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listen to a poem
The cross referenced phrase lies still
in my conscious
Sense of reality.
Of all the reasons to continue breathing
this seemed so mundane.
How all the winters seem to run together
like the spring snow run off,
down the drain.
Tumbling through the place where the ice lay.
In the darkness of the wintry night
all is still.
Where has it gone
with the last breath of Winters' chill?
All that remains is the hot summer sun
burning the back of my once young
neck.
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listen to another poem
The dull resonance of water dripping
while my mind is slipping
into eternity.
Face in mirror just staring
while I am preparing
to go to sleep.
Little thoughts come creeping,
when the brain is sleeping,
into mind.
Images all mixed up in a puzzle
messages full of riddles
enter and then leave.
All the time I'm waiting for,
and watching for,
the man with a gun
The t.v screen howls with horror
Drips with terror
As I try to sleep.
Then the movie
Has a sudden ending
A day beginning
Over again, and over again.
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my life in quiet rooms
spent sitting in the sunlight of early dawn
breathing gently as the silence
permeates every little crack,
every little discrepancy.
All the little holes in my life
on display,even exaggerated
rewriting history.
Rewriting my life in tiny
quiet rooms bit by painlfull bit.
Looking out from the window
light plays tricks with my vision
and I see some of the pasts
and some of the futures
that could have been
or would have been.
What if ? doesn't really mean anything.
The model of the future
warped and out of tune
with my reality
a reality you left me with
has drowned in a sea of budweiser
and classic coke.
You stood staring
as I ran through the rooms
of something you called " your home",
your apartment,your castle
your down payment on the good life.
I won't dream of you tonight
then wake up sweating
crying in the dark
crying for Mother.
I won't dream of you tonight.
There were no promises
only a simple gift of life.
Life giving life.
I feel as though it has all come undone,
undone like those cheap plastic garbage bags
all the mess on the floor
and only me left to clean it up.
No.
I won't dream of you tonight
because I don't need to
love or hate,right or wrong
we have the same blood
itching in our hardening arteries.
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