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******G L I M P S E********

Hot charade

melting in the glare
of winters cool dare
fitted upon the wooden
legged logic
of an ego

Haunted is the rock
an auburn glide
the wild eye
stripped to the
essential beauty
the essential depth
lashes like palms
mirage of mercury
sotto straddle
cherry rosen
the promised lips
a window

Mirth decandent
ruinous doubts
the broken hearts
like ghosts linger

steps one through
many the multitude
voice like siren
and light flash
passion haste
the sound of the

a nights
wake of terror
clung behind
hot shower
the burning
depths of rum
the carnage
of tears
and the inglorious
roar of the fans

tiles upon tiles
a wall to the maze
turned turqoise
and pure
the storm

persona from
the fresh
flesh of a myriad

like magic
the breath of
its skein


Editing stage: 


to understand
your lovely outstanding poetry
by guys like me
standing outside
my dear Esker

Poetry is like a first line..
you see the object of dreams
in a
street and the weather is perfect
the lighting..
everyones dressed distracted
quiet tnough

hoe to say the perfect line
or lines
you want the balance depth
meaning and understanding
doing this in poetry
is an impossible act often

The background for this
is a calm lucidity
this is always about
love...doomed love
never love
maybe love
impossbile pasion

Like a taste of a meal
on a street you cant remember
a clip of a song you will never
hear again
but want it so badly
knowing that if it was had
it would never mean anything
the spell would be broken

Its abbout broken people
and how the live
in touch but never meaning
much to each other
searching for perfection
in someone elses worlds
lwhom arae broken too

there is great beauty in broken
not fitting in
the eyes that these people have
are not the eyes of everyone
they are different

I lived life carefllly and formal enough
not rushing in to bang and clang against
the passions of all or few or many
the glee of that
maybe I should have but I could not
have....its not me
I watch others sate4d
that gleam smiling sitting
and I like chumming with them
a writer and poets ear to the excitement

The muse is broken
she cries a lot in the shower
when it gets too much
her anger supercharged
the loves many
non being able to tame her
passion is not a cage

Love is a Revolt

The poet narrator is a dreamer
everything cycles through
its a maze a haze in that mind
Love is not the regular love
its high octane

all your life you think you
are just a four cyclinder
and one day someone
enters your life and
steps on the throttle
and you discover you
are an eight cylinder

it appears they are magic
they have given you
the power to feel
to love beyond the moon
but its really right here
inside us all

whom we give hearts
acceptance too

thats the greater mystery
beyond even this
gobbledee gook I write

I like how you write outside
like iits a club

iso thats the tidbit length
on the inside
Thank you very much
for your comment!

Mr Esker

author comment

as guide to knoeledge of preculiarity in transphase of thought oft

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