Oct 22
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The hate I cant speak out against

I have seen the slaughter houses,
the trash bins full of the dead curled bodies
of a life lived suffering and crushed. 
56 billion. Thats every year of those on land.
Thats how many animals suffered and
screamed, how many we didn't care
enough to save, it makes me sick and its
all I can do not to tear my hair out and scream
and spit in the lunch line as government funded
tyson chicken is served on shit 
plastic platters. I hate it, it burns in me
like a fire, this hatred for the system that
destroys everything and those it feeds. 
I keep my mouth shut as I see my friend 
pull a plate and the horror of the life that 
creature lived flashes in my mind. I cant
speak out without losing everyone I love, I 
already got teased and poked and had meat 
shoved in my face as they think that that dead
body will tantalize me. "Oh look here Shyloh
I am so happy eating this and all you get
Oct 22
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to be taken apart bit by bit

You must admit that he is still the one,
no sense closing your ears.
What else would you call it,
a little bit
like converting sunlight
presenting how memory is laid down:
built up and broken down over the years.
When you have come to me, and I have returned to you
Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;
speechless before the truth,
Love comes quietly,
What stranger miracles are there?


Lines used for my cento poem:
1st line: Love Song for Love Songs by, Rafael Campo
2nd line: Four lack songs by, Susan Stewart
3rd line: Left by, Nikky Finney
4th line: Our happiness by, Eileen Myles
5th line: A Small Needful Fact by, Ross Gay
6th line: Not Nothing by, Kimiko Hahn,
7th line: Do Not Speak of the Dead by, Cecilia Llompart
8th line: These Hands, If Not Gods by, Natalie Diaz
9th line: I Do Not Love Thee by, Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton,
Oct 10
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5 things I don't know or understand

1. How do the thousands of spiders that
crawl up and down my cells appear
so fast? The weight, every voice
becomes another creature of a
hysteria based affliction. Even in the
dark, like a twig you didn’t snap,
whiplash from the shock but even a
soothing voice feels just like a lie.

2. What does it feel like to hold long
and fast a sound mind. To grip the bouy
through even the worst monsoons, shake
yourself off, wag your tail, and do it again.
I still get up with all teeth showing but
my sockets are empty and face gaunt
and white, waterlogged with salt pouring
from my wounds.

3. How can the spring not lift you high,
everyone shines around you pink with
the new pearly moon and you still sit,
sectioned off with winter still on your
shoulders, sucking yourself in afraid of
the inevitable absence of light, it’s still
months away.
Oct 04
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Greeting Change

Even without trees, you can still tell
when it’s winter. Everything hides
in the holes along the side of a trail,
somehow overgrown but without life.
The crystal fragments that fall cold,
and get caught in my eyelashes
make the world clean, easy to mess
up.

Without the nonsensical warbling
of birds gone by can you ever really
tell if march came and went? A ten
degree change and your facing a street
full of shorts and t-shirts. The days
are longer but it really only means
less sleep for me.

Trees don’t just wake up on their own,
that’s my theory. It’s the fifteen hours,
the five am start that sets the wheel
rolling. Sleepy lakes whispering wake
up to birch on a shoreline, it only lasts
so long, one wonders if the bliss was
worth the pain of it ending, maybe I
should move.

You don’t just stand and stare like
your in a coma, why does beauty
Oct 04
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Greeting Change

Even without trees, you can still tell
when it’s winter. Everything hides
in the holes along the side of a trail,
somehow overgrown but without life.
The crystal fragments that fall cold,
and get caught in my eyelashes
make the world clean, easy to mess
up.

Without the nonsensical warbling
of birds gone by can you ever really
tell if march came and went? A ten
degree change and your facing a street
full of shorts and t-shirts. The days
are longer but it really only means
less sleep for me.

Trees don’t just wake up on their own,
that’s my theory. It’s the fifteen hours,
the five am start that sets the wheel
rolling. Sleepy lakes whispering wake
up to birch on a shoreline, it only lasts
so long, one wonders if the bliss was
worth the pain of it ending, maybe I
should move.

