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 Jul 2011 Anna
Rainer Maria Rilke
I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
    enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
    enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.
 Jul 2011 Anna
Daniel Coleman
Pages
 Jul 2011 Anna
Daniel Coleman
I'm stuck between pages
Like you wouldn't know.
I've been here for days now
Trying to let go.
I'm stuck between pages
Trying to get past,
But this story doesn't continue
When the hero's out of gas.
I told you not to move on;
I told you not to wait.
I took you to the horizon;
I took you to your fate.
I told you that the future
Always trumps the past.
I told you that these days
Wouldn't be our last.
I'm stuck between pages
With no where else to go.
I've been here for days now,
Trying to let you know.
 Jul 2011 Anna
Marcus Lane
I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.
© Marcus Lane 2010
 Mar 2011 Anna
decompoetry
Little ******* on the boulevard;
they look so cool, they look so hard,
they look so mean, they have that green;
looking oh so bold while they wear their gold.

Little ******* on the boulevard;
clean shaven heads are on their guard,
standing out in a rugged front yard,
sporting Glock 9s that look so fine
in the crotch of their denim jeans,
where the end neglects to have a means

+

Little ******* are on the boulevard
now
and the cops are calling
just as their pants are falling
down
and amidst their crawling
they admit to sprawling
down

You haven’t a clue,
do you,
you little *******?
You’ve been reduced
to your recluse
in your boulevard,
now.
Life’s so **** hard,
you little *******.

+

Little ******* on the boulevard:
rather face death than be barred,
even though they already are.

Little *******, little *******,
leave that boulevard,
leave it all,

leave that boulevard,
just go away,
now,

you little ******* …
 Mar 2011 Anna
decompoetry
The writer never strayed
from the same line
in his notebook,
yet the tip grew dull
and the page grew a hole
as deep as his desire
for satisfaction.

The lead bled red,
as did his tears
in his fit
of utter

madness;

he’d lost it.
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