deep
breath
eyes
closed
in
peace
no
dream
but
rest
comes
slow
hope
blossoms
somewhere
behind the last stop

Featuring โ The Sound of Brilliance by Susi Bocks (Author)

Introducing the first anthology produced by The Short of It. This anthology features the brilliant work of 41 poets and writers. The pieces within these pages are the best of those submitted and showcased on The Short of It online magazine. The Short of It is the brainchild of none other than our fellow blogger, [โฆ]
Featuring โ The Sound of Brilliance by Susi Bocks (Author)
eating my words xiv

She waits for us
no answer is also an answer
๐ฆ Hopi Proverb
to stare into the blank horizon
it lacks the pastel colors mother used to love
we the silent types proud and self assured cowards or lost fools
makes very little difference
to tighten my jaw as you purse your lips we know what we are thinking
we have no answer for what is happening to us
all we are not willing to admit that She is critical because of our silence
are we prepared for what comes this way as Her pulse tires and slows
the silence without bird songs is the vilest way to perish
blue steel
iโm feelinโ like a blue steel gun
with my fine determined sharp lines
my edges separate the somethinโ from the nothinโ
and the come-hither handlinโ parts
sleek momma eye candy deluxe
making genitalia of all denomination shape and size
feel like a super daddy fuckinโ stud
iโm feeling like a blue steel gun
caught between your palm and thumb
a dialysis rig for your bad juice blood
my nuts bolts springs and inner workinโs
the physics and reasons in me aching
of no interest to you your heart or your mind
iโm feelinโ like a blue steel gun
remember in that case where you found me
promises dowries certificated truths
stroking of the barrels looking into soot
my trigger and your raging accusinโ fingers
you offered as my wedding band
iโm feelinโ like a blue steel gun
cast out after years of deeds gone wrong
silent spitting fire of your tongue
looking out my windaโ late at night
wonderinโ why you are the way you are
we chameleons tempering our feelinโs
showcased on a devilโs iron eye
cus weโre both rusted raw on the inside
breaking point haiku
where do butterflies
go when they die on fire
sometimes we burn down
reason
home slightly gray moonย shadows of the catsjeweled eyes aglowscent of orange by couchi hesitate and sigh quietlyย like when i pretended to prayday long hard patches of humanity where tiny flowers growred like blood warmย like thunder roarsย when in your arms i wasbefore waking from that stagnant dreambland counter kitchen cleanย black red Japanese bowlholding my spaghettioswarm shower awaitsย ssssshhhhhhheeeeeeeit complainsย coconut patoulli soupย loofah scrub north to souththe sin is rinsed awayย beloved side of bedmy body you will takeinto uneasy rest
i want to rip my hair out
iโve seen multiple coroners tents these few weeks white tiny like a fortune tellerโs but there are no chances no predictions no suspicions just finality iโve not felt myself murder being televised 5G capitalized on deathโs dealings my smile and gentle nature up on stage demands the talent and strength of an opera singer the gall of most world viewed presidents laying down or standing still mind woodchips all of my plans palms to the sky warm sun light reminds me that there is a God iโve seen the death of my father dressed in blue he brought down by what he held up all of his life iโve seen the death of my mother and the sting of unfamiliarity that divided us i alien child no umbilical cord on my feet walking slightly off smell of medicinal debauchery from last night peppers the air snippets sensationalized wishing shards of words empty whirling eddies of promise obscure delicacy is what i want when i want to be alone middle age was always middle age at any point in time imbibed in the yolks of many situations took on the foil as well as the queen as well as the beggar as well as a fiend feeding rats in the alley in the middle of the day with words that mean nothing but carry weight just the same iโve seen too many coroners tents bottom line no one gives a fuck is the appropriate cause of death on the only certificate some of us will get privilege tells me to take some time trim my cherry tree smell the air inventory what i have and be grateful count the finches outside fighting on the bush that has a doctor and expensive fertilizer i want to tear my hair out at times rage knock over bureaucratic tables like Christ in Jerusalem
footnote beneath the tarpits
insomnia helloย
i see you brought thoughts to me
gush into the head
fear primordial
followed me from Eden’s castย
with children untamedย
the screaming screens light
canopy of lies oozingย
sullying frail life
as you turn away
subtle twilight engulfs me
rebirth awaits there

