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Existing as a Pessimist


i am not in the mood to exist today.


there's no rain screaming outside these


windows, and there's not even one


sickly grey cloud floating in any sad way.


but I am just not in the mood to exist today.


the grass isn't crying out from the


ache of a drought and the sun hasn't even


been slapped, hard with a stinging pain


from today's dreary thoughts or noises.


there is something hiding behind the trees


and it sits on its knees but it isn't danger.


it's a lone stick of emptiness, trying to


find the center of its body, it may come


from behind its shadow, it may until then


 it'll sway--


still, I am not in the mood to exist today.


the rock on my chest sits heavy, yes...


there is nothing strong enough to lift it.


ghosts parade on each sides, I've seen in my eyes.


to breathe, or to die in September lies.


to eat the dirt from September's floor because


it is all I am offered, and nothing more.


I may awake, or at silent rest I could stay.


though it will vapor and twist away.


I am still not in the mood to exist today.


I rummage thoughts and pain and fear.


I muffle the strained doubts I hear.


attacks crawling beneath my feet like


scuffs, streaked thin and mean on the tile.


i'm sorry I don't mean to consecutively cry.




i'm sorry I don't mean to consecutively die.

i'm sorry I don't mean to eat the letter "y"

and spew out the word "why" afterwards...

but it happens, day after day, because of these

noiseless sounds--

and they play with the strings of my heart

like a harp, so perfectly and majestic.

when has it ever been okay?

they say, and I have no answer.

when? when has it ever been okay?

but my heart keeps skipping, and my body goes numb.

when has it ever been okay?

pessimist, pessimist--



I can hear them say. 


gather the diminished breath lost on the way:

pessimist! I hiss

but i am just NOT in the mood to exist today.








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A Chill with Destiny

Meeting you was a choice. What came next? That was destiny.

I could have walked through any other door. I could have slammed it. Nailed it shut. I could have run my Chevy through the cheap and shoddy frame of the facade. I could have killed a dozen people. It's not that I'm morbid, the idea just struck me on the way in. It was kind of funny.

After all, my therapist said that I should be spontaneous. I'm getting to that.

When I saw you, I could have escaped from the strings of fate. I even thought about it for a second. A second's a long time for a talented social deflector like myself. I could have caressed you with my eyes, sliding away in just the right way to jiujutsu right over my shoulder. I could have bumped on, bumped you, and bumped through. I could have started talking to a very awkward stranger, loud and unconvincing. If I was really being honest, I could have withered in a sweat right then and there.

After all, I have a history of anxiety and difficulties communicating, or so they say. I'm getting there.

Instead, I said 'Hi.' You said, "Huh?" I said, "Hi" again at a human-audible volume and threw my name in after. I came off as clumsy, dialed in, and so over-committed to the small talk.

Apparently, you liked that. That's fate. That's destiny. That's doom.

You have every choice in the world, except for what's in someone else's head. Watch your ass.

It didn't work out, by the way. Spontaneous isn't sustainable and no one cures me, but me.

Just thought you'd like to know.


Prompt: An auspicious Anonymous asked you:

Write about fate
A bit of a delightful wander through my unusual head. Not bad for out of town. (c) 2013 Lawerence Hawkins  
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I am Not Enough

Even though I said I'd love you more than anyone else you still like to grab my words and throw them over your left shoulder. You do this because you don't want to listen but you say you believe it. If you do then why would you continue attaching yourself to someone who wouldn't give up their own heart so that you could live. I am that girl. But you cannot see it. You are too busy watching the others and trying to befriend all of the others. You are too blinded. You cannot see through the thick fog of cloud and perfume and all of the shitty stuff floating about your head that makes it difficult to hear me. Listen, please. I am not being a paranoid psychopath, I am not being a selfish bitch. I am not being stupid or irrational. I am not. I am just being me, and I am contagiously imperfect. Why can't I just be the only one? Because I am not enough.

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TRACK’N BACK by richard lynn livesay

It runs through my brain,

like a train, a train

on a black track,


Oh, I’ll be back

                 and go on through, to you.                  

Making sense or not,

Please don’t try to stop me

                  No, don’t even try… to get by with a lie

Me?...my sanity is insanely sane

But that’s not my game

I like whirling like a weather vane


                  Lips sighing

                  Eyes crying

                  And brains fry’n

 Clickity- clack,

          I’m  back like a sack of Jack with a tick-tac

Give me a question to my answer

Maybe bring in a pole dancer or a Sumerian  necromancer

Let’s go ‘round the next bend

and find what do you intend


Want a free ride in space or a tattooed face?

Drive a Mac truck;

                  Picking up,

                  hauling and

                  leaving behind

just grab on for the ride, enjoy the speed… of thought..mmm,

Think not?

