Strong & courageous,
My Sun shines from my belly.
I accept myself.
Do not fit me in your box;
That box of how life is supposed to be —
That box is not for me.
Many a box up in the loft–
Dusty pages, faded photos, old coats,
Boxes filled with forgotten notes.
Your space is full of box.
A box fortress life.
Yet your head is full of strife.
Only this box full of my things,
One I brought over the sea
I will carry out and be free.
–by A. E. Wallace
in binary dance
competing for centre–
cancelling life around us–
to our own
Sunday sunshine breaches dark cloud,
streams through bedroom window,
warming my face–
I stretch over white duvet.
On bedside table, black coffee waits
going cold as
I ruminate start of this day;
“Come what may.”
His scent on me–
Lost within a dream–
or blown away on the wind,
like summer blue sky
in late August–
or Italian lavender.
so sweet with that
and the promise whispered;
I cannot auspicate future need,
or if planets will align.
Revelations are, indeed, for another time.
At most, these memories upon which I feed–
wait as I continue to ruminate–
and hope they do not grow cold.
By A.E. Wallace
Carnivorous Lily– by A.E. Wallace
Not sure how we came to the notion,
taking that potion at the end of the day—which lead to the smoking—
This is where it all went a different way.
Leaving my watcher,
I went for a wander
down a meandering path.
Pulled down dark chasm—floating, falling, flying —
Into a message
that shot through the dark—
from a distance—
in some uncertain tongue:
All that is, isn’t.
One-time daydream demanding development–
Eaten alive in some floral reality,
the need for my Freedom became the key–
The inviolability of my heart had been much abused.
No longer loved—but bound by a vow–
The elegant simplicity;
Practically a life time together,
In some form or fashion—
That I feel love for you still
Yet can no longer stay, what can one say?
By A.E. Wallace
between you and I,
pain, anger, fear and beer,
A dolly mix of
confound our (now)
We move from day to day
with each other, not with each other
and find it all too real…
so we sit and stare in silence
at a phone
that must ring,
We fill our days with responsibility
and dream the dreams of adolescent angst.
I muse on the summer night
through my bedroom window;
indigo rolling out beyond the conifers
where the little doves coo.
At that same moment,
you walk out in the cerulean air ,
to forget about me
By A.E. Wallace for RTK
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