you slip through my fingers into the sand
and make a trail in speckle and spick
the prints of your limbs a lost dna strand
sprigs pop in your wake, magic and mayhem
ocean waves give your feet a slavish lick
comets swirl to give form your diadem
in this moment i am the creator
sower of dreams, bringer of time’s tick
standing at the edge of heaven’s crater
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019
Do you think
that your Muse is dead?
She is tired.
She is just flat on her ass.
Yes! Dash it all, yes!
She couldn’t bear
your endless snivel,
You, pathetic Creator!
She dumped you, dumbass!
Two talented lines
aren’t worth two wasted years… yes.
Muses can fuck up.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015
There’s a memoir somewhere around here
That bears my name engraved in bold on the front cover
Just the same as words cut deep in a headstone
A novel written on broken dreams with fallen tears
And a slap in the face to the one who creates
I’m nauseated by my own philosophy
And I won’t claim the pages as my own anymore
All they’ve done is rip me off with their clever lies
But it’s my turn to do the ripping now
So I’m sitting on this dirty window sill
Tearing out all my chapters page by page
Watching the wind carry them away one by one
But it isn’t as simple as I make it sound
Like a spider bite on the inside
Every rip stings my heart a little bit
Ten years have just gone out the window
By sitting in it for just three months
It’s been ninety-nine days today
And now I’m in need of a massive re-write
Because all that’s left are two covers and a spine
But I won’t be the writer this time around
God the Creator is my author now
So the new edition is sure to sell
by RY HAKARI
© All rights reserved 2014