HDTenEightyP/NetNews huggingface dataset:
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: A Fantasy Gone Unfulfilled
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 21:39:06 GMT

	A Fantasy Gone Unfulfilled

You shall be my best friend,
All the way to the end,
If the end should ever come near,
It's the only thing I'll fear,
I love you more and more each day,
It's with you I'd want to stay,
Your arms are like the wings of a dove,
They give out the most tender love,
I wish you felt the way for me
That I feel for you,
It will be a miracle if you
Ever do...
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: The Key / Wislawa Szymborska / trans: Marek+Joanna
Organization: The Institute for the Learning Sciences
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 18:27:30 GMT


		The Key (translation of Klucz)
		-------------------------------------------------------------
		 
		Once there was a key and
		suddenly it's not there.
		How are we to get in?
		Maybe someone will find it
		and look at it -- and what good 
		will it do them?
		And they'll toy with it
		like a rusty paper clip.
		 
		With the love I bear for you
		if the same had happened to us,
		it would not only be us: the entire world
		would lose that love of ours.
		Picked up by a stranger's hand
		it would not unlock
		any house;
		it would be but a form, nothing more,
		so why not let it rust.
		 
		Not in the cards, not in the stars, not of peacock's cries
		are such horoscopes.

		 
			Wislawa Szymborska
			Poland
		 
				translated from Polish
				by Marek Lugowski / Joanna Trzeciak
				Dallas, 1989
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Two Truic Odes
Date: 31 Aug 92 13:53:25 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


You pushed me


I felt the sudden lurch
of your golden back
against my hand.
You wept
copiously.

I touched your hair,
wrapped my fingers
in dark
tangles.

You pushed me;
I pushed
you.

You kissed 
copiously.

Drenched.


-Popohum
8-28-92



Leather or denim


It is fairly intense to
bite the PEZ directly
from the dispenser,
its open
neck.

You were in Levi's,
hand in pockets,
wearing holes,
glancing.

Leather or denim,
skin or
circumstance,

moved me,
engendered

entelechy.


-Popohum
8-28-92
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / /
From: jtrue@acpub.duke.edu (john)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: the yellow morning/jtrue
Date: 28 Aug 92 01:10:41 GMT

Frayed filament and the whiff
of ozone define this
time of debacles
with fermented
ketchup.

White flakes of fallout
or shredded documents
masquerade as
precipitation.

The yellow morning
just says
no.

Consume the
context,

smiling.

-jtrue1992

c/c/f welcome
jtrue@acpub.duke.edu
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: FirstHeat
Date: 1 Sep 92 11:30:13 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA




		FirstHeat



	Crisp cool blue mornings, 
	early sunsets. 
	Darkness increasing daily, 
	summer a fading memory.
	Ice cream wagons gone,
	replaced by big
	yellow buses filled with
	noisy happy cherubs.
	The frost will arrive
	anyday now; down from 
	the far north, where it
	summers over. 
	Soon it will be time.
	Time to advance
	the thermostat, time
	to feel and smell that
	first heat of fall. 
	
	

	Cecil Williams   8/27/92
	************************
From: donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Two Truic Odes
Date: 31 Aug 92 14:19:33 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ


In article <221@uiunix.ui.org) donz@ui.org (Posthumous O'Toole) writes:
)
)You pushed me
)
)
[poem deleted]
)
)
)Leather or denim
)
)
[first stanza deleted]
)
)You were in Levi's,
)hand in pockets,
)wearing holes,
)glancing.

Before you marvel at the clever surrealism of this stanza, I must admit
that this is a typo.  The original is "hands in pockets"
)
)Leather or denim,
)skin or
)circumstance,
)
)moved me,
)engendered
)
)entelechy.
)
)
)-Popohum
)8-28-92
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
   / /   /   /	/	 / /      //    /   / /     / /      / / / 
Xref: sparky rec.arts.poems:8546 alt.sex.bondage:16670
From: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au (Bunweasel)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,alt.sex.bondage
Subject: 13
Date: 1 Sep 92 13:46:59 GMT
Reply-To: michaeln@cs.uq.oz.au
Followup-To: rec.arts.poems
Organization: Department of Computer Science, The University of Queensland