Well then,

when the present shifts into infinity,

don’t blame me for your timidity

You see, they’ll say,

“save it for a rainy day”…but I say

                 … let it RAIN!

                  There is no gain

There’s no pain,

                  only sorrow and shame

 and the lack of someone to blame

Mistaken perceptions?

by the hour, I turn sour, so with a few minutes left

to watch your watch

watch me waste your time


there are some that will rhyme for a dime

but I don’t draw for cash


you think you sold me out with your run-a-‘bout.

So eat your derivatives

your unnatural proclivities.

you’re interest in interest

that makes no common cents


makes me want to compound you daily

with an over due shoe but...

                  Yes, I see you

                  And later on when you see me;

                  I’ll be the one washing

                 the blood off of your feet, I repeat


Was it worth your time

to stand in my line

For heartache tickets

While I pulled your plough

Milk the fatted cow

And now,


We ride the night train

You’ll be getting off in Chaos


it is full of smoke and mirrors

with reflections of  chicken-boned children

forgotten families, homeless soldiers, dying martyrs

Maybe you’ll get one more chance

a choice of this or that…but

                   Cash won’t pay your debts

                   Lies won’t cover your bets

                  And no one hears your threats.


remember, there are no no’s…..no hidden bounds

no sounds

Life is profound!

Hear that sound?

That’s me  track’n   back…here’s your town… see ya next time around





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Ice in the desert

Across the icy tundra, beneath the flow of silk and dust grows an earthly figure.

Sprouting from adversity it stretches it's slender form through the light.

Forever searching upwards for an ever changing goal until it settles in your arms and is forgotten.

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Parallaxical by Richard Lynn Livesay

Avesta illuminates rumblings

as man murders man

extending nature’s existence into nothing


Creating thought in freedom’s choice

a bonded humanity breaks open

without purposeful truth

And yet, emotions dry

as we surrender to cerebral philosophies


Soon, the psycho-vested collective neurosis

of soul-sufferings spark images,

dreams and symbols of astro-consciousness

then fall into the shadows

of dream-time’s juxtaposition

aspiring to a soothing madness of consciousness


seeking atonement for our earthly falls

deluded in nightmares frail dreams 

we drown in memories

into nothingness,

traveling hills, interpreting transitory imaginings

we try enjoying silent nights of spatial brilliance



abandoning our psyches

to relay angst and frustration

infecting all larva-evolving meta-spell, flying muses


surviving insanity, I write,

then dance like a helicopter into Rumi’s moonlite sun

floating through eternity’s magic pond of silken neutrinos

then I rise as Lazaretto

and begin some poetic promises

past epiphanies enshrined evermore on higher links


crawling sideways across the page, hear echoes in my brain

channels open into ancient passages, revealing prophecies


then I release my human passion

and light the proper candles for heat

I recline to a Ferlinghetti diatribe,

Ginsberg howel and Eliot lecture.


In the kitchen of the last supper, I sip my wine,

I bless my bread pre-phonetically

as Sistine walls fall on the Pieta’

prolapsed with Papal paste and puns


secretly, I groom my goats

then remind myself of all the gypsies, artists and poets

leaving notes to me in libraries

engorged with pristine print; 

ovid oracles

vested villanelles

surreal sonnets

giving life its rhythm


then splashes of TV news  release rabid underdogs as Alice falls

and bloody black-watered scorpions attack dead babies

wings in the cradle smolder in vain

scratching, I claw dung- crumbs of burnt notes and smoke

from my psyche


…dejected and wounded, I remain

 in parallaxical universes and watch butterflies become blind

                                           and white doves become crippled

my latest poem becoming tear stained in sorrow, I light another candle


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Gambitine by richard lynn livesay

Death stumbled out ~

out of closet doors

crying for deadly truth

entwined in disembodied

light-webs, crossing borders


behind dogmatic

exhaled theology


near insanity


childhood profanity, fairytale curses

blinding secret  histories

dimming shining lights

as cradles crack on rocks and

mother's milk spills, shocking

star- blinked galaxies in the Way

like sea-shore sands

washed into glassy infinity

turning their backs, expecting nothing


then, A marches in the imaginary art of life

draws delicate conclusions in dirty pants

marginalizing the gambit

living blindly

with tendencies

to search passion's nebulosity


flux and flutter of

mind-thoughts as

I shutter, asking


What is poetic justice?

