poetryrepairs #197 v14.02:015
MICHAEL DAVID COFFEY : Blood Upon the Snow
MARIE KAZALIA : some coffee sometimes
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No Time for More
Pulling up the blind I knew what was crumpled in the street in front our house wasn't trash or discarded clothing but I had to go out the door to check before I told you I need a shovel and tried to use it The dead possum was too heavy to lift so I walked back to the house and asked you for help You grimaced at such a gory task at 4 AM I followed you out with a flashlight and a cardboard box and waited for you to walk up the cement stairs across the street that once went to houses long gone now and put the makeshift casket in the trees

poetryrepairs #197 v14.02:015

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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Blood Upon the Snow
Blood Upon the Snow
How time slips into darkness Only much later to recall The lost forgotten Movements of a passionate affair   How lost dreams can resurface Evoking the intense feeling Of flesh warm and inviting The intimacy, the sensual encounter   Ten, twenty, thirty years pass And in that unsuspecting moment Of poignant recollection The memories come flooding back   It's strange, mystifying how Some things are held forever In the memory, often forgotten Then burst fresh upon the day   Like fresh blood on the snow The memory of love recalled Rekindles deep passions past Yet the senses crave the moment   Fresh blood upon the snow A love wound made long ago Spills fresh to vividly rekindle The imprint of our passionate affair

poetryrepairs #197 v14.02:015

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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some coffee sometimes
somehow I need an unpredictable routine to waking, sleeping, eating my sex life or would feel too ordinary that I lived a too conventional life that I belonged to that vast THEM out there that makes our society so fucking up-tight to elude and avoid them that have haunted me with their time schedules since a kid and that first day of school when I had to get up

poetryrepairs #197 v14.02:015

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary


MICHAEL DAVID COFFEY :Blood upon the now
MARIE KAZALIA : some coffee sometimes

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