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Body Count

My breast—

windows—

and behind their stained glass

is a fountain—hidden in an abandoned lot
in distant wood—which no longer runs,
because the motor has long since stopped pumping—rust has settled,
because upon the last tenant’s leaving those windows,
all but the two stained ones were barred
the doors boarded—
the lot condemned—a sign written in cheap lipstick hung

“all who trespass
will be shot on sight—NO QUESTIONS WILL BE ASKED–
and buried under the steps.”


 

THE PURGING OF SEAERA MARIE

E. English Publishing ©

BY EGYPT ENGLISH
© 2015 E. ENGLISH PUBLISHING GROUP
Continue reading “Body Count”
Building outta suitcases - EEnglish

BUILDING A LIFE OUTTA CARDBOARD BOXES AND SUITCASES

You have to learn how to move your shit around.      A lot.

And how to toss the shit you don’t need today

outta mind      ‘though never really out of sight…   I’ve spent a lot of priceless time tripping over things –a ton of unnecessary expenses. just shit all over the floor, all in my mental. I had to learn to keep my balance     even while falling 

because living with what you have, and what you don’t will show you exactly what you need       that’s not much.

 


 

POETRY IN THE KEY OF E
BY EGYPT ENGLISH

© E. ENGLISH PUBLISHING group
Continue reading “BUILDING A LIFE OUTTA CARDBOARD BOXES AND SUITCASES”
Love Loc'd by Frank May ©

Letters to May #734

Everyday I am deeper

in love with you –heart stops–

another piece of her dies. For your life is now so entangled in my locs, and I don’t want them undone.

Reborn, anew with each kiss of my Ǝye. I grow as you stroke

my Goddess… strum my inner strings.

Your fingers tap.

Your lips caress.

Your eyes touch. My soul

moans for you while I slumber, body aches

when you are away, and my mind doesn’t rest if your locs aren’t safe on my breast by sundown. Continue reading “Letters to May #734”