Forgiving The Passionate Hubris

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Forgiving the passionate hubris

The least fractured figment of my ire

But I’m not competing for affection

Denounced for their fateful friendly fire

So I’m taking the eastbound train

To remove myself from the glitterati

The Urban gentry called for my death

Betrayed by those who are rash & haughty

The train tumbles on through the rain

Steaming towards the next Highland city

Needing a respite from those judgements

From the girls who love to be called pretty

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I Like My Women Like I Like My Beer

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I like my women like I like my beer
I like them all cold & tall
Derision in the waking hours
Looked upon as vulgar & banal
Searching for motivation
But not finding much success
You’ve set me aside lately
Vulnerable as you quietly undress
Piecing our world together
Trying to find reasons of some sort
Telling me we no longer exist
I’m trying to lend you love & support
Why do you want me to love you
If you’re going to deny me this way
Confused by your bingeing passion
& then a frozen shoulder that betrays

Anaïs Nin

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“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anaïs Nin

Max Headroom Is Stuck In A Box

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Max Headroom is stuck in a box
Reclusive creature of yesteryear
Been trapped there under lock
Trembling hands with rippled fear
Our former lives now tarnished
With time dropping of another grain
Too much polish, too much varnish
Our earnest vanity will be our pain
But to peel away those outer layers
Uncover something forgotten & small
Hidden deep, lest our betrayers
Might catch us before the squall

Crawling Away From Sudden Shores

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Crawling away from sudden shores
Locked away in anterior rooms
Sunlit beauties try to remain pale
Complexities of intimate bedgloom
Modern mermaids express themselves
Repelled by their former clamshell
Their silence betrayed the insane
Meeting up again behind the bandshell
Eastbound Portola around the curve
Writing hard to retain your shape
Lost in the Inner Sunset
Catching the N Judah to escape