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 Feb 2014 Patricia Tsouros
Peach
I want silence
7 minutes
Without you in my head
5 minutes
Where the bustle of this so called life is muted
And the next 23 seconds
To just breathe without feeling so much shame

I spend an ungodly amount of time
Washing away your memory
My last shower lasted
49 minutes, 37 seconds
I can still smell gin and your musky cologne
Sometimes I feel clean...almost whole
Today I feel filthy, stained with past violence

Someone said that memories eventually fade
Slowing bleeding away into nothing

They lied

© 2013- 2014 Peach
One cold breeze flitters by,
Awake, a shiver rolls down.
Seeping through the ground,
Coated in many aspirers lie.

Abrupt to awaken an eye,
Gazing the half clearer image.
Soon greeted in holy light,
Fixated, gasp a lonelier sigh.

A shadow sweeps by up high,
Quickly to restore the blind.
Bones barely intact inside,
Reaching up seeking a sign.

A shrivelled tongue I do try,
Forcing out the air for words.
Eyes swelled, an anxious look,
Patience left to care the tide.

The blue air reflecting from the water,
Soon I arise to realise where I’d laid.
The minute grains, digging deeper,
Penetrating through my rough skin.

A slight wash for the ends of my toes,
Clearing the dirt further up my feet.
Soon my whole legs were glistening,
Shining like the pearls deep beneath.

With my head levelled I start to recall,
Visions for which I felt most alone.
I search my pocket to reveal a clue,
That night I spent burning in waste.

Shaking in disbelief, falsely accused,
The bluntness of my saviour’s truth.
The sea I think to dispose this guilt,
An addict never deserves his mercy.
​whisper that you love me,
over spent shots & crushed glass
breakable under my boots
in a releasing sort of way

(our electricity gives me frizzy hair-
makes me feel like tangled braids are really just archetypal love nests)


there's always spilled beer
on your holy flannel shirt
as you count to thirty in
Spanish, eyes crunching with laughter
as you stumble over your self-made
mockery.

(a field of sunflowers would want a photo with you​-
to look fondly back on something so light​)


we split cigarettes on stoops
and helped each other achieve
sore guts and creased wrinkles
that our grandchildren will ​trace
and feel nostalgic for.

(​a past they never knew-
​you're the only one I ever split something with)
​.​
I wish you could see me now
how much happier I've become
I wish you could see the time
Tony and I drunkenly fire extinguished
the whole third floor
or when I hiked Bishops
and smiled over the world
I wish you could see every day
as I experience flow in the work place
running to and fro
busy but enjoyment spread over my face
I wish you could see me working out
with Kyle and Brian
pushing eachother to our limits
I wish you could see all this
so you'd know
all the things you could
have lived
but instead
you
missed
Daniel Magner 2014
My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll **** himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.
Jolted, pondering, and dazed
Illusions unraveling as the silence dips and exhales
Windswept  essences of a divine peace
Waves sailing with a savage hunger
A promised confession with remnants of a forbidden whisper  
The bones of the sea dance with the flesh of the breeze

Touching dreams beneath the sound of clouds
Weakened shadows fall from light
The blue earth speaks with the wings of the dance
Whiskey teeth tangle and hate
In the stomach of a perfect hunger
Sorrow turns every corner
Bare wounds in the fields of fragile faith
Bruised screams recover the  sunlight spilling the moonlight
Silently undone, fingertips numb
Foreign ashes with circles in my mind
An ancient atmosphere, ashamed diving through the cracks
Streets stained with calloused imperfections
---
On a night like tonight
You can't help but think
Of an undersold smile;
Watching hazel eyes blink

Attached at her hip, need she whisper in your ear

Your heartbeat can't match
The thrill or the pace
Take her by the hand,
Take her out of this place

Easily done once she drinks down her last fear

But, oh,
The wake which will ensue
And, oh,
The trouble you'll get into
---
the other time
my donkey insisted
I take it to the cinema
and so I did -
not that I got a kick out of it
but just so that I didn't get a kick

anyways
we were watching the movie
when the guy seated next to donkey
said: "Hey, you're a donkey.
What 'r' you doing in the cinema? "


And donkey replied:
*" I reviewed the book;
now I'm here to review the movie"
...and so ends the current series on 'my' donkey...
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