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Death came on a card
inside the walls of me and my bedroom
No clear answer, but when I put it down on the dresser
I saw the skeletons of last winter

Every time I look outside
it’s dark again

I never know if it’s the evenings
that erase me, or the tide of the morning
that pulls me under

Whatever it is
it follows me
faceless
I saw a bull race.
No guilt on anyone’s face.
They were enjoying it.
A man got hit —
For a moment they felt like ****.

But red scarfs
Still hang all around town.
The fiesta isn’t over.

The man was loaded
Into an ambulance.
The bulls were, violently,
Forced back
Into their cages.

A little boy cried.
His older brother,
Gave him a hug.

And I just —
Stood there.
I didn’t feel bad for the man.
But the mishandled animals —
How could I have?

Watched them?
Eaten them?
That makes me just as bad.

Doesn’t it?
I don’t really feel like this is a particularly good poem, but I feel like the storytelling is good. Or I hope it is. So I just thought I’d share it with you guys <33. Feel free to comment.
you strum the instrument
playing with my heart
we’re on the park bench
saying “i love yous”

the world melts into oblivion
between our summer

you
leave in the dead of night
with your spit on my lips

march comes and goes
like a heart throb
in may
i break it off
like ****** bread
biting my heart into pieces

crying on the carpet floor
for a whole month previous
and a whole month after

you play in the radio beat
and then you go on

ferris wheels
taunt the imagination
of my tap
running on too long

empty eyed
i think about our
“always”
and how
they’re always
a lie
Hanging around
This little town.

Jimmy was looking at the bin,
Wondering what was
Hiding
Within?

Here's a fiver, get yourself something
to eat,
Time to get new shoes,
On them feet.

Today I heard the news,
Jimmy doesn't
Need those shoes.

Goodbye Jimmy,
I wasn't aware,
Just how many people cared.
This town isn't going to be the same anymore.
“Our apparatchiks will continue making
    the usual squalid mess called History:
        all we can pray for is that artists,
        chefs and saints may still appear to blithe it.“

W.H. Auden, “ Moon Landing”

<>

Let us happily and heedlessly
i.e blithely
send the pundits, panderers, and pussycats
and and the ill tempered ones,
the “like~seekers”
whose factual are not actuals
But
opinions gussied up
as itter-bitter-litter factoids on opioids,
of little value


yeah
they’re  history

seek not likes or to be liked,
make your own history or herstory.,
and you will be admired
'tis a far far better thing…
if you don’t like a poem, keep quiet
And just move on
And far away
Ooga booga darling.
It's me, sunflower face
the fox-hearted misdirected letter of your dreams.

I live in the space between the walls.
I play Candyland with brain-injured devils
for a *** of chilly blue dawns.

I raid your fridge while you dream of dolphins.
I tip toe around your place, judging the art,
boiling the pasta, making a mess.

That's me saying "love me" from the heat vents.
That's my voice on the tv during your ballgame,
making you ***** with the settings.

Give in, please. I haven't got all day.
Once, I was an Egyptian queen.
Once I was a Dutch laundress.
Now I live inside your Jiffy-Pop, getting hot, expanding suddenly.

It's me, sunflower face,
the fox-hearted misdirected letter of your dreams.
You'll wake up in love with me.

You'll wake up as a black horse wearing a feather plume.
You'll wake up to find me in bed next to you, staring.
I've put my stamp, my kiss, my spell on you.

Easy my high-stepping Friesian, shh shh...
It's all right, I'm a specter and I've got the cure
for all your missteps, I'm an oval track, fresh spring clover,

a pinch of salt, and a lot of black cat!
The fragrance of kerosene
in shadows of innuendo’s
alluring soliloquy
fragrance of kerosene

Reminding him of her hips
Hot liquid coming from within
An urge to go deep in there
And push until blank is felt.
Collaboration Amethyste & Adagio
Sometimes the clouds of thought gather too thick,
Blanketing the soul,
Until it forgets.....
The vast blue it once called home.
Stress can really cause random poetries😅
All your life I seen you try,
The hurt and blame they put on you.
Disturbing your web a “lie!”,
Never wishing your dreams come true.
Your bite is hard and painful,
Pain and anger disturbed, grows.
What’s even worst and shameful,
Insects no longer your pray, knows.
So where do you go at night,
Where no one else can find your soul?
Bitter inside with contrite,
Crumbled alone des’prate a toll.
To see you for what you are,
Suffering as well bizarre…
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