limited by my own words

not in a sense of what i can accomplish
but what i can do

my passion lies in what.is behind the shade
the silhouette of passion

that my hand can never touch

i am glad my visions are not real

i would be too guilty

too tired

in the end i feel angry

the anger moves my thoughts .

the thoughts move my hands

i try to purge all these feelings

... in the end i am alone

limited by my own words

Timothy Moore

more poetry

“| Can See The End Is Near”

The shadows of the night,

They crawl forth upon the granite

As dusk fills the air.

| know that the hours | spend with you will be your last.

Time is running short,

And our end is drawing near

As the rhythm of your destruction
Pounds on

With increasing intensity.

Pulsating,

Like a heart in a steel cage,
You expression is madness
As the machine of bone
Pulls you away from me,
Disrobes the goddess

And drags you down.

The storm begins to brew in the skies above.
You can drink all the caffeine you like,

But you cannot escape this nightmare

That you've brought upon yourself

Like an ungrateful stranger you’ve brought
To your bed.

Like an endless wave that flows and ebbs and dies,
This darkness you are drowning in has no end in sight.
And when the moon is full,
The tide is the highest.

| do not know who is going to die tonight,
| don’t know if it is going to be you or me,
But that’s all right because quite frankly,
I'm tired of us both.

Maybe the tides will have mercy

And cleanse our bones,

Scatter our fragments both near and afar.

As you look up to the midnight skies,
Before you turn your head

And we lose our embrace,

Grant me one final wish-

Before the night is through,

Let me call your name once,

So that as the waves wash over your face,
Thoughts of you will be on my mind

And you will be on my lips.

Alastair Wood

heather shaw

heather shaw

BLACK BILE

In bed
| lie on my back
My left hand rests
On my right breast
My other hand
On my vagina
My body is numb except for
The dull pain that palpitates
Around the hole in my forehead
From the wound oozes
Black bile; the puss of the past
The poison seeps from my mind
Wetting the bed
How am I to excuse this mess?

Laura

in the morning

of a beginning

of rotting chroma

the dirt beneath

my fingernails
returned.

Bells echoed over
silent sirens and
available light.

Discord machinery
against the background
of a reebar river.

Two men grew beneath
my armpits

And spoke in foreign tongue
Women in my feelings
were crying

And losing blood.

| saw three rats,

two were dead

below

forked ceilings

of reception.

My spine lay down
beside me

My hand touched

the breath of a
rottweiler.

A cough in the hallway
woke the small birds
along the trail

of shopping carts
homeless,

in midday ice.

_ Murray Siple

heather shaw

limited by my own words
fot ina sense of what can accomplish
‘but what ican do
im passion les in what is behind the shade
the sthouete of pasion
that my hand ean never touch
iam glad my visions are not real
Foul be too guilty
too ted
inthe end fel angry
the anger moves my thoughts
the thoughts move my hands
itty to purge al these feelings
in the end iam alone
inited by my own words

Timothy Moore

“1. Can See The End is Nea”

The shadows ofthe night,
They crawl forth upon the granite

As dus fils the ai

"know thatthe hours | spend with you willbe your

Time running short,
And out end is dawg nese

As the hythm of your destction
Pounds on
‘With increasing intensy.

Putting,

Uke a het ina steel cage,
You expression is madness
Asthe machine of bone
Pills you away from me,
Disrobes the goddess

‘and drags you down

‘The storm begins to brew in te skies above.
Youcan drink all the cafeine you ike,

But you cannot escape this nightmare

‘That you've brought upon youre

Uke an ungrateful stranger you've brought
To your bed

Luke an endless wave that flows and ebbs and dies,

This darkness you are drowning in has no end insight.
‘And wen the moon is ful,
‘The tide isthe highest.

| do not know who is going to die tonight,
{don’t know fits going tobe you or me,
But thats all right because quite frankly,
¥m tied of us both

Maybe the tides wil have mercy

‘And cleanse our bones,

Scatter ou fragments both near and afar.

‘As you lookup to the midnight skies,
Before you turn your head

‘And we lose our embrace,

Grant me one final wish-

Before the night is through,

Let me call your name once,

So that asthe waves wash over your face,
“Thoughts of you will be on my mind

‘Ad you will be on ny lips.

‘Asta Wood,

more poetry

‘heather shaw

BLACK BILE

In bed
Ile on my back
My lefthand rests
‘On my right breast
Myother hand
‘On my vagina
My body is numb except for
The dul pain that palpates,
‘wound the hole in my forehead,
From the wound oozes
Black bile; the puss ofthe past
‘The poion seeps from my mind
‘Welting the bed
How am to excuse this mess?

Laue

in the moming

ofa begining

of rotting chvoma

the dit beneath

iy fingernais
returned,

Bels echoed over
sent sens and
‘valle ight.

Discord machinery
against the background
‘of arecbar river
Twomen grew beneath
iy armpits

‘And spoke in foreign tongue
‘Women in my feelings.
were crying

‘nd losing blood.

saw three rats,

two were dead

below

forked celings

‘of reception.

My spine lay down
beside me

My hand touched

the breath of
rottweiler.

‘Acough in the hallway,
‘woke the smal bids
long the tall

of shopping carts
homeless,

In midday ce.

Murray Siple