ten evil persons
eleven evil persons
twelve screaming persons
thirteen evil gargoyles
eleven gargoyles
slamming and slamming
gargoyles and slamming
twelve evil persons
eleven bad children
ten demons
slashing and slashing
and boiling and gargoyles
nine evil persons
eight demons
cutting and cutting
slashing and slamming
four babies crying
snapping and flashing
flapping and screaming
five babies screaming
nine evil babies
slamming and snapping
cutting and gutting
sixteen new persons
puffing and puffing
six perfect persons
three teats and a penis
eleven lips
warming and puffing
puffing and warming
eleven bad children
it's angels it's angels.

-/\/\/\/-

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: terri@cwis.unomaha.edu (Teresa L. Jelinek)
Subject: High On Pride
Organization: University of Nebraska at Omaha
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 19:54:39 GMT


 	High On Pride

She's a 14 year old girl,
Taking boys for a whirl,
Once was abused,
Now only used,
A scar on her face,
It's the only trace,
Took off from home,
Only to fend on her own,
There's no one to cry to,
Nothing else she can do,
She's so alone,
City streets she roams,
There's no way she can go back,
No way she'll take another smack,
Her life only carries on,
While she party's until dawn.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jchien@leland.Stanford.EDU (Jennifer Crystal Fang-Chien)
Subject: Do you hear this silence?
Organization: The Land of Earthquakes (Southern Cal)
Date: Thu, 3 Sep 92 03:33:21 GMT






	Do you hear this silence?
	The trees are gossiping in autumn's breeze.

	Do you hear this silence?
	The birds are bickering over the season's migration.

	Do you hear this silence?
	The waterfalls are laughing clangorously down cliff falls.

	Do you hear this silence?
	The carnivores are maundering to their whelps.

	Do you hear this silence?
	The rocks are calmoring in ringing ravines.

	When a soul topples in the forest, if
	no one is around, do you hear the sound?

	

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ralph@wixer.cactus.org (Ralph Cherubini)
Subject: Poem--She bakes spice cakes
Organization: Real/Time Communications
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 92 01:15:31 GMT


                               She bakes spice cakes

She bakes spice cakes for various friends
invites me only into her heart
spiced differently
with great affection
fear
distrust
a child's will to believe
the smell of lessons hard-learned
and a directness
which makes me love her.
From: v131p9t3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Ninstar Cybermage - Back Again from the Mists!)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: +==[====----I watch you sleeping----====]==+
Date: 27 Aug 92 01:42:00 GMT
Organization: University at Buffalo
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41

I Watch You Sleeping

I watch you my darling
My sweet little child
Your innocent face
With its quiet smile
In the sandman's deep embrace
No troubles
No cares
No woes.

I watch you too, my love.
My other darling
The one who holds me
When my cares trouble my own sleep
As I hold our daughter
When her demons come to her
I watch your careworn face
And wonder how much of the care I caused
And if it was worth it for love.

I can't watch me sleeping
But I know my nightmares
And I don't want to see
So for now I'll watch you both
And hope you dream of me.

Sweet dreams my Darlings,
Sweet dreams...

James Shank           	#		v131p9t3@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu
AKA: Ninstar Cybermage  #	or	shank@acsu.buffalo.edu
###############################################################################
"Ten thousand years old...He could be trouble." -Vampire Hunter D
"Every night I say a prayer, in the hope that there's a heaven..."-Styx
"How do you make ammends for a god's sins?"-Forgotten Realms
##############################################################################
Sneaky Types,Inc.:Clandestine operations for the common man.
	"Don't call us.  We'll just bill you when it's done."
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: Anticipation
Date: 28 Aug 92 07:35:46 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

In article <7710551@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM> daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) writes:
>In rec.arts.poems, petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen) writes:
>
>> Hi All!  Just a little thing to while away the summer hours.  My goldfish
>> are hungry so must hurry.  
>> 
>> Anticipation
>> 
Poem deleted for brevity.
>> 
>> Kathleen O'Toole
>> August, 1992
>
>As an O'toole, perhaps you should be more concerned about
>whether he has brought an adequate quantity of capt. Morgan's
>Spiced Rum or whether he will know the proper usage of
>the words 'infer' and 'imply' or whether he insists on
>saying nausesous when he means nauseated.
>
>doug

Actually I am not terribly interested in what he says but in how he says
it, and that part was terrific.  However, he turned out to be a non-drinker
so I've dumped him on his pointy little head but not before I wrote him
an acrostic Shakespearean Sonnet.  I do that for all my ex-loves as a
momento of me.

