proof

nobody stood on the city bridge
sees more than I do tonight

or perhaps that’s what I think

lady luck lays happy,
underneath a street lamp

with a heave of reluctance,
muscle man lies next to her

while he lies his way
into another sweet session of
small
talk

nobody stood on this side of the bridge
hears more than I do tonight

whisper, chant, proclamation;

‘you’ve been left behind again’

louder now,
‘you’ve been left behind
- again

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hemp tea

Moonlight swathes her
As she dances her moon-dance

She spins and she sways,
Getting dizzied and dazed

Whispers call, tears fall
And in them she bathes

-

“I don’t ask for a lot.” she sighs
“Maybe that’s why you don’t get much.” he responds

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waved

i close my eyes
and i can hear the ocean,
the waves crashing
at the shore,
then shying back into emerald waters,
i close my eyes
and i am alone,
but not lonely,
i step forward
and i am floating,
i am sinking
-
i am drowning;

i am free ~

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this continues us

Her soul is raw
As though it were lined
With ammonia
And formaldehyde

The sun pierces through
Her exhausted skin
Until she is
Transparent

Tomorrow’s rain
Drops like acid
Speckling her skeletal,
Bare neck and shoulders

She packs her worries
Into her old handbag
Along with the long list of promises
He never intended to keep

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cushion feelings

lips
pressed together,
not pursed
but almost

sunlight
and cold winds,
juxtaposed
deceiving

there she lays
listless,
restless
beautiful

drag,
sunlight ripples through
the cracks between
the almost autumn leaves

addicted
to the drifting,
lightheaded
lighthearted

blinking neon, breathing beyond

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closer

Her smile cracks
Just slightly
At the edges,
Just ever so slightly,
So no one will see
Unless they come close enough

And she’ll allow no one
Close enough

Her eyes shut
Ever so slowly,
So gently,
The tears, like crystals
Leaving her cheeks silvery wet,
Beckoning to be softly wiped away

But she’ll allow no one
Close enough

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veinte

Thoughts and dreams so hackneyed;
Tumbleweed drifting across the
Dark, black tarmac
Settling, finally, on the palpable
Heat of the desert grains

Crystals of perspiration,
Of the freshest variety,
Trickling slowly
down
The nape of her neck,
The curve of her spine

Two decades on
And I still edge gingerly
Around the weeping date palm

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