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Solstice

Bulbs.  Midnight rainbow bulbs’ solace is
my quasi-collapse through a plush ottoman.
Later, chilly sandhya holidaze requests
a reckoning, and I’m good at judging plans;
staring, breathing, counting on shopping
lists for smiles.  It’s all for little smiles.
Wee Mia, she only digs the real bliss.
And why shouldn’t she?  Hugs and wiles
come with smiles.  How could they miss
or rot?  Daddy breathes her in and his
lungs embrace her.  I think we really want
our children to smell.  What is this:
Love? Just a baby’s scent in the morning
clearing the cobwebs for blasts of glory.

Untitled

So much time wasted
But in a flash
One revelation
One realization
To forge ahead
And forgive the past
As much as it taught
With our souls we bought
More time to use
Try not to abuse
The power you’ve earned
From all of which you’ve learned

 

by Traci Guberman

Purple sunrise from
a spiced balcony. Currents warm
fresh bitterns. Thieves fly.

Montreal 1-3-14

(c) wordbabey

(c) wordbabey

10211201

Love.
(Four-letter Word.)
High-fives on the steps
of a gold dome.
Love, crowned
among souls
among song
among communities
among citizens (and denizens).
Among us, Love—and tonight
a toast.  Drink
up, get out, in
Love.

Tethers of masses
unmade by velocities.
No limits but what’s seen.

 Full Moon (moving)

Over the bar-line: salsa

with momentum—sweeps that swirl

seven steps over six breaths

and a flourish—her flourish, no

matter the dress; even keeps

moving beyond a beat & only

resting when a chair is pulled

some time.  Later—a slip

removed—a sunrise bare

amid her strong arms, again

another dance—we can still

smell a smoking moon over

brightening horizons; happy

shadows covering our toes

touching.  We fuck again;

lick the blood.  (Monsters.)

d FRI 2013 (c)

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