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I do not love you because you are funny,
or kind.
Or because you're beautiful.
It's not because when we first met you were reading Virginia Wolf,
and when you looked at me
I saw emerald and amber in your eyes.
Your hands are like pebbles,
worn smooth by the sea,
but that is not why I love you.
My heart doesn't skip at the thought of you
because you kiss the back of my neck
just before sleep
takes me.
Not even because you
make the best brownies
ever.
I love you
because you,
are you.
And I am me.
Shy
You run your fingers up my thigh
I sigh at the delicate touch and
Inwardly shudder at my multiplying
feelings, I try to say stop but
the cry dies on my lips
this I want
My body belies my shyness
My body electrifies my senses
no shame is felt as those fingers explore
the stimuli they bring, crash into me
like waves upon the shore.
Higher and deeper, they amplify
the lullaby that in my head sings my
shyness away and magnifies my delight.
Detoxified, I soar like a dragonfly
mystified at the brazen me
lying spent in the moonlight.
© JLB
written at the Herzl Camp

"A drunken man got mad at him / Because he barked in joy / He beat him and he's dying here today / Will you call the doctor please / And tell him if he comes right now / He'll save my precious doggy here he lay / Then he left the fluffy head / But his little dog was dead / Just a shiver and he slowly passed away."


*This extract comes from a poem called Little Buddy, and is controversial. Allegedly written at the Herzl camp there are claims it might be originated by someone else by the name of Hank Snow.
Most imperfections cannot be seen
Much like emotions inside of a dream
Searching for what can't be found
Words are spoken without a sound
Mischievous my heart I am a sin
Floating above I become the wind
A vision of hope transformed by love
Scattering dark clouds that hang above
Spiritual energy I see the light
Surrounded by darkness shining bright
Feeling the real I can no longer fake
A child of destiny I accept my fate
Peeling back layers in search for truth
Balanced I've become from my youth
Too many treasures I long to find
I've mapped my heart to my mind
Buried deep in a fragile soul
X marks the spot I dig the hole
A blister broken battered heart
Passion infinite no end or start
Within the pain I will always grow
Into what I am an Imperfect soul...
M.A.N 4-18-14
back home
we talk past each other
and always about other people
in our circles.
we only care
about ourselves.

back home
we have a small garden
eight feet of space
nice and well-kept
shielding out the concrete reality.

back home
we smoke so much
we've forgotten the taste of fresh air.
we smoke until our rooms get blue
and our lungs black.

we smoke to **** time
and ourselves.

back home
not only smoke fills the air
shouts
shrieks
screams
and happy pop tunes
endlessly on the radio.
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