Pleated cotton kisses the cold concrete step,

I'm too young to understand meditation,

I stare at ants,

A bag of books,

Homework can wait,

Sweets stuck to corners in my pockets,

Every corner on the street has an adventure,

Curtains dancing, eyes spying,

I could have gone to town on a half torn bus pass,

But I'd miss the metal key turning,

The sign that waiting is over,

Hours have passed

But I'm used to the waiting.

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Sep 14Liked by augmented man

post traumatic observation #2

I keep going to the moment when he produced the gun

the the steel pressed the flesh of my temple

his crazy eyes

mouth screaming "I'll drop you"

I have no control in this moment it seems

I'm doomed to live it over and over and over

despite the fact that Nico never pulled the trigger

he is a trigger

gateway into the rush of anxiety

that yields explosiveness far exceeding

any gunpowder and hammer.

by Edward Storm

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Sep 8Liked by augmented man

The Master and the Student

Emperor of Huckleberry ice cream

waters Idaho gold a shade of green

while hanging our clothes out upon the line

these fine pilgrims raz the cell tower pine.

Trimming away the sad old rose thorn,

the sea farer cries, and gives this his scorn

ignoring the sad old campfire songs

when Kubla Khan’s pleasure court sounds the gong.

Sit with a pipe full of Oregon weed

and watch the black billed magpies fly and feed,

at last, we have a king who shares his rings,

goes deeper into the nature of things.

We ain’t got sun valley money honey,

drink from a jar he placed in Tennessee.

Note: This is a Trojan Horse Sonnet. Six couplets concluded by two lines that do not rhyme.

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