Thick, warm, fuzzy air
Radiates against your skin, making you want to doze off
You sit on the front of a low red car that looks another era, leaning on the glossy hood.
I want to put your lips on mine
The world feels yellow, and orange.
It's as if clear smoke has filled the air
My eyes are dimmed through thick sunglasses, my body absorbing the warmth through jeans and a small black shirt
I'm in a lucid daze
Looking at you through a curtain of leather black hair, not bothered to move it from my face.
Your eyes the crisp refreshing blue in a world tinted amber
Like a fresh spray of water on my back
After hours of sunbathing
We sit there
We say nothing
We take in the sun
   We don't need anything else

When I sliced that tender flesh
Bleeding still, so ever fresh

It was not that I tried to die
But because I wanted to feel alive

So save me from this aching death
One of hatred and harsh breath

Suffering on the inside
My bleeding heart, now bleeding thighs

My throat choked and wailed
As my sadness was veiled

So help them, and help us all
Whose ripped skin is a pleading call

"You are not fresh", suggested my flesh.
Yet, every gem of my body tells me that I am fresh,
And all the snowflake's songs whisper in my ear that I am fresh!

“You are not fresh", asserted my intellect.
Yet, my deeds have the fragrance of  flowers,
And my thoughts are painted with the color of spring!

“You are not fresh”, sighed my heart.
Yet, my days keep blossoming with joy and happiness,
And my imagination is colored with boyish dreams!

“You are not fresh” whispered my conscience.
Yet, youth is not measured by age, but by the number of smiles
 You draw on people's faces, and the lives you touch!

“You are not fresh” insisted my ego.
Yet, the moon has become more elegant with brightness after long age,
And the sun has revealed more beauty after shining for millions of years!

Hussein Dekmak

Peace so soothing
Whispering in my ear
Kissing my cheeks
Saying things so lovely

I begin to feel less lonely
The lonely artist feels the same thing
Expressing notes
Beautifully

I saw someone special
Today morning
OK they are daily guests
Whom I do
Love to welcome!
But they create that
Joyful music
Take away that stagnancy
Engulfing me
Create moments of
Guilty lightness
During the long hours
Of sitting in the exam hall!
The Vedas see in them
The manifestations
Of our inner self
The body ,a bird
And the inner,another
Watching the other
Enjoy fruits of life
OK let's come back
As a boy,whom
I do love to chase
And catch
O they're but
Lovely birds!

Tracy Batman

Give me one reason,
and I’ll turn back around,
almost past The Point of No Return,
and see no point in turning back now,

like Tracy Chapman or Bruce Wayne Batman,
or Tracy Morgan or Morgan The Captain,

or better yet a Spacey Captain or a spacey Batman,
just not a Kevin Spacey because we all know what happened,
oh no no fake strangers only straight facts fam,
you see I see the whole thing through I’m not a flash in the pan scam,

I’m beginning till end from lights camera action to it’s a wrap man,

gone till November,
leaving on a jet plane to Denver,
more Tracy Chapman than Tracy Morgan,
more Jon Wayne than Jon Denver,

more Honcho than Jon Doe,
more Pronto than Macho,
more Brando than Tonto,
full throttle no point in turning back now,

wow,

only time I feel alive is when I almost die,
we do like vroom vroom we do we don’t try,
no need to try to live that life when you really live that life,
why sail the high seas when you can reach Heaven and fly,

living The Life of Lives,
living the Dream of Dreams,
and you’re looking at me,
like “What do you mean?”,

I mean,
for real,
for really real,
how do you really feel?

It’s 2018,
and this feels like a Sci-Fi flic,
one where we’re an Army of One,
about to deploy and I feel sick,

see every Moon has it’s dark side,
every man has something to hide,
like Nazis with a secret base on the moon,
in a film from 2012 set in 2018 entitled Iron Sky,

but instead of Pink Floyd everything’s Purple Noise,
this is the year after the Artist Formally Named Prince finally died,

and cryptos were raised from the dead like a horror story,
Tales From The Crypto or better yet Tales From The Darkside,
saw a drawing at an art exhibit in Phoenix called Sad Pony,
it was sad because it was a unicorn without a horn so the spark had died,

and now he appeared alive,
even though when you look close you see the spark has disappeared from his eyes,

and he knows he has to escape before this city gets the only thing he has left,
which is the Soul he holds dear as he marches through the pain and the fears,
and he’s ready to go already but doesn’t want to leave you behind,
so before he goes he turns on his toes and asks you one thing just to be clear,

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

Give me one reason,
and I’ll turn back around,
almost past The Point of No Return,
and see no point in turning back now,

like Tracy Chapman or Bruce Wayne Batman,
gone till November leaving on a jet plane to Denver,
more Tracy Chapman than Tracy Morgan,
more Jon Wayne than Jon Denver,

more Honcho than Jon Doe,
more Pronto than Macho,
more Brando than Tonto,
full throttle no point in turning back now…

∆ LaLux ∆

2/5/18

Her own love isn't enough
it never is
not when she can't be what her mother wants.
tears of desperation fall and
linger below her eyelashes
and dry on her cheekbones

those cheekbones her mother gave her
those cheekbones her mother birthed to her
Yet,
she wasn't enough
not when her other children
are there.

One more time,
she tells herself
thoughts of hope and accomplishment
give her pride, give her validation,
yet not enough validation
to be cared for like the other children
not enough to be heard.

her mother's words caress her
endearing her that she's good enough.
But the truth that she feels is
so powerful and vivud,
she knows that she possibly
couldn't be good enough.
No matter how many
things her mother tells her,
she knows the truth,
even if her mother can't see the truth.

It's not enough.
Not when she can't be the daughter
her sister is; she
could never be for her mother.