You don’t just stand and stare like
your in a coma, why does beauty
Sep 20
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An ode to the perfect poem

Oh velvet black keyboard
you span my mind for miles,
rolling up and down waves
of imagination, you ride that
perfect endless sea.
Oh not quite good enough
half crumpled paper you have
the inner cogs laid out ready to 
click click, and assemble.
Don't bother with that pink 

pencil end you, are immaculate.
Slip on that sonnet and dance
under a sky I made for you,
maybe tomorrow you will 
pull on your best rondeau just
for me. Finally let your wild
spider spun hair flow free and
tear off your iron shoes nobody
really liked that much anyway. 
Those headphones,

Confidently they tell you the
story of The Cure and XTC as
your fingers skate their way across
letters, making magic like
a pianist makes magic, like a 
magician makes magic. 
No one can dare say that
moonlit pond no one
even understands how it
got there, was anything less
Sep 20
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Villanelle for the human condition

Some things, thought to long about, find
themselves lost along weary worn trails.
Dove in droves down a hole, but I do not mind

the constant relapse of existential crisis. Tied
down is not in my dictionary, don’t sweat the details,
somethings are thought to long about. Find

a too bright star burning the sky behind
you, stare endlessly and let it fill your sails
to dive in droves down a hole, do not mind

the gap. I could not stand to be blind,
trapped behind black to watch the constant wails
of somethings thought to long about. I find

I fear the abyss, the constant grind
of the unknown at work, it prevails.
She dove in droves down a hole but, I do not mind,

she was crazy anyway, always she eyed
the stars but tripped head over tails.
Somethings thought to long about find
they dive in droves down a hole, but I do not mind.
 
Sep 13
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The Kitchen


She stares into the lit flame
that peeks out under
a metal prison.
Behind bars only a quiet roar.

Does it remind her of
the flickering candles she
lights for those she loves
or, does it reflect
what shines in her own eyes,
contained by her own
fabricated cage.

A woman's place,
by the flame tending the
beast only fitting
because she oh like a raging
fire feels the kinship best felt
by the stove, a secret
love affair.

The kitchen she makes
into her own jungle,
the slash of a vibrant plant
always peeking out somewhere.

It's empty now, the candles
have been blown out
and the caged fire unfed.
A man walks in and sits in
the empty chair, only
to stare at the
stove and wilted plant
no one ever had
the heart to move.
 
Sep 10
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Pavement's Heat

Cheek pressed against the
cool grass I see.
The heat of Southern
California summer coming off
of the sun bleached pavement 
in waves,

waves goodbye
to cool breezes and
the sweet taste of 
Persephone's spring.
A slow beetle crawling its 
way across the lined
palm of a leaf stops to
wave its legs to and fro.
A silent sermon, to
what?

The sweet tsunami of flavor
from the pineapple that
adorns a fancy drink.
Bliss is the cool that 
comes from the fridges 
open arms on a wednesday
muggy morning while the
house still sleeps.

3 am and the shadow of the
sun not yet kissing the
horizon,
when you look into the 
dark blue and all lost 
balloons are, indeed,
lost.

6 am and the slight 
clink of a students
bike chain sets the
cities tone, and
my shirt, still sticking
to my back from 
Sep 10
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The fruit seller

Seeking out the spectacular,
I have wandered,
down philidelphia streets and
exotic night views, to see
it all would be sin.
The fruit seller smiled as
he held out an avacado but 
I, with not the heart to
tell him it was out of place,
passed by with little a 
joyful thought.
Walking into that grapefruit 
sky that shines like
hellfire, I know,
spectacular is this moment,
is this life.
Only with the wish to
have your hand in mine,
raining on my parade.

7 minute type poem 
words required to use: grapefruit, avacado, joy, thought, night, spectacular, philidelphia, hellfire

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