

Waking UpEven at sunrise, these disquieting mechanics of clockworkWaking Up
are familiar sounds of loneliness. Still, the new clock, the cheap clock is laden with purpose. Its typical, round face is bearing my 6 a.m. fruit: a heavy head, reluctant eyes.
The tic-toc is effortless; it speaks of early ripening: a call for groans, hands at the ears, sobriety.
The machine is not all. There is humanity here, a snooze button: an attempt at mercy, a ceaseless trick. Naively every morning, falling for it, I rediscover some four moments of silence: fool’s gold.
Making its


GambleThe nights are dark as ever, though deep country with its quiet lung is only an imagining. Like late august, this season plays on double bass strings, damaged nerves you can do nothing with,Gamble
only hide into a breast pocket. You can tell by a look down the full city drain
that the world – and I with it –
needs a new coat of paint. Besides hot air, nothing says spring better than old trees who, pregnant with sap, stay mute by nature as well as choice. Foolishness is in season –
the masses still believe in horoscopes while
temporarily defrosted birds moan &nb


We Are Large PlacesThere are post scripts everywhere, trees saying no in an elaborate code, fingernails that spell maybe with bitter cursive. This is a month of twenty-eight days sometimes more when god wills it more. And I have nothing to say to you.We Are Large Places
I do not eat this month, I have a crystalline figurine between my ribs nothing goes, keeps spinning, wound-up, one glass slipper in, in. I make promises to myself: keeping a cold mouth, keeping myself in both hands and these hands only.
I wake up, feeling poor, wearing minus ten around my neck, smili


Kiss of Cold CreationI am ready to fall away from everything: the spaghetti container, the blue need, the wish. We tell this joke well, over and over until I take it into my hand, break its legs and it keeps on walking. I walk with you, huddling close to nothingness, the sum, a big face. I know you, five-fold, pastless, holding on to your car keys, pretending to have ancestors by the name of Sally. I know you, stranger.Kiss of Cold Creation
I am here, waiting for the grand finale, taking every touch, stringing it to a thread for the winter to wear like an amulet. I do not see dreams


vingtieme, novembreIvingtieme, novembre
Present day.
French kiss and fog aside
by the rowers and minds. You taste of olive oil. Smothered in the cresses of your smile. It’s November and you are just beginning to shine. As the day creeps across your back, the posture that never gave in to a world of lusting dandelions. Friend of a friend. I’ve gone up your sleeve.
II
You left me still as prayer outside the cathedral walls. As Christ becomes soon forgotten and I wish he was you and you were he. Bleeding out dying for me. I
Devious Comments
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If Mama Cass shared her sandwich with a starving man they'd both be alive today.
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To twist one purest cause
Into an honest verse,
Itself, a call to angels.
The saddened lips of song that
Kiss away our innocence
From the vile mundane.
~justb
"Every Day Is Exactly The Same."
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but "words worthy of the piece" is just a stupid, stupid way of approaching literature. no opinion or interpretation should be held back for fear of offending some imagined scale or code. if I wanted people to be/seem dumbfounded, I'd turn the comment option off. what I'm interested in is what people think when they read something of mine; where it sucks, where it sucks more, where it works, & why. it's so easy to say "I couldn't find the words" if you don't try to find the words.
but thanks, really
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but, mainly, Stay Classy
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but, mainly, Stay Classy
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No more of this 'leaf in the stream' crap.
[link]
Bitter and cold.
You are the voice of the repressed.
And even they, succeeded, in repressing you.
Speak, flow...
Breathe.
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Jane? So, do I know you, or am I really a stranger?
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i said i was wearing black so you could
see me against the sky
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Well I'd love to stay and chat, but you're a total bitch.
feel it jane.
such talent, doesn't vanish, it gets repressed.
believe, cause i certainly do.
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zBird said.
You know it's there.
It can feel you, just as you can feel it.
Breathe it.
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This is all just someone else's dream that I happen to be in.
i haven't seen to much new poetry by you as of late... such a shame, since i really dig your stuff.....
wot is this madness?!
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In any case, it would be bad etiquette for me to just pass the baton, so: how are you doing, huh? With what wondrous activities are you occupying yourself this summer?
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love and kisses, baby
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Solve two problems at once -- feed the homeless to the hungry.
Talk to you soon..
Ali
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If Mama Cass shared her sandwich with a starving man they'd both be alive today.
and though I have you on dev watch i don't read one bloody thing of yours...
why?
Our styles are far too close for my liking, i fear that if i read yours than I will somehow come to 'borrow' and 'steal' unknowingly.
I keep you on watch because you are a very very talented writer.
Sorry that im not strong enough to read your stuff though.
Think of it as somekind of twisted new-age form of respect.
kissjarksass:
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My love is vengeance thats never free.
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If Mama Cass shared her sandwich with a starving man they'd both be alive today.
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Mother is away her working her work to get her better, but when she's looking the two boys looking the other part. She's working another time.
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