Compilation Poem for September 24, 2015

I can't see myself in the reflection of
the perforations in your skin where it might tear
the stars float above you looking like food
Everything is overrated to them and that's sad to me
we dragons dance with our shoes off
I want to kiss your temples and arches of your feet
you feel bad for him because he just wanted his wife back
to go from oblivious in bliss you have to keep sinking
Behind my psychedelic heat exhaustions
It's taxing to feel so all alone
4 o'clock and it is a lone color in the city
the sky turned itself blue from holding its breath
I'd rather be at home, the silent street listening
I blink my eye and hope that you will see me
A solitary heart attached to other hearts by strings
trying to tuck itself in for the night
her toes and knees urging a ghastly dare
kiss me you big hairy hulk
wear and tear, my hands and my feet
first find your ocean
Be the pressure from all directions
The subtle breeze from the lake
Becoming piercingly detached as you step over every grave
In your own two hands
a dolphin in the ocean of my dream
She was actually very clever
He asks me, "don't you believe in serendipity?"
At least we settled into the normalcy of long term friendship
My god's still out there
Whisper my name like salt
these tears drive spare wheels
I sew my eyes wide open
I guess some clocks have delicate faces
But maybe you blink when someone you love claps their hands in your face
The Phoenix begins to burn and burn slowly

Compiled by Beckafer de Faux

Compilation Poem for September 17, 2015

I forgot why I did this. It won't change how fast the hands move.  If the world would just end when it ends and kindly exit the stage after delivering its final line, but this is not so. You will get hurt with all that love lying around. I think I'll get a little high and hide beneath hoods, meditating and marching, seeking deeper connections between anyone, anything, everything, seeing you still as projections onto the silver screens of my eyes. If I were young I'd call this fate your hands long embracing. But your mumbling mocks my mortified memory and I live in lost lies.

She emerged in froth and foam sitting on the beach, chin on knees because it was too long to be away from home wanting nothing more than to hold him in the stillness of 4 am, lying on the cheap and worn carpet of his living room, but it would cost her quadrillions all the heavens that weep, lying in rubble.

The snow slowed all the world, silencing quiet. And the kindred bones, they ached. And they moaned.

Compiled by Devin

Compilation Poem for September 10, 2015

Fourteen years ago today
“He loved my poetry, until he knew it was about him”

She’s swaddled in my favorite color
and all the props of poetic legend —
every country has its crying tale
and rather less than half of that behind.
I never knew you — a penance for your shame.
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

I try not to look too crazy —
I exist only as a melancholy fabrication
smoking a joint on the streets of Vancouver,
a being in possession of her own heart
[unwritten line] —
nights we are hemmed to dreams.

Most birds fly at 30 miles per hour,
far from me {if you knew} — wouldn’t a fly-swatter be easier?
Eeverything burns, stubble to ash for the planting.
Love falls to the floor, threadbare and faded.
Am I a sentient being, or a fetish?
Every time my grass flames, it curls around the shadows.

It lit us from the left as we crossed the Hickman Bridge.
A deer for a pet — oh, a deer for a pet —
This is not my opinion — this is just a poem.
Who calls the bottle into question?  Ghost witch?
I’ll never let you abandon your mouth with teeth —
when there is no sound, we have the most to say.

I am a book that has been printed backwards.

Compiled by Dennis Clark