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Month: January 2016

90% Privacy

Posted on 31/01/201601/08/2017 by Dean English

testes climb and descend the cremaster as the penis waivers between flaccid and semi-thick. the 7 PM summer is high and white and hot. I am sitting on an indoor chair moved outside, a black singlet over my face, sponging heat, browned by all this summer in the hot light, I am heat-saturated into the…

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el toro

Posted on 31/01/201631/01/2016 by peterlebaige

el toro* the el toro coffee lounge run by a bull of a man behind the counter never occurred to me even once how right the name a poster of a bull-fight inside the heavy door meat pies and chowmein a bull of a man who talked and laughed with an impatient nod of the…

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Love By Drowning

Posted on 30/01/201621/02/2017 by Waltman Wither

I see your whirlpools, darling I can see them now the blue and green and between those colours I understand now, these currents I can see your whirlpools, baby I can see the deep ache, sweetheart upon your weathered smile the weight above your eyes turmoil, like sunken treasure, way down deep that you have protected…

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Insigno Sculptus

Posted on 30/01/2016 by Waltman Wither

the godforsaken space between these once stout stalwart walls made this place a supine home amidst a supine sea of supine men in dowdy supine rows this tricky beam this doves white down thrust through did I fall or did I dive to get away from you our core once hallowed now hollowed these empty…

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The Road This Limitless…

Posted on 30/01/2016 by Waltman Wither

The road, this limitless… Narratives and liturgies behind me Ahead, sagas and parables yet to be learnt and wisely told Along salient asphalt grooves Past pinkish white apache plume Warm wall sideshow of colour flirting in the corner of the room I tarry not to chance the horizon Flicking up little whirlwinds of dust I’ll…

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moondog

Posted on 29/01/2016 by peterlebaige

moondog to a great street musician & poet* moondog bashing on an upturned bucket in arapaho rhythm stamping his boots on the bitterly cold and ashen pavement blind but knowing which way the streets blow and what down them haranguing the columbia recording men going in and out through the rotating door not even seeing…

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The Weary Editor

Posted on 28/01/2016 by john keast

He is crouched and tired, pencil roaming over words: too many here, a comma missing. He carves them out – a cancer to his practised eye, and his gut knots as he sees – and not for the first time, prolixity; lazy minds. Lazy bastards. Too long here, shuffling and hating. Red-rimmed eyes up and…

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Unfinished Napkin Poem

Posted on 26/01/2016 by Azzuen Berge

You first kissed me in a doorway, and if that isn’t poetic enough I don’t know what is. You opened doors I had barred shut – and I want to hold your eyes in the palm of my hand, shield them from the horrors of the world. Hold back the pain that’s bleeding in from…

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A River’s Path

Posted on 26/01/2016 by john keast

Across the waving green and yellow flecks of broom, beyond the truculent popping lupin, we saw someone – something – had shifted the river. It ran, now, between pushed-up shingle, still chattering, still over stone, but its character had been bulldozed. The inglorious hand of man, doing its best to do its worst. This is…

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Dark Days

Posted on 25/01/2016 by Waltman Wither

Another late, late night I stay awake and watch TV Trying to fill the empty me Another mediocre being Background white noise fuzz And lost atop the heap I never ride the carousel the Ferris wheel Consigned to watch the lights And laughter from the dark I am the littered byways The grey mundane I…

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Tenebris

Posted on 25/01/2016 by Waltman Wither

Why be afraid …to visit melancholy’s haunt sometimes it surrounds me like a black framed marigold field confined within black thought I slumbered under the eaves …sadness she awoke me accompanied by the rain diffusing light making me focus that I might see again Take comfort friend …feel each droplet fall a touch of life…

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Indefinita

Posted on 25/01/2016 by Waltman Wither

Oh summer set this line aflame where ocean meets cloud white bobs of cotton embedded in the azure an expanse whose limits yet to be measured or subdued by Adam go on as if forever east to west would I not be ashamed of my own insignificance if I knew his breadth or where he…

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