There are half a dozen paper bags haphazardly
arranged next to my mini fridge on my couch.
I think tomorrow, I'll cut them up into pages,
if I can find the motivation. I've been wanting
to learn bookbinding, and I've been wanting
to learn to draw, and I can slap these two
dreams together out of my own garbage,
isn't that lovely? I like the idea of that.
I like knowing that since it's already trash,
I won't spoil it with the clumsy flailing
of a novice. The stumbles of every learner
are beautiful, except when they're mine,
but I am beating myself at my own game
this time.
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Just a Sunny Day
Ran into Death recently.
It was a beautiful day
The sun was shining, the sky was blue,
Picture book perfect.
She was sitting on a wall smoking a cheroot,
It suited her. Big C was with her
He looked gross so no change there.
Seeing me he nodded, pointed his finger,
“Watching you”, I nodded back.
Bad news travels fast.
Death grinned and looked me up and down:
“Not ready for you yet but you’re up the list”.
I know.
The sun was shining, the breeze was warm
Ice cream still tasted nice.
But now
I know
Everything is temporary.
Doug - was diagnosed with cancer last week. Feel a bit pi**ed off
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Write no letter for me
Or craft any kiss, prolonged
Your mouth reeks of blood and rum
And mine with lusty disgust
Crack me no beer can
Or hold me no longer in any hug
Neither your wife, nor your girlfriend
I'm just a hobo on tangent
Latex on my lips and in mouth
Been just feasting on cosmic dust
And on my regular diet
I have the memories of universe
Don't be a dick, don't be a jerk
I've had all of it enough
It's so prickly dry inside my throat
Ride through it on a rollercoaster ride
A bunch of lavender, and an army of despair
My memories of elephants
Hid widely in my bedroom carcass
A seashell, a deathbed and
A nameless bastard
Sleep in my arm
Dance in the fallow of mustard
Sun is our closest star
And on hearts are our dearest scars
Making merry and mining melanchoy
Screeching loudly our cimmerian wishpers
Into the wild where no spectre trespass
Only marfa lights dance in distance
On those sides where thrive the greener grass
There we were, missing my Oliver
Northern Italian tragedy
You dry hump me, behind the bush forever
I'm gross, I'm Wilde
But nothing you can ever understand
Find Me, there I'm
Go green my capillary carnation strands
- Labial Latex and other latest liaisons by ©vippik
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It is
March
and I am
not ok. Frost-
heaved and wakeful,
I stare up at the ceiling,
hugging the muddy ruts dug
into my soul. This thing that twists
in my chest is more meltwater than beating
heart, sorrow’s icy gusts knocks my
bones down faster than I can
erect them. My veins
are swollen with
grief’s flood.
It is March
again,
and I
am
not
ok…
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nudge
*
in the infinite continuum
between way back when
& an unfolding forever future,
bodies - in particular,
this body - seem to need,
perhaps even crave
a nudge every now & then.
there are lentils
in the existential stew brewing
that have not one whit to do
with a heart-healthy milieu for proteins
like you, me - stealthy grooving,
dancing the old soft-shoe
while the world is burning, or drowning
in its own goo, turning slowly,
ever more slowly…
without that nudge to keep its flow.
the nudge is love - deep dark & elemental
like good fudge over brownies, yellow cake
or steaming in a mug - the kind of love,
so smooth & delicious you try to lap it all up
if you could, like a hug; does a body just fine
in good measure
unfortunately too rarely found by the pound, it seems;
elusive like good daydreams, sunny weather
( here ‘round ), as precious
as serendipitously finding, dredging
in a flood’s sludge,
buried treasure.
*
1/23 - lebuc - nudge
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Abyss
I’ve been here before, wanting something more. The ground unsteady in ways I’m not ready to face.
How can I believe in something that’s only ever showed me judgement?
Whose beholder’s eyes see me tainted for not yelling into an abyss that’s never replied?
I believe in kindness. I believe in love. I believe in being a decent fucking person. But that’s not enough for you.
I’ll be held out of your life on earth and an apparent ever after because I didn’t get on my knees and clear the sins I’ve already forgiven myself and the world for.
When does the Abyss apologize back? Why does it excuse a rapist on their knees but attack the child who grew up feeling alone and abandoned, who gave up screaming to the heavens?
This is what you breed. With the brand of faith you throw in my face. You make me feel sick and ashamed in more ways than one.
