November 2008


Careless

She was more than a little . . .
casual
Had a way of leaving her smile
in strange parts of the room
And you’d find it there
and think
How’d this get here

Was it her plan
to let the ghost of her perfume
Become entangled
with time
in this room
Or was she just a little too . . .
careless

Listen
No
Listen
Do you hear that
Echoes of her whispers
In the torrent of noise
we call Life
Lingering here
like footprints
leading into the desert

Quixotic as ever

William C. Burns, Jr.
matrix437@yahoo.com

On that day,

you dried the winds exteme

and brought rains later

a chain of thunderheads

I attached to,

like a train of dreams

I wanted to drop out.

 

You’ve returned my letters

with a laugh,

even the lined ones

where I poured heart wine

in tall slender glasses

waiting for you to drink-

you didn’t.

 

I wanted to tell you

you were loved

so you could stop chasing

that last train, that last music

streaming out of your soul

like a stuck record-

isn’t the same song boring?

 

 

Instead,  I watched you glower

everytime we past that church,

the moon reflecting in your face-

never full, always a thin line of 

space occupied by pain.

 

Dave Barber

30 Nov 2008

日本語 私は眠っていたまたは従って私は浜に恥じた、私あった考えた 愛を作る、 深く影で、 彼女のまわりの私の腕、 金のシートに置くこと 彼女の体のまわりで包まれる 流れる彼女の水流れることで飲む oh暗闇の流れること 彼女に対して懸命に押される! りんごの知識 この浜で 呼吸のために私に石造りにあえぐこと、彼女の柔らかい谷で、 深い恋人。

I was asleep or so I thought
ashamed, I was on a beach
making love,
deep in shadow,
my arms around her,
laying on sheets of gold
wrapped around her body
drinking in her water flowing,
flowing,
oh the darkness flowing
pressed hard against her!

A knowledge of the apple-
even on this beach
my stone gasping for breath,
in her soft valley,
a deep lover.

Dave
30 Nov 08

In the evenings,
coolness fills the valley,
his tongue across her moaning mound!

Dave

in the evenings,
the smoke fills the skies
heat from horny wifes have sex!

Dave

Harte Oberfläche Ich wünsche, dass ich zusammentrat und verließ die Samen der Schmerz hinter mir, Erbringen nur zum Jammern des Winds und der Ton des Schneeküssens. Aber die Oberflächen sind zu hart und ich finde mich zurückzuschieben mehr jeder der Tage bis kann mich die Note, fühlen von Härte, die Spannung, das courseness nicht stehen des Lebens. Dave-Herrenfriseur

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