I spread blankets of intelligence on angled hooves

enrapture poetic promises in vague plans

then dust the coal from my head

weeping with willows,

as the words of my soul

convulse in raw strains

written in hollowed hills

beneath the velvet rocks

I gasp in passions of dying scansions

glance upon the city’s putrid air

calling forth Thor's vacuum cleaner

to stop at coffee houses

speaking in rage of

more players dead upon the stage


The call for a truce

for clowns and acrobats, for

dripping, distant screams of blood

on mounds

of curling crippled mud

sink while wine-words dance upon a fire

drawn from saintly hoods


sentient senses and

opening raw wounds of whispers

laughter wasted on words of twisted sisters

sacrificed upon the second time,

above the conscious mind of the sacrificed Gambitine

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Tri Mitagated Solar Flux…by richard lynn livesay


On grounds of tri-mitigated instabilities,

breathe out

spreading meta-splinters,

reversing star systems without

throughout  Jupiter’s dark nightgown.

Grabbing Ganymede

 We transcend beyond Earth’s simple dichotomies

to deliver promised philosophies of holy transparencies


Deep within,

does not abide in a solid faith of sequences

but as below

we see through a wine glass of dark illusions

to be sure there is a reason to rename our galaxy’s ascension

but will Andromeda dive into the ocean’s gleam

across the serpent’s belly,

leaving nothing  but the same blood turned to crimson wine


Crested below,

Neptune’s shadow passes above the shadowed waves

shaping singular quantum quarks,

encasing metaphoric rise,

inverting triangles of shame,

and behind the walls of human delight

are fires of greed and need,

nothing being as it seems,

the guiltless are invisible

But shameless,

dead skinned sapien-scales climb toward the sky, in limbo.


In time

the lowly will revolt through their poverty

and claim the throne

soon a shining vortex of radiation

 will beckon from afar,

become our twin star

We welcome the Water Dragon

Bringing eastern changes of fierce justice

sentencing indictments, tracking turmoil with a vengeance

and applying conditional forgiveness

but being slaves of the dead,

we will rise up and claim our inheritance



golden glimmers of inner beingness,

brightens the glow of ecstasy

focusing on thought,

realizing consciousness without fear

upheaval will be the natural change,

transitioning to a softer dimension


unpossessing possessions

of dogmatic and metaphysical entanglements

becoming real,

yet unreal as surreal as sanity in dreams of unreality

Morphing thoughts

On a changing journey

into light, patterned into the future


I touch you

and the feeling broadcasts exponentially into time and space

the butterfly in Brazil,

pollinates an orchid which is given to a queen

So fly,

with the butterfly,

expecting change to be divine metamorphosis.


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Skewed Dogma by richard lynn livesay

 the dark sky rumbled

climbing the underbelly                                               

of purgatory’s stained stairs


my reality splintered

reaching the end of what I knew

before being inverted to meta-neutrinos


magic toads presented

copies of Sumerian cuneiform

introducing King Gilgamesh, I read,


after Ishtar was rejected by Gilgamesh

the Bull of heaven appeared and

the king’s friend, Enkidu was mortally injured


collapsing on steep the steps, I saw

an angel named Lucifer come near

talking to the image of Zoroaster


blood of negativity dripped down the steps

and we fell into the lower bowels of the earth

screaming people were trying to eat my feet


then I saw Gabriel helping Enkidu crawl out                                 

followed in light, joining them on jagged rocks                                 

we passed through a golden portal surrounded


by thousands of poets in flight marking a path

and the poets chanted, the vibration carried us

on toward, but the earth had been shattered


desolate and unforgiving in its total destruction

but there in the clouds was the plain of heaven

No, the poets had created an alternate world


From within the hearts and minds, it became

And the hallowed mansions were shared

The inner manifestations reflected glory


And we lived in peace and love, sharing

Knowing that all contained the spirit of creation

Awaiting our positive energy to produce miracles.

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all my life I’ve been taught to fear my body — wrap ropes of shame to block the light that emanates from the valley between my breasts, the cavern between my legs. I’ve been taught to fill out hollow spaces: my clavicle, between my fingers, the back of my knees. I’ve learned to vacuum the loneliness from them so when time comes, I’ll be strong enough to fight urges of allowing men to fill these spaces with light and letting me shine bright, brighter than ever. women in my family have taught me to weave shawls of secrecy and now my room is filled with numerous garments that I allow wrapped around me instead of standing bare and unashamed; shoulders back, head held high (alone is what protects you). they’ve raised me in webs and webs of sacredness weaved and bound together by their hushed lessons of suppressing cravings of human touch I’m cocooned so tightly I can feel my lungs shatter as they beg for forgiveness.

and when other girls flash summer skin at beautiful boys with sun kissed shoulders, i’ll wrap my arms around my torso but allow curious hands to tug them away as i whisper prayers and chant mantras of “please don’t hurt me”


on tumblr here!