Kathleen O'Toole
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: ktw@cbnewsb.cb.att.com (kenneth.t.wolman)
Subject: Flower Song to a Woman Far Away
Organization: AT&T
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 18:28:09 GMT


FLOWER SONG TO A WOMAN FAR AWAY

I can touch you from this great distance,
feel your skin against my fingers
with tactile dreaming.
This is how I must come to you:
through the darkness of miles
and lives that hold you from my sight.
You are with me even out of mind,
breathed into my skin,
set before my eyes
in the roses on a table:
your yielding sensed in opened blossoms
reaching for the sunlight:
you skin stroked
in the petals of chrysanthemums
held against my face.
I see you in the flowers
you hold before you, hiding
your face from my distant gaze:
and make love to the distance
between us because it contains you.

		Kenneth Wolman, August 27, 1992
-- 
Ken Wolman   AT&T Bell Laboratories   (201)564-2866   ktw@hlwpk.att.com
	"Stare.  It is the way to educate your eye, and more.  
	Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop.  Die knowing something.  
	You are not here long." -- Walker Evans
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Anticipation
Date: 24 Aug 92 00:09:32 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

Hi All!  Just a little thing to while away the summer hours.  My goldfish
are hungry so must hurry.  

Anticipation

On the eve of meeting you
I am prepared.
I had my hair done
Bought a glitzy dress
That clings to my every curve
I'll look as good as I can
I tremble with anticipation.
But one worry haunts my mind
Not will you like me
But rather will I like you
Or will you let me down
As I have been let down
Before.

Kathleen O'Toole
August, 1992
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: women ooze and other important truths / Marie+Marek
Organization: The Institute for the Learning Sciences
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1992 00:08:43 GMT


		women ooze and other important truths
		-------------------------------------------------------------

		women ooze all the time
		like leaky old boots.
		
		when we do our washing
		we run our clothes
		through the rinse cycle twice
		to make sure all the soap is gone.
		
		lime-flavored mineral water
		is our favorite.
		
		a woman's body is a 
		bathtub with a leaky faucet.
		there's always something 
		running in and out.
		
		then there are the tides
		of menstrual fluid.
		
		all the time something flows.
		
		a little mucus all the time.
		it tells the time,
		the time of the woman,
		for a woman is a magnificent clock.
		
		when she ovulates her ooze is
		slick and runny
		like egg white.
		there is much of it.
		that's how she knows
		what her body wants to do.
		
		then it tapers off
		and gets thicker, like glue.
		that's when her body
		gives up -- this time.
		
		but not for long.
		
		it keeps coming around,
		and around and around,
		it keeps spinning round.
		
		fat black grapes are
		the juciest, the best.
		seedless, of course.
		they grow them in chile,
		they grow them in california,
		they grow them in italy.
		
		to see all these women
		talk to them
		to try all these black grapes.
		
		
			Marie Coffin / Marek Lugowski
			30 August 1992
			Ames, Iowa / Chicago, Illinois
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: R3TLM@VM1.CC.UAKRON.EDU
Subject: for all of you...this one's inspired
Organization: The University of Akron
Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1992 18:05:02 GMT

 
          For all of you who have had problems seeing my other poems
clearly, I give you this one which is a little easier to understand.
At least, I, an insignificant in this world of insignificants, understood
it.
 
