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 May 2018 Fumbletongue
Helena
For my best friend, Naomi

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me

i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair

who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor
should I turn into a storm?
howling like the wind, making noise
just to get you to hear me?
I just wanted you to hear.
I'm not even asking for you to listen.
 May 2018 Fumbletongue
Michael
Work
 May 2018 Fumbletongue
Michael
Work is hard, work is tough
It ain't easy, it's all rough

You wake up too early, you come home too late
This is a smelly pit stop on the road to your fate

There's sweat on your forehead, your pits, and your ***
Everything more expensive now, clothes, heat, food, and gas

The people you deal with have no care to be nice
Will you get a break today, a roll of the dice

Your coworkers are tools, your boss is a ****.
But I guess that is why it is called work
 May 2018 Fumbletongue
emnabee
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
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