winter

when the cold soul shall show its being

and the community separated

when the early light is all one will see

and the night is slow

when my ears are ringing

and turn this lie into symphony

-Lahmadaj

high

light
the
heat
flower

deep
inside
slowly
extinguished

ease
the
solid
turn

it's
my
turn
to
go
a
way


-lahmadaj

o my bike

what lovely reeling

take your time

watch his smiling face

turn turn
wheel we'll go

could do this forever
in the light of setting sun
the pace of legs
the crow
flash of teeth
one

-Lahmadaj

it's all

there
each day
the turning
each day

pleading with the strawberries
his face lowers
drip the leaves

can't imagine anything else
a million infinite
each day

enter the tune
a length of fret
trigger finger

there it is
each day


-Lahmadaj

barf on the street

eclipses your shoe

quickly turn away


-Lahmadaj

remember

the first in
gets the knife
the last day
look at his hands
covered
you can not see them
his turned toe
softy lying
the look in eyes
the last day
first in


-Lahmadaj

feet

caress the ground

to forget myself

and release

free to do so at all moments

insinuate the constant attempt of this

may shift to actual

am one of the lucky ones

in the rise and fall a turning

the music forever swaying

can I make this

continue

of course nothing




-Lahmadaj

I'm a f. idiot

been spending large portions of my life thinking others must see the world similar to me with such perceptions been assuming that i understood almost to a default and walking around with the head in my hands turning it this way and that watching the world go by in arcing swoops of vision to talk whilst it be upon my shoulders assumed things not worth and others worth and never finding through sense alone or exposure linked to its land



-Lahmadaj

burn the lightening

feel the glowing brass

the turn of a lock

press quick the soft cold stone

touch the tops of your triangled flesh

a bump in the scarlet

tighten the lengths

breathe it so heavy


the ground is expanded

the liquid tin flows

-lahmadaj

when plastic hits you

and there is no turning back

the long brush of its delicate frizzle

a crinkle and fade

can smell the polymer

peal its rhythm

-lahmadaj