Shall Mean No More
|
|
þ KSDark
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
When spoken words of love
|
|
Are turned into rage
|
|
And pleas for salvation
|
|
Are silenced by fear
|
|
When all our good intentions
|
|
Crumble at a sound
|
|
Then words shall mean no more
|
|
|
|
When the last I'm sorry is said
|
|
For cruel actions done
|
|
Or the last child cries
|
|
Because of hateful screams
|
|
When asking for forgiveness
|
|
Is no longer accepted
|
|
Words can mean no more
|
|
|
|
When words cannot describe
|
|
Hollow feelings within
|
|
When cries release no pain
|
|
And tears remain inside
|
|
When this world succumbs to silence
|
|
Except for anguished cries
|
|
And when I love you is forgotten
|
|
From fear of being hurt
|
|
|
|
The time when words were real
|
|
Seems very long ago
|
|
When cries of pain fade away
|
|
And we finally give in to sleep
|
|
Then words shall mean no more
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Where Is The Light?
|
|
þ Christopher Stolle
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
something has got me down
|
|
and I don't now what it is
|
|
creeping up on me like a storm
|
|
as it wreaks my total existence
|
|
and my fears run deeper and deeper
|
|
I stood on solid ground that was loose
|
|
all my functions began to dissolve
|
|
so I ran, I ran, to where do I run
|
|
then I hit the end of a road
|
|
and I smashed into a wall
|
|
can't wait for the savior
|
|
time are short and sour
|
|
I couldn't climb a ladder
|
|
so I climbed a mountain
|
|
and I fell on a bed of roses
|
|
I sleep with ease and peace
|
|
my ego never was visible
|
|
so I cry, I cry, to whom do I cry
|
|
and when I awake I'm alone
|
|
in this overpopulated world
|
|
so where is she, where is she
|
|
that woman in my dreams
|
|
and where, where is the light
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wither
|
|
þ Stephen W. Brodie
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
Release my heart and set me free
|
|
For the flowers have all wilted
|
|
The rain no longer falls
|
|
The sun no longer shines upon me
|
|
And my patience is wearing thin
|
|
Hopelessness gives in to my advances
|
|
As I calmly wait for Death
|
|
But He does not come for me
|
|
And yet I lie still
|
|
Counting the rotting limbs
|
|
Of my quivering form
|
|
Dried and lifeless
|
|
As ashes burnt and
|
|
Spread apart by the wind
|
|
No purpose but to wander
|
|
Aimlessly on gusts of life
|
|
But never my own
|
|
|
|
þùúùþ
|
|
Stephen W. Brodie was born and raised in Dallas, TX. He enjoys spending time
|
|
with his daughter, Autumn, playing soccer, and working with computers. He is
|
|
also the publisher/editor of Illya's Honey - A Quarterly Journal of Poetry
|
|
(website at http://web2.airmail.net/bachman1/ill.html). Once in a while he
|
|
may even get a chance to eat or sleep (very little).
|
|
|
|
His poetry has appeared or is now appearing in: Children, Churches and
|
|
Daddies, The Droplet Journal, Implosion: A Journal of the Bizarre and
|
|
Eccentric, Jack the Daw, Nuthouse, Sophomore Jinx, The Word, Ygdrasil, and
|
|
the MADDVOCATE from Mothers Against Drunk Driving (M.A.D.D.), among others
|
|
(some of which he would rather no one knew about).
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Without A License
|
|
þ Christopher Stolle
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
how many times can I speak words
|
|
that have never been spoken before
|
|
how can I find words that are fresh
|
|
when no one can create new words
|
|
without a license.
|
|
|
|
how many times can I sing a song
|
|
that has never been sung before
|
|
rhymes never written before
|
|
and the tune sounds raw or old
|
|
when no one can create new lyrics
|
|
without a license.
