A ‘nice’ man is:
a nice man is…
“A nice man is”
(a nice man is)
…a nice man is,
a nice man is.
Category Archives: Poetry
Bad Laundry Day
Shadows of man all over –
the floors, in the closet
I left open to exorcize him,
yet he’s out there, in your love.
But he’s no ghost, not lost
as this transparent stain
on my clothes. I can’t wash so
I do my hair, I think I’m pretty
enough to turn off the creeping
spirit, but no – he’s taken over.
Within your eyes, he came
divine, like an idol, or a bust –
all roads lead to his offerings.
I wash my skirts again, having
lost, in every manner he is gone.
Where he homes I cannot haunt,
and my girly hands fade my touch.
Parallel Truths (20/04/2019)
"My brother and my sister don't speak to me / but I don't blame them"
- James Blake, "I Never Learnt To Share" (2011)
Alternatives (Schrödinger, 1952)
are another way of saying loss:
how Little Sis cried when Mom
reconsidered her own abortion;
Big Sis forgets to miscarry Mom;
a stranger owns my blog domain.
The wrong timeline a synonym to
this poem, a symptom of anomaly.
Distancing
Day 1: Throw all these words out of a window.
Day 4: The Sky remains blue, and not to be hugged.
Day 9: Pouring heart out, into sink. Peeling redness.
Day 17: Began counting despite lack of fingers.
Day 25: Began counting all hugs that were missed.
Day 31: Thinking of us Lesbians; and everyone erased.
Day 59: We failed in realizing how nothing comes to pass.
Day 100: Zeroes gaping, curved and sharp, fitting.
Day 219: What if there was no alternative? No vaccine for touch?
Day 370: Began projecting futures off the tips of raised hairs.
Day 541: I’ve tasted wet lips once, long before my lips had hangnails.
Day 712: Numbers, Skies, Zeroes, Hair on my lips and touchy, touching.
Day 713: Nights becomes taut and I didn’t even get to touch them.
Day *11: There is no longer a pandemic that failed to touch everyone.
Day 2*6*: I lost you in writing: you too, were out of the window, out of touch.
Anxiety #1
, .
[,]…
[; ? ; ?; ;?]
[; ?; ; !]
,,,!,!,,!,!!,!,!,!!!!,,,!!!!!!,,,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, , !!!!! ,
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![;;;;;;;;;;;;;]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
,!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ,!!!!!!!!!!
, , , , , , ,,,,,,,,,,, ; ; ; ; ; ; !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[…,,,,],,,,,,, , , ! , ! , , , , , ! ! ! !
! !!!!!
!!! !! !!!…!!!!!……!!!!!!!… , , , , , , , , , , [.] , ,! , ,
Suiteroom – Take 4 (09/11/2019)
Everything was dark
when the room lights
were replaced by ifs –
what else can function
if all I do is compile
dreams? They come in
too hot, too fast loops
that defragment and
scatter all my drives:
how I overdosed on data,
strolled about the fibre,
and added and added.
Suiteroom – Take 3
Microsoft Windows [Version 10.0.17134.829]
(c) 2018 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.
C:\Users\Lune>darken puddle
‘darken puddle’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>add tears
‘add tears’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>dose check
‘dose check’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>hot tea
‘hot tea’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>stroll room
‘stroll room’ is not recognized as an internal or external command,
operable program or batch file.
C:\Users\Lune>d:
D:\>cd Google Drive\Poetry
D:\Google Drive\Poetry>type Suiteroom_3.txt
Suiteroom – Take 2
Everything was hot:
the tea you brewed,
this flush you didn’t
notice or notice you
brewed. I’m with the
tea leaves, a bottom
too dark I sank to.
I strolled into a cup,
thinking you’d drink
from it. I’m sorry i’ve
added a dose of tears:
you weren’t eating nor
drinking well, either.
Suiteroom – Take 1
And once you strolled
right into the dark of
my eyes. Two points:
you didn’t notice this;
or I needed to weep
something sharp, like a
teardrop. Seconds pass
like the daily dose of
longing. Hot iron is all I
cry nowadays, the kind
steaming on your table.
Your gaze found a lamp.
An Empty Barstool is Love
(after Pooja Nansi)
Dreaming on a Barstool: on an infinity
of regression of dreaming barstools; we
in a dream bar / you crafting cocktails for;
/meinatelegramcommand; @yourusername;
we watching Europe go by as art noveau;
two blue ticks consent to a means to an end;
4.00 / morning / bak chor mee / eyelids/lips;
poem for you soaked in vodka & tomorrow;
you opening whiskey an observer effect;
sizes A4 on the rocks, A3 shaken, A2 stirred;
one night, we went to a bar to drink water;
one day, we discovered alcohol to be water;
I woke up in a universe without dreams;
we watched the bartender set twin suns;
being-in-itself & being-for-itself, for myself.
Lune L. 
You must be logged in to post a comment.