-WanderingWorlds
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Smile
I did not want a life of opportunity
I wanted mornings, drinking coffee, in the sun
I wanted just a life of easy certitude
Beginning with the knowledge, you were the one
But in truth we’ve had a life of many changes
Some good, some bad, like rain in sudden squalls
Times when life has had the beauty of a sunset
Bloody knuckles when we beat against the walls
I know now that life is like those chocolates
Some good, some bad, some still lying in the tin
I wonder sometimes what is the point in living
Then you smile at me and I love the life I’m in
Doug
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dying and living and happy
Everyone wants to watch the vivid hurtful red of the sun
until their eyes feel like they are shriveling in their sockets (and popping out their brains)
and if they have to die, they want it to be while driving fast, late at night (stars blurry), stereo
cranked up so all they can hear is hey, hey, hey, Bobby McGee, before they drive
straight on into the trees. Scramble out their brains.
Maybe someone will hear the music in the morning. Follow it like a thread tugging their hair, freedom’s just another word for nothing left to
lose
maybe for that someone to take a little walk into the trees, just to see what all the freedom’s about,
trip on the black tar tyre that crumpled off the
back
catch their eyes on the crisp green-apple sun that illuminates everybody’s splendid crooked
body
because everybody’s body is splendid and crooked, even splashed with fern-green and red like
that, even with the splashed-out brains on the
dashboard.
All happy like that. All that evidence of life out for someone to see.
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remember the night
The first I remember, I was two years old. I lay in my stroller and watched the light come through
the black fabric of the hood in pinpricks like I was seeing my own wild, starry night, and
the second night I remember, I remember because of the dark bitter wine I snuck from my
grandfather’s glass, just the dregs, five years old—the wine, and me.
I remember more, of course, I remember thinking at age ten that I wanted to be someone, a
teenager who drove cars that blasted down roads after sunset, surrounded by all the dark
evergreens, going so fast that the stars would be blurry
but somehow I can never remember anything other than the dreams. I can never remember the
weave of the sun-bleached cotton over my head or the occasion where the wine was drunk or
which road, which road would I take that mythical car down, the 1994 Hyundai that I had to push-
start before we got to school like it was a recalcitrant asteroid—
Oh, I feel jagged now. Memory ripping me like sun-softened cotton, because
I remember the first time I saw Dan Gurney’s Eagle car win the Indianapolis 500. The Eagle,
black and white under the whispery static of the television, shone and shone for me, even though
with all my dreams I couldn’t imagine the feel of the wheel under my sticky palms.
I watch a dream go around and around a treeless track.
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Name things that you love and why yourself is the last?
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let me take leave of my senses
sing the twittering birds to sleep
i can bury the chest down deep
in the ready earth below my feet
and my former lover will sigh away
forlorn beneath a moon-washed night
bewitched by my silent unmoving lips
aghast at the stillness within my eyes
and so the river can bear me aloft
i ask the leaves to teach me to be
floating down a time-worn stream
wreathed in flowers; within; serene
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the cold creaking floorboards create a path
treaded by something not there
following the sounds of sleeping
and all the breaths lead it closer
something from beyond is stalking
the night birds stay quiet
hung by the broken-neck tree
even the wind hangs behind
this thing as it silently screams
at the foot of your bed
don’t sleep without locking your soul away
//stay quiet by: alec prado//
//photo courtesy of: Neural Horror on Instagram//
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Probably one day, probably in different world, probably.. there is the day you would fall for me.
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by the lakeside
the season is pregnant with
turtles leaving the lake to nest,
heavybodied,
with red-blue-iridescent dragonflies
flitting across the surface
in search of something,
with wildflowers unfolding,
fanning out from puckered buds
into terse displays.
love is perched where thoughts of you
linger. scattered like cast runes.
among the fronds,
with sunk, glistening pebbles.
along the sun-fed veins
of flowing water.
like crinkled paper-glass
inside pockets of moss
that cling to the earth.
like congealed nectar
of floating algal blooms
that are beginning to flourish.
like the slowly rising timbre of frog-song
that reaches a crescendo
and dissolves into nothingness
at the slightest
tug.
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Dear mother, there is something unsaid between us. But let me deliver those words as my prayer to the God, for you to be proud having me.
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———
C. A. Singh • Blue
10-21-22
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