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Various


by Darryl Price


War Stories #1

The Germans didn't like that the
Jews had such beautiful women.



War Stories#2

There must have been a 
war between the good witches 
and the bad witches. It's 
the only thing that would 
account for such troubling times.



Woman With Yellow Hat

Why did you look at
me like that? Now my

life is incomplete
and always will be.



I'm a Twenty-Four Hour Poet

I will die young-- no 
matter how old I get.



Clouds and Everything and Mountains

We chanted to the sun. Chanted 
to the moon. We chanted to the
stars. We chanted to the grass. We 
chanted to the trees. We chanted 
to the oceans pouring over 
our heads. We chanted to the winds. 

We chanted to the new flowers. 
Only the flowers appeared to 
be listening. Because of this 
profound understanding between 
us we fell deeply in love with 
everything. Little did we know 

that love attracts a lot of bugs. 
Bugs have no sense of decorum. 
They only know to congregate 
and make a lot of buzzing noise 
before they expire in great heaps. 
This made us laugh. Well it made me 

laugh but only because it was 
a scene that also had your ears
in it. We made a fire out of 
just the two of us holding the 
universe in our eyes and that 
became something worth knowing. I 

was not the one who would hurt you. 
I voted for Strawberry fields
forever. You bought the dream you
were eventually handed. 
That gave the story an ending 
I'd never have thought of as good.



Happy Friday

That's what she said and that's what I'll remember. Happy
Friday. It seemed like a pretty good map. I opened 
it over my heart and turned on a light. There 
it was. The song that was driving me mad. Happy
Friday, smack dab in the middle of every breath, a
place of possibility among the mundane facts of a straight 
line to the end of all happy dreaming. Happy Friday
and to hell with the rest of the unfolding days
ahead. I'm willing to accept responsibility for some certain words
only because they seem to know how fragile they are. 



Bonus poems:




The Train

The train is you. Everything is you. And 
that scribble applies to your personal 
dreams. You can say it's just black circumstance.
But nothing works that way. We connect like 
screaming silent comets to stars. Soul to 

soul. It's what we needed then and what we 
want now. I can't help this. It's just a thing 
among a million other things. I'd much 
rather make some music out of my noise. 
For some fun. The train is you. The rain is 

you. The flowers are you. And all those bombs 
are you. I could say something clever like
throwing yourself on top of the sheets or 
at the mirror on your wall, I'd rather 
not because it doesn't matter. It's a

true statement or it's a not true line of 
current bullshit. You don't get to excuse 
yourself from the table just because you 
are bored. We're all lonely. Your heart's going 
to break. I know this. You know it, too. The 

train is always still coming and yet we're 
already on it. It's a mystery 
that you can count on happening all the 
time you are alive. So don't say you love 
me. Either do it or don't even try.  



Kite Flying



She may never know and it sure
is a small world. She may never
know and they have a list. She may
never know, I'm very grateful.

She may never know and I could
have sworn we were getting along just
fine. I refused to say goodbye. 
I am still wearing those sun-glasses. 

She may never know that someone
once sent me a picture of her
on a boat in a little white 
sun dress, looking like a princess.

She may never know and I hope
I wasn't dreaming. But working
so hard to show the world real beauty.
No one seems to care. And I'm still

ringing that bell. It's not a nice
feeling. She may never know, yet
she showed her neck to me in a
passionate moment of silence.

I could make a good can of soup.
The illusion of money has
faded away. She may never
know and no ripple disturbs her

goodwill except my love. I want
to see her face. I want to see
her face. Her face again. She may 
never understand that complaint.



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