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Editing - polished draft

say sorry to her for me

My pace is fastest and resistant on its high heels for The Harlet.
her gender wrote a story for a spell.

The cast member put a number against her body from hell to back as a mother.
She was a steady gun.

A black looker with a spot on sniper to killing her neanderthal pilot who was delayed on - his arrival time to the rightful life he promised her

She left where the one way out was bitter. Loving him was quiet; before a whisper once said to get on your mother-ship and live inside it.

Corona Carina (fictitious)

She was part of a graph
read her short epitaph
She had died on the first of May

She was just a blue dot
of some ink that was shot
from the hole of a printer array

the disease was a hoax
to the gullible folks
reassured by the man everyday

though the man was a slacker,
a fat tally-whacker
She supported his perilous way

if She'd just worn a mask
to the rally as asked
She just might have been with us today.



We ventured out in the gray of night,
On amber furrows beneath the linden trees,
Where the breeze caressed you're naked knees,
Smooth as a stream, kissed by the moonlight.
The fountains which sobbed in the marble square
Bequeathed to the brisk, aromatic air
A somnolence of grace, repose and song,
As me worshiped you're black and braided hair,
Which sighed to the stars, mellifluous and long.

John Lars Zwerenz


gimbaled, wide eyes blink

shiver, yawn - ruffle brown drape

morning turns grimace


Looking down at his bare, dirty feet
realizing he is really chaff in the winds of life,
with contexts blowing in the shifting winds of experience,
feeling like a squire at the knight’s stirrups,
while trudging up the rocky slopes out of the sad valley.

There is no substitute for this particular freeing
the moment that what was,
isn’t any more.
seeing that the old is gone.

Oh Lobo

Lobo! oh Lobo,
In the forest you roam,
Like a ranger,
Guarding your home.

With a sound that shrieks,
Through the land,
Making man and beast,
Fear your band.

Prowling through the trees,
As you sniff,
The scented night air,
Smelling sweet perfume.

Like Robin Hood of old,
You stalk your prey,
With alertness and cunning,
Stealth in lay.

With fur of grey to black,
Your beauty and power,
Like quartz do shine,
Like mothers flowers.

Thunderbirds Roar

Of thunder,
Could be heard,
Men and women in blue,
The red, white, and blue.

Base in Nevada,
They came,
Ariel feats of,
Glistening in sun rays.

Could be heard,
Seeing the Thunderbirds,
Doing maneuvers,
Parting the sky.

And women,
Of the sky,
Displaying proudly,
Old glory,
As they fly.


The good doctor says I’m in the middle
“Not great, but not too bad,” she says
"Fucking Russian roulette of life visits again," I say to myself

Despite the tests and the numbers,
and the dizzying array
of alien sounding terms,
my friends and family are here with me
physically, and in my anxious thoughts

You can't see them in the test results
from the blood you keep taking,
or how they help heal me in the dark hours
at 3am, where the demons lie

The Snow Bled Red

a red-haired kid sat alone in his room
slasher film sound as loud as it gets
while his parents slashed each other in the kitchen
with sarcastic slurs and threats
he watched the young victim be torn apart
wondered what it's like to die
but most
what it's like to kill
he felt the crash of glass
the slasher slashed
the knife came through the screen
he heard the owls of winter
asking what they always do
and he was asking too

Coltrane at the Marina

The sailboats in the marina,
when the wind is just right,
sing music from their masts

The maestro, a two-masted beauty,
leads all the others in their song
A haunting tune, like free-form jazz

The accompanying boats
offer meandering solos,
beautiful in their creativity

When their musical flight is done
the soloists come back and join the others,
picking up the melody again


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