The Betrayal of August


 

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Fire-flower, there is a sweetness in your cruelty
The abused becomes the dispossessed
The martyr becomes a sadist, I saw it though the colours
Of your ember bows, the way you’d turn, night into day

There, we are all rogues, swash-buckling heroes
Where even the victim in me can repose at the feet
Of another abused child of the world
We are not equals in the games of power

I am not a man, you are not a woman
We are only mythologies, projections, illusions
Fire-flower, I taste raspberry hiccups
When I think of you, the fruitful vulnerability

Of your moods, where like a jungle of helplessness
Is born the more severe and thwarted beauty
An artist needs to suffer to possess their genius
Like a naked child wanting to become somebody

Fire-flower, there is no pain in your adornment of betrayal
When you expect the dog to bite, the wound is cute
The nature of narcissism is entirely predictable
In the traits that define our social norms

Even the women are not truly rebels
They already fight too many battles to disobey
Their sense of pride and back-water morality
Art is not like that, it’s wild and ferocious

I am not a lesson, and you are not my teacher
You are a stranger that I know so entirely
It would shock you if you knew, my deep understanding
Of your own pain, mirrored back silently at you.

Masks of Liquid Fire


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Lost Inès, fire-bells, storm pixie
How quickly the lightning succumbs to the flesh
And hope is squeezed so silently in our chest
That light, doesn’t flood our vision, but warps us
With a kind of fear and anxiety

Won Inès, there’s no winning in the tragedies
There’s only ambiguity and doubt and fear
The kind of thunder that makes you climb under the bed
Or paint in the closet, or immerse yourself in the unreal

Creator Inès, there’s no season when beauty dies
Because it dies each day and in every person
As we decide to label them something, to limit their light
We kill our dreams to manufacture new ones

Cowardly Inès, there no one left to run home to
Not the night of courage, or the love of art
Not even they can save us, we are just that
Solitary bandits, cats and ambitiously warped

Memory Inès, there aren’t rooms I can go to
Only drawings, a canvas of your success
Where I’m reminded of the days of summer
Where the Eclipse held the potential of everything.

Black Swan Job Application II


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Shaman – EJ Koh

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Black Swan Job Application II

Job wanted, will consider all applicants
Burning desire to be a pioneer
In new literary forms, poetry and prose
Blogging and philosophy

Real life, relationships, confessionals
Exhibitionistic tendencies required, no fear
Able to work 16-hour a day shifts
Drive to get published, write novels

Enter contests, win scholarships
Self-autonomy in going for broke
Ability to withstand periods of poverty
Enjoys public speaking, going to events

Is humble, responsive to readers
Ability to synthesize past and the future
The job applicant may be required to travel
Inwardly and outwardly, be able to

Form attachments, imaginary and virtual
Burn books, abandon beliefs, start over
Translate from obscure languages
Must be a shaman of the written word

Have prophetic tendencies, know your audience
Market on social media, not be averse to self-public
Create podcasts, teach workshops, give lectures
Endure being followed on twitter by throngs

Please note, applicant must stay in the job
A minimum of five years, long-lasting investment only.