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'SHUT UP AMD GET LOST'
I should get lost soon, been searching for lost
For some time now. Also,
Shutting up might invite
The silence of many
Upper class gated
AMD processed a lot of my emails to you
Lots of words and linguistic
Text messages are sometimes like
A carbon copy imprint of
Something that wasn't
Really meant for you
My insides feel like carbon paper. Inky.
A technology rendered obsolete
By new media. No more
A prop in mystery
There is no mystery about you
Not wanting me. I was a
By the time you make up your mind
About that restraining order
Check online how to do it
Look for easy reasons
Tap into some ageing
Rusted over rage
I will finally
There's No TellingThere’s No Telling
You called late last night
From a slow train
Your body arranged amidst strangers and lights
And adventitious discontent.
You asked me
What do you want
I wonder what you want from me!
Do you know what I think?
And what I thought as your
Voice struggled to get under my blanket
Turned off the table lamp,touched my face?
I think you know.
I think you know exactly what I want
And you know what it means
To be walking tightrope in
Rapidly reducing tightness and
To be playing snakes and ladders
With one thick, elusive snake and no ladder.
I think you know
And you are afraid
As the writing on the wall
Becomes radio frequencies
Of unsanctioned and Janus-faced
Game of ownership
And one warm, wet, famished pursuit.
Perverse VerseOnly your eyes were supposed to see these words
But now I want some sudden strangers
To see this
And lick their lips in lust, disgust or discomfiture.
This is like stripping
Exhibiting secret skin
Blurred in air filled with smoke
And bits and pieces of hard, slippery, exclamations.
I know this body was yours
But it is mine too, so
May be I can wrap it in that tight scarlet smile
And scars that look old but interesting.
Here goes... do you remember?
Do you, like you remember that quiet relief-rain
Touching your charcoal eyes and fevered brow
When you heard that you aren't responsible for what could have been joy?
I am walking around noisily on this ground covered
With fallen poems, bird-eaten prose and dry leaves
Wondering how I missed the rainstorm
The red skies
And the revolution that broke this fence I've been
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More