|
|
|
|
how many times can I eat the same food
|
|
until it really turns dry and bland
|
|
and I'd rather just perish in starvation
|
|
when no one can create new food
|
|
without a license.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Wretched
|
|
þ Dawn Green
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
|
|
|
|
crackled underneath your skin
|
|
searing out the fixed anger
|
|
a lifetime of lies spill from your skull
|
|
fragments of a blissful sleep
|
|
scattered across the floor
|
|
all your false tyranny bleeding on your pillow
|
|
seaping into stained sheets
|
|
redundant curses,
|
|
no longer to be muttered
|
|
reluctant kisses,
|
|
no more to be demanded
|
|
everything he did
|
|
came back to haunt you
|
|
you raged your demons on him
|
|
you carried his burning cross
|
|
never thinking you were even
|
|
the score would not be settled
|
|
your talents wasted on filth
|
|
for what, now?
|
|
you're nothing anymore
|
|
just a pile of bones
|
|
lying in your blood
|
|
lying in a flood
|
|
of tears
|
|
silently blaspheming
|
|
your maddening god.
|
|
anger exploding
|
|
from your fingertips
|
|
at last your screaming ceases
|
|
we're allowed to rest
|
|
breathing in from conciousness
|
|
breaking free from your disease
|
|
siezing hope through bullet wounds
|
|
pounding on the door
|
|
you were the scorned
|
|
now you're the mourned
|
|
dancing ever with your blood stained feet
|
|
shadowed in catharsis.
|
|
|
|
and while i hate you,
|
|
loathe what you have done
|
|
abhorr what you became
|
|
my little sister
|
|
my baby whore
|
|
you trampled everyone
|
|
in your race to the top
|
|
to raunchy lusts
|
|
and tired sex
|
|
clinging to dirty chests
|
|
all you wanted was a little bit of comfort
|
|
and a slave to overwork
|
|
you gave with all your mind
|
|
darling girl
|
|
never with your heart
|
|
something collapsed inside you
|
|
and died before you would
|
|
it strangled you
|
|
until you had fed it everything
|
|
who can say what torments
|
|
who can say what this meant
|
|
who can judge what you have done
|
|
my dearest baby sister
|
|
why couldn't you talk to me
|
|
i hated your deafening silence
|
|
i loathed your apathy
|
|
and desperation
|
|
i miss you
|
|
i wish you
|
|
hadn't taken you away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You Again
|
|
þ Mark Eugene Stevens/MrPoi
|
|
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
|
|
|
|
I watched you last night
|
|
nestled in the corner of
|
|
the Dirty Drummer
|
|
drinking a cigarette
|
|
and dripping off
|
|
an Izod stranger.
|
|
I didn't say anything
|
|
but I fingered through
|
|
my drink trying to
|
|
catch memories of
|
|
broken kite strings
|
|
and Charlotte's Web
|
|
surprises and pulling
|
|
touches in the hush
|
|
of your room.
|
|
|
|
|
|
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You Are Not Alone
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þ Stephen W. Brodie
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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It's 4 a.m. on a Wednesday night
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and the phone just keeps on ringing
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though you swear you
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unplugged it hours ago
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and yet it wakes you up again
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and this time you can't shake
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the dreams and so you creep
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from the darkness of your room
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to the darkness of the hallway
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and through the pitch black stillness
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of the living room
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but your mind was already here,
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searching for that missing part
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of... something
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you reach for the switch to bring
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light gushing in and around
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your tired eyes
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but there is no switch,
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just a hole and a couple of wires
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left holding on to nothing
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and your chin drops to your chest
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and there is that very same hole
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only much larger
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and you need to cry out
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but you don't want to
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wake anyone
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and your stomach is churning,
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what's left of your brain
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is spinning,
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and everything around you just
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revolves...
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and evolves...
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and dissolves...
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before your very eyes
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and you can no longer hold on,
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so you spill your bleach-white self
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all across the kitchen floor
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where it can easily be
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cleaned up
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with a little soap and water
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cuz you wouldn't want to frighten
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the others, should they come
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for a glass of water
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in the middle of the night
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and step in you,
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sour and curdling on the
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very foundation of your... home,
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where your pain is
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usually tucked away
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behind the bedroom door
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or in the photo albums
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on the coffee table
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or in the wooden chest
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way back in the corner of
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the attic
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behind all those other
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memories
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But not today
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because it's the five-year
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anniversary of... something
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and you were certain everyone
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was asleep
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where they ought to be
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and besides,
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aren't moms
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people
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too?
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume thirteen], to
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Twilight via Internet e-mail:
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twilight@mail.utexas.edu
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ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
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