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Not Away, But Outa part of me floats
not away, but out
temporarily exposed
to the twilight swing
of dark tools
finishing off
the last outlying
patches of sunset
tonight knows me
my parts, old and new
and in the false gaze
of its skull-housed
mirrored eyes
my reflection sleepwalks
off the edge
of the blueprint
into the cloud wards
where hope sleeps
i make my rounds
methodically
mercifully unplugging
the already
or soon to be
dead
tonight, heaven
is a dream
planted by thursday
drink toward it
dive down
and never
find the bottom
of friday's glass:thumb491976448: :thumb490684023:
OpiumS  m  o  k  e


Drawing pictures of
                                                  dreams for

                                                                     gotten
Swirling in the air

H o t

T  i  r  i  n  g



T h i c k  air


How it consumes with each
            & :thumb139082437:
The Changed Intensity, or Colouring With LightRosie rumbled at the potent parade.
Hears the sense, of the sight that weirdens,
Rubbish race. The kind of suffering that depends on questionable factors.
The century that extends, is renamed ‘a day’. The viewer just gapes and stares.
Truth, it is truth. The guy who has ownership of the fizzy planets.
The coloured turmoil,
In the midst of the bay, the mystery shoes by the bay.
What to do in the face of that? A notebook of blood,
Ghosts who grieve, for someone or something, it is meaning!
The steam that necessarily has to burn with its effect, its hot outlet,
A golden guard that rotates with the wind, the indigo trees.
Expression exploding through the envelope, a different poet similar,
Ungracious grace, a field turned with the right similitude, the right bar,
Something strange to me, my life, ‘strange to you maybe.’
A liquorice Napoleon, liquorice limits.
How can one know of the rarity in darkness?
Weaving twins – one loves hot, the other cold.
Ambiguous p

Mature Content

beginningsi've been seeking words for you
since before we met
my search for syllables and parables
paralyzes me,
a sanctum before the emotion
that i fear i don't know how to
feel.
sometimes
i fear that if i cannot find words for you,
it means
that this is not real.
my pining for phrasing
has left my dreams in a hurricane,
tumblings of trust
with wisps of disgust
all convoluted
by the words
i never need to say.:thumb491956597:


Ximena8 months and counting;
she said we'd be together when
the orange blossoms
begin to fall at the end of spring,
when the sweet lily breeze
becomes bitter with the scent of
cloves and week-old honey from
an angry queen bee's hive.
She said no longer would we have
to hide how we feel on the festive
night streets of Buenos Aires;
a land of music and temptation,
a devastating coolness like a winter
fairy's pale rose fingers on my wrist,
covering up my veins; red,
warm-colored, a different, slightly
darker tone than her own.
Oh but she doesn't mind,
my lady in lilac threads.
To her, we're the same
when the lights go out
along the port, when
the ships are docked
and resting after hours at sea;
battling waves, searching for
oysters, pearl caves.
Oh baby, let's go..
Querida, you have been
away for far too long.
I can't stand this loneliness,
this indifference coming
from the bottom of
a bottle of Alamos.
Oh isn't it a shame,
how much time has
passed between us;
all those parties, wasted
on the c The oraclemore often now       I unknot my fists and exhale       that world of
secret knowing and let it       hurtle past       me, old mantras
rushing like ghosts      back underground. And       with each breath,
I’m left cradling questions       instead       and doubts without any intention
of ever leaping.       Perhaps this means I’m       forever damned
to Never Truly Know       again       —but having seen how       certain
knowledge can be but       purest       torment, I think I can live       with that.
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Mature Content

PerspectiveAnd wasn't it tender,
the way I asked for the moon
to a shooting star,
one silly night.
    
Wasn't it true
the way I held it
between my fingers
shouting "look!"
    
And didn't you smile
thinking how easy,
how easy it felt
that kind of happiness.
    
Don't tell me
it is impossible now,
go open the window
take the moon for a while.
:thumb491784374: Keepsake1970s
5 & 10
Creaking wood floors
Uneven
Narrow aisles
Me and Dad
On a Saturday morning
Pick out a 1/64th scale Ertl tractor
Or a Hot Wheels car
Was it adulthood
Or memories
That I put in my pocket?
:thumb491700874: Pumpkin WifePeter loved pumpkins. He reveled in the squash: the texture, the taste, the smell. Halloween was the time that they were revered, worshiped, receiving the attention he believed they deserved. It was the time when they were everywhere and he relished those moments. To him pumpkins were perfection come to existence.
"Peter, do you love me?"
Her voice strained to overcome the chattering of other couples as they walked through the field.
"No, why would you ask that?" Peter bent down and picked up a pumpkin, his eyes fixated on it.
"It's just that we've--we've been together for a while now. And I-I thought that maybe you'd fallen in love with me?"
"It's been two months," he said setting the pumpkin down in its former place.
"But we're basically living together, you can't tell me that doesn't mean something."
"So what, it's easier for you to stay with me. Right?"
"Maybe, but--you really don't love me?"
Peter's gaze ventured from the pumpkins to her, he scrunched up his nose at the word 'love added degrees of tilt  - double haiku -
[with a half gainer]
[difficulty - so so]
does the wolf
more toward his howl lean
on Halloween?
would he lean e'en more
if he were 'Were'
on Halloween?
llp - dA - oct2014 In the Garden of BabylonIn the Garden of Babylon
-------------------------------
Hello my love  
We meet again  
Just like always  
We shall never lose ourselves  
Never will our muscles shrink  
Our skin flap in the desert wind  
as though there were no one left to wind  
the chain of buckets to lift the water from the well  
As though there were no more water  
As long as I remember  
We'll be rambling roses in the garden  
Simple flowers blooming always full  
And beautiful in youth  
Running everywhere  
With thorns to attack and defend  
Against all evil  
Together  
The desert ever green and growing  
As long as I remember  
Lancelot Price 2014 October 30

Mature Content

BeachRoar of wind through dry autumn leaves
Sounds like surf on some white beach
Larry's on the piano, banging away
Horizontal windchimes, mad fugues
His fingers grown nine inches long
Bill thinks it will play through, but
He's wearing white after labor day
Sandra can't put down the book of her life
And I'm still somewhere on a beach
Drowning in the cold autumn air
Breathe in, breathe out; stop; no, go
Bells, bells, bells, bedeviled ring
Jeannie's crooked smile stretches for miles
All the way down to some white beach
Where I'm in the water, kissing sharks :thumb491552620:
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