graduation, super sneior

CORONATION: Why d y ou t ake d own t hat b log p ost?!
                    joon is may be naught lichtenstein forgot
where abouts, when?  when?  when are yoo returing?

yoiu like it hterE? in Germany?                 I heard you
graduation.  You don't.  You didnt.
I will NOT FOR GET THAT YOU SOE HAVE A BRIGHTER
FUTURE.  But I can hold my liquor.

And at leest I can spill horticulture fadter and play SCENE IT
like a wiz.

The Great Gubernatorial War & my sister's ear.

"Good, she will be walking on the roof," he says.  This is dangerous.  Merry whistles wave at us, a dingle around the neck of wisdom.  Our minds are on the matters at hand: my sister's ears bleeds for wellness, my gubernatorial candidate reads to breed contempt.  Phrases are recycled and cleverness is dropped in the description.  Phrases are recycled.  It does not do its job because our pain pills have switched tactics.  They tricked us.  Our pain pills were flanking us from the North and from the South.  Their generals' whistles whirring in syncopation.  And, now, they are uphill, coming down. My sister's ears are still bleeding.  But, this time, it is because she would not allow the enemy to shed her blood before she did.

you know them small places i want to support and those lesser knows i want to shout out

oodles of oomlatz uruguayan appropriation

fly held hi fi wifi lilted tilted world fell asleep

for 14 hours woke up waking more waked 

by night time mourn for a morning. noodles 

of noontimes nat and nuruguayan lap top 

times a man in a bar of fittys real in shape

peopls you know hours waking for a morning

we never think about time being interrupted.

tahini dreamland for ben

a mugwump chasm of un-volcanic rock
hiring a few peapods of consolidated memories
to drunk-fuzz what we think about
so we can think about

dreamland. Betwixt kisses my apron falls
and he leads me to where the handkerchiefs go--
into a small, drawn-curtain cubby with
an even smaller rocking chair with
an even smaller mouse
reading an even smaller bedtime story
to me--of all the things

this makes me want to sit, stare, and never leave.

so we tear off some from the basil plant that
we spent a whole day trying to find
and on the way chose tahini, lime juice, .25 ounces of active dry yeast,
sugar, milk, 5 cups of bread flour, minced garlic, butter, and tea.

and we ended up eating the neighbourhood's best chinese's
mr. general tso's chicken, please.

and with nothing left in the lazy susan
we sat back and tried again
to knot-think of the past
and focus back on dreamland.

"write a text poem about love with me? you start?"

a train can't stop it gazelle out bounding
Why detain a languid tongue?
and a sweater draping sound, a rustle in the couch, where
We listened to what we meant. And, wholesome exchanging nonsense
but so much kinetics!
and the hands in between our figures!
we were dawn by 5 o'clock and you
Say why don't we not and ill drop you off before I speed to work?
We can play dice and sticks and be silly on my trellice!
and maybe we can finish that painting where you start
a jigsaw puzzle and I turn into an animal, we are
Ovidian and bright obsidian
On la Grange. We till orchards with our mutual respect
and adoration for our skins!
wait for sky to fall backwards laughing we chase it
we run over valleys with our lips our wheels
I have an old house lets renovate and
Juggle arguments and jokes! You kiss me like you
just learned the tricks are jovial oratory! Linguists
woe at our thespian rhetorix!
they lose count of the syllables we skip
and are amazed when our in between breaths
create the longest sentence! snakes slide
sideways tempt them scholars with infinitum.

- by essa and pashmina

after Ginuwine’s “So Anxious”

                    the last time you were stalling, standing in the stairwell

                 at nine o’clock i lifted bubbles out of the bath,
rubbed your back with a morning fervor.
                the last time you wished for me we just kept talking
                                      and i kept withholding.
   it hit me anxious and you know the dirty ways
                                            of our talk, our messages get lost as soon
            as they leave the courier.
                                                  i love the way of where you been
               i love paging you to find you’re already written
                             inside my brain and see we’ve got this connection
                                         like our synapses and hands sleep together and
                                                               practice dance routines.
 this is something that my expression can’t show:
             I’ve apologized for my sexaholicism and we can just
                        keep talking instead of reminiscing you know
                                            it’s better for me.
i kept anxious i kept dirty i kept hoping
                    you’d hurry and quit these candlelight words
                                    bumping and grinding me down.

                                               girl you said my expression you thinkin

                                                   the same baby we touch the know how

                                                        you were morning I was sleep

                                                   we let the home alone

                                               and hit the bubbles in a hurry.

Laundry

you were a present,
        a birthday gift: new outfit
and then you were clothing.
     Now, you are laundry
and I will keep cleaning you
in hopes that maybe you won't
    be just another in a Goodwill
donation trashbag.

10 WORD POEMS: Waterlterra #2, Kevin

don't give your muffins to nomads, pearls before swine
dimpled dumbasses are recepticles for art.  They
are the ones who call leopards kitties and keep ancient
aquatic life in an under sized bowl and call it "Samantha J."
Ignorance ricochets and dulls the skyline for those who used to enjoy it.
A symbol is special for its meaning, not because of how 'pretty' it is.
It I could, I would wrangle up the myriad of ignorant mind
and ferry them to old world Australia.

10 WORD POEMS: Waterlterra #1

it was a lilac
                but chilly confused it
a gasp,     a hope plundered
       ficus' insomnia, blown, tilt now
this intimate carnage

----

children gasp:
         ficus blown.  Tilt now.
Lilac in chilly insomnia.
        Plundered hope by confused,
intimate carnage.

----
it was a chilly carnage as we
watched the children confused, hacking
the lilac away.  We pray to ficus
and insomnia w/ the same breath.
We hope the gods will tilt towards us
and plunder our gasps from our guts.
intimacy is a blown glass we pass around,
                     and fondle.