Culture at Large (A to Z)

yes
by exclaimation
you declare that he
does
your exclaimation
and all that thou art

drewj2thomas

grasping for it would only let it go,
then you are gone
leaving only footsteps in snow

and now clothes are never clean
thrown about the hall
all thoughts obscene
standing propped up against the wall
half-naked from the bottom down
what a magnificent scene

and now writing this poem for you…

or maybe that’s where the ax
got buried
in the sheets and covers
the dirt freshly unkept
it’s not hard to imagine
where you buried me

a little taste of rotten morsels
a little bit of fun
just make sure your have something for the morning sun

that maybe you were real once
or maybe you were only my dream
or something that invades
our reality from time to time
just to fuck with me

if i squint my eyes enough
and discard my articles
i will be naked enough not to freeze

they are your fountains
and that makes them more
then just cheap plastic toys
they are what flow in your little soul
the same that flows in mine

with their dusty skeletons and marble floors
birds stuffed with loving hands
like well scribed epitaphs
that no longer are read

and pick up the pieces of fur and blood
lust and tongues wrapping around more
tongues with words with no sounds
i can hear your laughing

no lush tropics or wet remorse
just arid valley
dry and invisible caverns

It was ’neath the bush
Long lines of unwarrior ants
Said firsts do not win

LarisaZ

I tasted; wouldst drink,
beginings’ rite is oh! my!
does complement me

love is full of what
one wants and what you want too
all those gordian knots

drewj2thomas

and love is wanting to
and death’s it,
stopping

It was morning
I intended not to bring him here.