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the habitually forgotten

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  • the habitually forgotten

    nights like this--
    it ceases to matter where I go;
    trying to touch,
    the thrum in the bush,
    humming hive
    of delicate, behaviored bees.
    grasp of what
    I've come to you to know
    mellow okay
    the fumes are in the air
    walls painted
    with the romantic flair
    seeking to reach through
    the dry paint
    the voices collude and they
    call you away
    you feel as if you must go
    it takes time
    while the withering gaze
    haunts dreams
    the way of the world
    dim remembering
    we meet face to face
    all the children
    would you like to dance
    and the echoes
    dance in the streets
    and the echoes
    syncopated with your feet
    and the echoes
    like drifting paper bits
    and the echoes
    like tiny moving holes locked
    in the air
    in my sights next to
    the crooked walls which
    hold my secrets in,
    and the dirty fingers
    caressing me
    I don't want to be touched
    decrepit comes closer
    laugh awkwardly
    fingers inching
    towards my throat. gasp!--
    a fall in melody
    of moment charged.
    get in step, in tune, in line,
    establish boundary
    once again, show how
    easy paint is applied,
    how quickly it will dry.
    see me, quick,
    I decide. what comes next,
    chaos begets.

  • #2
    weird, this hints at something more towards the end, I noticed, and didn't seem to 'deliver' or I haven't caught just what it implied. Painting and Something else.


    • #3
      This is a ponderous piece for sure.


      • amenOra
        amenOra commented
        Editing a comment
        thanks, Dwayne. A piece more 'off-the-cuff' than usual, just a kind of neat thing, I thought, in some ways. Thanks for comin by.

    • #4
      Magnificent. And I’ll need to read it a few more times. Gladly!