Finding a leftover
affair
In a transient
Mimicking an
achieved precept
A residual discharge of
an Old puss
The pagoda of
leaving the past
behind
Memories fled
exiled , entombed , extinct
somewhere
I am both at:
ease , peace -
Two in zero
before 23
The quondam
Tribulation sundered
With the fireworks of
An obsolete cycle
D C de Oliveira | Diario | January 1, 2023 | Sunday, 9pm
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The first light of day awakens,
An image fades, painful trace
Flowers stand in their virginal whiteness
I don't know about tomorrow
In that new dawn
I was alive
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Of course my best friend/biggest supporter/agent/accountant uses his cancer and chemo treatments to motivate guilt me into finishing my latest project. He knows exactly what I’m writing and that I am behind. Well-played, sir, well-played.
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the first home
and all that came after
held the point of origin
a single cell
and the rest were replicated
multiplied beyond recognition
though they don’t exist inside
I carry them
faces; frames
given by my father and mother
I’ve split them all apart
and scattered them into the sea
I saw the sea torch the sky
I saw the wind make the trees kneel
streetlamps resembling trembling embers
the night creeps in like a cat
and the morning stretches and yawns
after the fireflies turn back into stars
life always tends to move on
taking in everything I could be
I carried it in myself In every hereafter and after
//everything I can be by: alec prado//
//Photo Courtesy of: Thomashavlik on Instagram//
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what's in his heart??
He laughs a lot
but never stays happy.
He talks a lot
but never talks about what's in his heart.
You aren't in his heart. You are his heart,
and you took it while you went away.
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Soft morning at 6am
clothes from the old year
tumbling dry
the summer heat murmured;
coffee in a split rush
black long sleek trouser
went too well with
something as tender
as the pastel orange shirt
surfboards with tropical patterns
trapping cul-de-sac of stylish
The First day of January
polished in the refinement
of the reflective finesse
I found joy in
my own skin & blister
her company is always as versatile
as her pleasant existence
10.30am; the New Year mass
didn’t feel so restrictive
for once it wasn’t forced
mayhem in laughter
well-spent
the split contentment
to start the recent currency
at the shortest length
the plenteous time was
copiously channelled —
an agape of a day to
begin the pristine year with -
D C de Oliveira | Diario | January 1, 2023 | Sunday, 8.22pm
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i.
In this newfound world, the boundaries of your reality blur, and the line between dreams and waking life dissolves. No longer do you need to conjure fictional landscapes to escape to, for you have found a tangible connection with another soul—a connection that transcends the confines of fantasy. With them, you embark on a journey of profound depth, where your words are met with genuine understanding and your desires are embraced as if they were their own. They have the remarkable ability to breathe life into love songs, infusing them with renewed meaning. It's as though they've emerged from the pages of a storybook, too incredible to be real, yet unequivocally genuine.
Her presence, ethereal and enigmatic, possesses the ineffable power to unfurl the fragile strands of life's intricate tapestry, unveiling a truth I had perpetually denied. How had I remained so impervious to her existence, to the symphony of words she wove around me with the delicacy of a silken cocoon? Every utterance she bestowed upon me resonated as a harmonious, melodic embrace, carefully tending to the fractured pieces of my heart, healing the wounds I had concealed from the unfeeling world.
From the obscurity of the shadows, she emerged as a silent guardian, an ever-watchful sentinel who had observed me from a distance, enduring with patience the celestial alignment of cosmic forces that would, at long last, converge our divergent paths. In her presence, I unearthed a sanctuary—a sacred haven where I could shed the armor I had worn to shield my vulnerabilities from the probing eyes of the world for an eternity. With her, I experienced a sensation previously unfathomed; I felt heard, seen, and comprehended in ways that transcended mere mortal understanding.
She conveyed her emotions, not through the customary language of prosaic affection, but through the artistry of metaphors, wherein each word bore a cryptic, underlying significance. In those moments, it was as though she possessed the extraordinary ability to read me between the lines, deciphering the intricate poetry of my very existence.
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