Everything goes in my own Private Clarity
 
Sitting in a round room,
pissin' in a corner.
Watching the sky,
through windowless walls.
Sleeping violently,
I dream of my non-existence
Crashing through ceilings,
while twiddling my thumbs.
Everything surrounding me retreats,
as life runs from me attacking.
Strong that I am,
I challenge death for nothing.
Sunlight beaming down,
covering all in pitch black rays.
Hearing the colors of the butterfly,
I hide for fear of going deaf.
Permanently carved in stone,
erased by the wind never seen.
In the blink of an eye,
someone died today. Good for them.
I feel better already.
And I can't even smell the stench,
as yellow steam falls
from the puddle I made over there.
 
 
 
 
     If you think its wacked, its not, you're simply not wacked
enough to see it.
 
 
                            --Timothy McCollum
From: petersm@jacobs.CS.ORST.EDU (Marguerite Petersen)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: firing is all the rage, a new fad
Date: 3 Sep 92 07:41:40 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Outreach Services - Oregon State University

In article <01010064.clb93f@yumyum.meta.com> melynda@titipu.meta.com (Melynda Reid) writes:
>i too am experiencing the o'toole ritual trial by firing. my husband, the
>wage earner was fired today. hurray we are free to plumb the depths, to drink
>the dregs of outrageous fortune although i prefer the modesty of generic chablis.
>cocktails?
>                     monica o'toole      
>
>melynda reid   who wears hats but does not type caps
>  eel:   melynda@titipu.meta.com  or  nosc.mil!titipu.meta.com!melynda
>  snail: p o box 378 greensboro, florida 32330

And as we stand
together
in the unemployment line
Let us talk to
one another
and we shall declare a
party
For as long as we are
unemployed
They can take no taxes from us
To pay the
politicians.

Kathleen O'Toole, Bringer of Light
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: 20 Century Poetry
From: jabolliger@miavx3.mid.muohio.edu
Date: 26 Aug 92 12:51:24 EST

In article <9208252325.AA27266@cfdev1.shearson.com>, mtaranto@shearson.com (Mark Taranto) writes:
> marek@mermaid.msel.unh.edu (Marek Lugowski) writes:
> 
>> I have two suggestions for topics:
> 
>> 1.  Compare and contrast Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton with their
>>     contemporaries, women poets of eastern Europe.  Baranczak's text
>>     should give you a point of departure for eastern Europe.  You can
>>     always call him at his office in Harvard. :)
> 
> Contrast:  Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton killed themselves and wrote in English.
> Compare:   Their Eastern European contemporaries wrote poetry.
> 
> I'll be able to say more when I finish the Anne Sexton biography (and even
> more if I ever read any Eastern European poets).
> 
>> 2.  Poets as political prisoners.  Contact Amnesty International USA
>>     and Asia Watch, Africa Watch and America Watch for sources.
> 
> Poetry and Politics -- sounds like an oxymoron to me.
> 
> Mark
	Hmm--   oxymoron?
			Howabout  civil religion?
				Jean Ann 
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: lugowski@ils.nwu.edu (Marek Lugowski)
Subject: The Classifieds / Wislawa Szymborska / trans: Marek+Joanna
Organization: The Institute for the Learning Sciences
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 23:03:54 GMT


		The Classifieds (translation of Drobne Ogloszenia)
		-------------------------------------------------------------
		 
		WHOEVER knows where compassion dwells
		(imagination of the heart)
		-- do let me know!  do let me know!
		and Sing out loud
		and dance like a fool
		making merry under a frail birch tree
		that's ever on the verge of crying.
		 
		I TEACH how to keep silent
		in all languages
		through the art of staring
		at the starry sky
		at the jowls of australopitheci
		at the grasshopper's leap
		at a newborn's nails
		at plankton
		at the tiny sails
		of snowflakes
		 
		I RETURN to love
		Attention! Special!
		High upon last year's sun
		now sticking in your throat, in fair
		golden grass you lie and
		the wind just dances
		(just like last year,
		playing leading man
		to your dancing coat
		of hair)
		Respond to: A Dream
		 
		NEEDED: a person
		to lament the old
		who are dying in nursing homes.  Please
		apply without birth certificates
		or written applications.
		Any paper matter will be promptly
		shredded, without receipts.
		 
		FOR THE PROMISES of my husband
		who tempted you with colors
		of the populated world, with its crowd noise,
		a song by the window, a dog from next door:
		that you will never, ever be alone
		in the dark, in silence, devoid of breath
		-- i cannot answer.
		signed: The Night, Widow of Day.

