From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections
by mindgallery
The sun is equal to the
sum of it’s
parts
and the equal parts are
always the best
parts
mindgallery . twitter
equal to equal
the parts are the parts of the sum and it’s parts
the sun
is always best
agenda by unknown
seated at the dark table
hands form a circle
incantations and a summons
reaching into the hereafter
lure the voices that seek
a hearing bearing
wisdom from beyond
as if the dead
become morally cleansed
upon expiration
at a and as
bearing beyond become
circle cleansed
dark dead
expiration
form from
hands hereafter hearing
incantations into if
lure
morally
reaching
seated summons seek
the table that
upon
voices
wisdom
Chance Encounter by Eli Cash
I feel like writing you love letters, without you knowing, but I can’t seem to escape you and you just seem to know everything.
Ever since I met you, I’ve had this feeling that you know. You know my pain, my sorrows, my freedom, my jubilee. And you know the inevitable anhedonia that follows the dives and the bows.
I speak to a public forum and use
New thoughts merging every moment. No one understands me unless I corral my thoughts and compel an understanding.
So how do I get you to understand me?
Do I even understand me?
I accept me, not sure if I fully understand me.
I’m changing moment to moment. Accepting me is accepting knowing that you will know a series of me, and never have known the me that exist in the between moments that there is no you and me.
darkness
Power outages
are just an excuse to use
all of the candles.
It becomes a glowing, impromptu romantic evening
with soft lights glowing and playful shadows dancing on the wall.
The darkness is no longer frightening
and even the dog seems to sense that it is fun.
Music by radio, and rubbing our feet together as we sit closely on the couch.
When the lights come on, it’s like the movie has ended.
Missed Connections are filled with good, bad and power-outage-haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Once the movie’s done and the lights come up, email the link to Lovelorn Poets. We’ll preserve those soft-shadowy-syllables for all eternity.
Reaching by unknown
Every time I try
To look life in the eye–
As if love came near–
I shiver in fear.
Damn this habit
Of old scars.
If she were the rabbit,
Then here we are.
And there we go,
If we dare.
To crawl like winter sun
Into the sparkling knives
Into the glittering hair
Of dawn.
Damn this dawn
we crawl into the shiver of the winter sun
here we are
like knives to hair
as we look in to old scars
If the rabbit came near in fear and habit
if she were there every time
if I try life
then I dare go into the sparkling glittering eye of love