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 May 2018 Sky
sarah
lovesick
 May 2018 Sky
sarah
lovesick,
but not in love,
the idea of love
a sweet syrup
that i crave
but never have.
 May 2018 Sky
Sara Brummer
Thick, invisible threads, the spider holds the heart,
The butterfly attending to her flowers,
The bite of the bee – harsh gesture of tenderness,
Bat’s sensitive hearing gear pitched high,
Lizard’s tongue testing for vanilla air,
A love lark singing to a star.

But this is monkey love, dexterity
Of opposable thumbs, naughtiness
Of stolen kisses, sharp claws
Cutting the heart’s cords,
Hungry munching of the skin’s
Softest zones, push and pull
Of sentiments, sometimes upwards
Towards cotton clouds, sometimes
Downwards towards the earth’s
Rocky surface.

And always chattering nonsense,
Understood only by the two of us.
 May 2018 Sky
Angela
Untitled
 May 2018 Sky
Angela
you say i love you
like it was some kind of recitation
and i was fool enough to listen till the end of the recital
 May 2018 Sky
Jordan Costigan
Soft thudding
bare feet leading astray.
“Nǐ hǎo” wave children, continue to play.
Alive! Life! Pulse of the night –
The Heart of Asia, a magnificent sight!

Engulfed by mountains
surrounding seas.
Tantalising fragrances
dance with a breeze.

This foreign land
surreal in a way
an expression of beauty!
A longing to stay.
 May 2018 Sky
A Simillacrum
Came from
someone once
addicted to attention

I sit in cellars now with hooked
replacement hands from when
I tried to reach

toward the same
end as my creator

It sure is lonely here.

I reach to wipe my eyes
of tears I thought beyond me
to tear the crystals out
with talon pressed and pointed

Came from
someone once
addicted to delusion

In fact she kept
her throne of chaos intact
Until the day
she died malignant
with her virulence she sat

And so my throat
spits the voice of dissent
else I repeat the same

How do I
raise the volume though
so rebels travel my way?

Enough of us
dumb enough
to forfeit
the little we hold
for the objective good
the mass is
scared to death to
once again acknowledge
Runa Duana Fortuna
 May 2018 Sky
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
 Apr 2018 Sky
Dead Rose One
3:15am

<•>

unlike a first kiss, a first love,
the premiere awkward first coupling,
which when one recalls it
appears with ever increasing fuzziness (intentionally?)
or not at all, so much so that making it up based on
fleeting hazed glimpses of unmemorized dreams
just to have an “official entry in the cloudy memory,”
is a semi-necessity for regaling...nobody

but you never forget your virginal
projectile vomiting

there is even an emoji for it,
a hurling curling celebration

like a computer reset,
a confessional admission
that includes your own original
original sin,
a purging so complete,
it is a rebirthing of sorts,
a human do over

(c’mon c’mon get on with this, this
no kiss, a most undeserving bizzaring poem title choice)


each and every time I draw forth
the words on the in sides of me
they are ejected with force comparable,
my body rejecting l'étranger,
who’s now escaping

no first kiss, miss, no laughing at one’s first tumbling fumbling,
there is no smiling recollections sweet,
a cover up for your exciting intimation initiations faint revisions

but your first writing!

given up and out in a ejection burst,
a needle in the arm, gunshot
fluids *******, spit out,
without malice aforethought,
and this your last writing

this one, yes, this one.
comes quick, rough and inelegant,
expulsion combustion leaving you
panting on the cold floor you emptied
but
sorta of whole, a clean sheet, so to speak,
swearing you’ll never do this again,
must be an easier way,
to just slow secrete it holy,
or give up the drug of writing
raven forevermore nevermore

nope-u-dope

the vision of a long ago rabbi,
being burned to death slowly
by the Romans, wrapped in
dampened torah scripture scrolls
to lengthen the burnished burning,
a vision burned into a
very youthful boy’s consciousness,
the holy black ink hand drawn letters flowing
from martyr’s mouth, flying heavenward
this fresh within,
a childhood image primal mind,
is ways present
as each letter typed, formulating mathematically,
based on an artificial intelligence theorem,
that updates itself with every missive,
until the new poem is
projectile released in
a single ***** bursting,
purging of the urging

and guess what,

it just happened again

4/27/18

~for Sky, whose poems endearing found me, in her brazen ways,
which is what poets do~
https://hellopoetry.com/sheepskyny/
When Rabbi Hananiah ben Tradyon was caught teaching Torah in public, the Romans decided to make an example of him. Accordingly, Rabbi Hananiah was wrapped in a Torah scroll, which was then set afire. As if this torture were not sufficient, strips of water-soaked wool were placed on his body to prolong his agony. While his distraught students looked on helplessly, Rabbi Hananiah inspired them with his famous utterance, "The parchment is burning but the letters are flying off," meaning that enemies can crush the Jewish body but not the spirit
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