Color Quiz: 2 Actual Problems

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i heard something like your voice today

I heard something like your voice today -
your voice when tame and oceaned away.
The greeting, identical to homeland calls
recollected summer, and break, any pause
we'd make between distant circumstance
to commit affection, or at least approach it;
clutch flesh in lieu of digi-roses.

Dirty Dream no.2

I feel asleep in a familiar place for what was about to occur and perhaps that particular spot summoned an overlapping memory at any rate that's where the entire dream unfolded.

As early back as I can remember we embraced and I clumsily knocked something hard to obtain and costing you money into your lap; you effortlessly saved the prize and refilled the small capsule with what for some reason mattered to us.

Kissing you was desperation and I felt more eagerness from you which was strange because I always feel the more uncontrolled one; not used to feel like this anyway but I do now only with you.

Only you weren't you you were someone else who had came before. The arms which had just clung to your neck like tentacles released - no, pushed you away in disgust. I stared at you in horrible disbelief. Though you appeared identical inside I knew who you were.

You knew it too and smiled that smile I die when I see it I die. Now however now your insides taint that beautiful smile and you keep making very time-specific facial expressions each wonderful in a new and painful way. I want to suck them up for in my other life you are gone so much.

Mmmm skyscraper I love you - ringing in my ears (turned out to be the sizzling of a steak some bitch frying on the tele my god what a repulsive image to wake to my god). Strangled in a blanket (both instances) I fell off the couch.

I thought how to get you out of my house, my parents were upstairs. Hello they would tell you. But it's not really him it's him I'd say, as if this would explain why you weren't where I told them you were and neither were you especially not here.

Not gotten to the idea of hiding you near the furnace I actually woke. Oh god I thought oh god I am never taking a nap again because I dream so deep into my real thoughts, not like a runaway imagination but an imaginative run of real thoughts.

Really I told you though far (you're all far, all far from me) I don't compare I don't want anyone to get into my overlapping mastrubatory thoughts and late afternoon dreams one lunatic is enough one goddamned lunatic was enough and two was unlucky three a fucked up coincidence and four well four, well fuck you god I am starting to think it's me that's fucking you up, all of you.

The Poem You Have Been Waiting For (for what?)

note 1: a new meaning for each viewing/a new meaning each time you read it. Repetition does not imply verbatim duplication. Subtle differences between/betwixt repetitions generate meaning. Omission and inclusion of parenthetical or slashed letters, words, and phrases renders a new reality. This piece is meant to be read several times; please intuitively or experientially omit and include bracketed entities to your liking. Of course, you could read it just once, but since the world is always in flux, it is unfair to enforce the words we use to describe it a static existence.
note 2 (*some of one*): An icon, a caricature of the deity never captures its Pure Reality, just fragments of infinity. 
We miss you. -A, L, & B.
 
& I do too.




(Let me [first]) E/elaborate with a sad tale from my own life(.)/(-)
s/Second let me distinguish between a
sad tale and a sad life.&a sad tale from a (sad) life.
asad tale from asadder life. Falling-ladder-like. (Let me)
welcome (t[w]o) the abyss.
(we)/come
back, to me
wel(l then)come back to me, misery came
back to me. Alone to face ([a] face of[f])
reality:


-the coward pursues
banality,

the muse inspires
conditionally–

while gods maneuver marionette strings
and still claimed to me
“neutrality.”

"absurdity on the city grid"*

(footnote to previous post)



i.e. the self-conscious perpetuation of non-commonsensical behaviors.
a scratch on the vinyl?
. . .
yet quite feasibly, the needle.





*not my phrase. perdoname, escritor original