Gord

2020-03-28 02:32 pm

He asks with sorrow for another bottle,
Liquor is his rowboat, antique throttle,
Paddles and gives him thoughts frantic.
Adjacent his attitude, pavement coffins,
Adjudicating placement to favor coffers,
A judge can save him, about fifty dollars,
Then send Jim and Mary a judgement against.

If one pulls a rope far enough, can they pull past the end?
One fulfills prose full of love, do they look past themselves?
One trills hopeful of the mode, whether semi or tonal in sound,
Want unlike need, if one pulls a rope, can we find what we see?

Gord

2020-03-18 06:51 am

I spread fear across nations,
Flear a cross paper, 
Peer no long favour,
No wrong feeling,
No wrong caper. 

I bend wills like cancer,
Spread near and patience, 
Science clairvoyant,
Poles of the earth moving. 

Gord

2020-03-12 06:39 am

Wishing to find the guardrails of life,
Leaning against as he sleeps too tightly,
Dreams too deeply, too often: Nightly.

Gut or balls, what does it take to fight?
Is it twice as woke to never, and lie,
Guarded and cross, who takes your rights?
How about the lefts? Right.

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:22 pm

if you round up, i am a lesbian.
if you round down, i am still a lesbian, just a little less.

do you know if love has a definition, an concrete interpretation?
how do i explain the terror in my chest when i look in your face?

i do not know what it feels like to love and be loved.
unconditionally, that is.

i imagine that not all kisses go well.
would you like to test that hypothesis?

of course i am honest with you.
what other choice do i have?

this is more sincere than poetry.
anything could be more sincere than poetry.

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:15 pm

is a cardboard fortune cookie more reliable than the red lace of fate?
which is more powerful, the man or the legend that precedes him?
(or is it succeeds?)
who are we to assign arbitrary hierarchies to the world?
(putting ourselves on the crown)

our sanctimony has carried us, and it will bury us.

we do not need to be the best:
simply good and kind

Lynn

2020-03-10 01:12 pm

my mother's trauma trailed behind me out of the womb, feet first.
her grief sticks to new skin like glitter.

death would be more glamorous than this.
how do i tell the woman who gave me life that i don’t want it no more?

Lynn

2020-03-10 12:49 pm

Concept:
I am a shooting star,
crumbling and burning and
falling
and falling and
falling
Don't  go back to sleep.

Insomnia:
faded lipstick,
new blues,
and morning sea glass.
Don't go back to sleep.

The summer heat has faded into fall.
An autumn picnic in the park—
I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean towards the opposite.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.

Gord

2020-03-01 11:56 am

Do oranges have soul?
Does it make the juice taste more?
When I eat them, do they know?
Sparkling orange meat oceans
Hope to hold
Could I, myself, become a bowl?
Alas, to be Mimosa Mix
Can Oranges feel regrets and woes?
Drink my blood straight from my chest
Pop a bottle
Drink some more
My heart's behest