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Kaffienne lip
the bob shinning
bent neck from the balance
of shoulder bared
the salmon value dusk
the valve of an hour
the black of night spilling
spooling up through
the trunks
a lost forest

Aurora velvet
a disk of night
with moons
flick eyelash

Empty lot lights
fire up
a trail of tail lights
snake up on the
curve ramped overpass
ember hisses
like cherry gloss

The fur shivers
in the wind
our breath streams
away with our thoughts

flicker beneath her eye
there is nothing more
to say
her gloved hand
upon the wheel

my hand possesive
upon the door rail
my hip at headrest

"Baby I gotta go.."
I sigh and lean back
stung as always
my cheeks flush
rush my hands to my
pock digging instinctual
for the smoke tin
the Percs waiting
snuggled in with the Pall

"catch you on the flipside"

grits her teeth
flipping a look
fast of fear
mouths "I love you"
without looking back
shifts the sedan
into drive

tag numbers
a memory like
flint awakes
rapid flaring

pop the tin
wash down
the escape
with a trix
shot of gin

flip the zippo
and start

staring across
the ice
anger and anguish

i can feel the glow
I can spend the
fifties she stowed
in my jacket

ignore her calls

i never unlocked
the last door
and she never
broke in


Editing stage: 


"Kaffaine lips"
"The fur shivers"
"the salmon value dusk" and many other ones
and the last stanza is stunning. I like it.
Thank you for sharing.


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

Follow me

lay paper notebook kisses
patchoulli in packet stained tarot

coffee cup shatter
and knives thrust
in drywall kissed with enamel
Broken phones hurled
amidst shrieks of the outrage
storms hurled

the door holding

the fury abated and tears
washing down the bitterness

the "I love u' s"
a run to the shoppes for

laundry readied
workshirt hot from the dryer

the pick up leaning on a doorframe
in a skelter room
how we survive
grifting in our lives
patchedwork rivets
where life tore holes
in us in flight

laughing with a cigarette
turning in fingers
the crowd growls
and we snarl back
with the heat in our

the tension like a guy
wire holding our false set
together during takes

the little black cat making
her rounds

we slap in our magazine rounds
of pain and go out on our tours
holding hands in the public
Lion arena
The fear in our hair
and the joy in our hearts
adrenalin and exhaustion
while life rises and crumbles
like a harvest of plagues

sink into sleep on the arms
of the numbered lovers
restless in horrors waking
sleeping submerging
back into the void

we wait and walk into the
snows to meet the effeciency
of the buses
to walk through the
days fusses

I am tired....but I keep rolling
(listening to Interpol ..Our Love to Admire
full album)

fifty and cranking it on the bike
to work and back..downtown
cross city.....all I have lost won
and thrown...and yet
a rich man...experience
survival....eyes to delve
and fingers to detain the
words that otherwise
would flirt away and
emplace them in momentum

Thank You Rula!

author comment

the first two stanzas have a different ring to them than the rest of the poem, as if another voice was narrating the exposition of place and time, like in film, the set up before the actual story-plot line begins.

that's cool

the rest rides a deep chiseling groove
full of its own inertial energy
driving adroitly, artfully,
toward a great stylish finale.

love the grit, and angsty mood,

man, you..are good at what you do!




Tis E Cho here,
Your message was sent out across the Ocean to the rocky shore.
I found it laying there all crumpled and worn, I knew to whom it belonged
So I woke it up and returned it, post haste to your screen right in front of your face.
Then I realised the error of my ways it also went to Neopoet where it stays,
Yours, E Cho. E Cho. E Cho. E Cho. e Cho. e cho. echo

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

There are two voices...
the twin lives lived
like the bridge ends
the lives of books in between
the ends..
both the start
both the end

the the run
towards a future
towards a past
towards a past
towards a future

all of this of late
is so personal
and intimate
and put in contextual

Thank You Al for the compliment
its been eight years of writing
and working here
and surviving myself
and life...

and meeting the parallel
a year of awareness
it is possible to exist
finding a place to be
that is much like two
with both very different

its a horrible and wonderful

and makes for fantastic

of course I would be
nothing without my
or contacts here!

author comment

Poetry of the top quality,
then more in replies to comments,
love it,
Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

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