		 
			Wislawa Szymborska
			Poland
		 
				translated from Polish
				by Marek Lugowski / Joanna Trzeciak
				Dallas, 1989
From: daq@hpfcso.FC.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1992 20:35:56 GMT
Subject: And I Think to Myself:  What a Wonderful World
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems


  And I Think to Myself:  What a Wonderful World.
  ----------------------------------------------
       ....... .......
       ....... .......
       ....... .......
       ....... .......
       ....... .......
       Ashes ant ashes.
        Dust ant dust.
      Ashes grass ashes.
       Dust grass dust.
       Ashes dog ashes.
        Dust dog dust.
      Ashes trees ashes.
       Dust trees dust.
       Ashes man ashes.
        Dust man dust.
      Ashes worms ashes.
       Dust worms dust.
       Ashes you ashes.
         Dust I dust.


doug

8/25/92
From: stedman@aludra.usc.edu (I. Stedman)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Adrift  (Villanelle)
Date: 3 Sep 1992 06:48:25 -0700
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
NNTP-Posting-Host: aludra.usc.edu

 
 
 
There is something on the tide,
A wind-whipped item drifting
Slowly farther from my side.
 
Perhaps flotsam I espied,
Each comber all uplifting,
There is something on the tide.
 
In my rubber raft I tried
But for an oar makeshifting,
Slowly farther from my side
 
Went the lumber someone pried
From some tall ship adrifting.
There is something on the tide.
 
And across the waves it cried,
Its name to myself gifting,
Slowly farther from my side.
 
Each breaker your name sighed,
The name I lost drifting
There is something on the tide,
Slowly farther from my side.
 
			IS`92

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head)
Subject: Re: A Sudden Insertion Into Life
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 92 19:44:10 GMT
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 

hips
LIPS
slip
s
ship trip dip whip!
i think any of these words work equally well with
the squeezy juices of her ---

-- 

*jaguar woman*				near wild heaven,
[jaguar@netcom.com]			not near enough
[jaguar@ardath.slisp.cs.cmu.edu]
From: cecilw@access.isc-br.com (Cecil Williams)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Blue Light Special
Keywords: Armstrong, Aldrin, & Collins
Date: 31 Aug 92 23:46:07 GMT
Organization: ISC-Bunker Ramo, Spokane, WA



Ralph Cherubini Writes:
>                        Bargain day

> Quickly
> she said
> down here
> I saw there was a
> hole
> in the floor
> just large enough
> for a man
> I crawled through
> it came out
> in the appliance section
> at K-Mart
> where I found myself
> on sale.


Ralph, I won't comment on where you were 
or that you had to exit quickly <-:<
But I want to thank you for reminding me 
of one of the most important, memorable 
moments in my life...



	Blue Light Special


The appliance section at K-mart.
Major appliances, stereos and TV's;
Two or three walls full of TV's.
I was fifteen, K-mart shoppers,
on that strange, surrealistic day.
People from all over the store were
wondering over to major appliances,
to stand like so many mannequins,
watching those tv's. 
The same unreal drama 
playing out on every channel.
It seemed ethereal, eternal, 
as we stood there watching, 
hardly moving, forgetting to breath, 
and finally, finally, Neal spoke. 
A great cheer went up from the crowd, 
and I remember a tear of pride for my country 
rolling down my cheek:

"Houston, Tranquility Base here"
"The Eagle has landed"



Cecil Williams     8/31/92
**************************
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems,rec.arts.books
From: tilden@casbah.acns.nwu.edu (Robert Tilden)
Subject: I give up...
Organization: Northwestern University, Evanston Illinois.
Distribution: usa
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 20:46:22 GMT

OK, I asked around, and looked in a few books, but I couldn't find it...
I'm embarassed to have to turn to the experts, but here it is: who wrote it
and what's it from?
		
	Ah, love, let us be true
	To one another! for the world, which seems
	To lie before us like a land of dreams,
	So various, so beautiful, so new,
	Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
	Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
	And we are here as on a darkling plain
	Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
	Where ignorant armies clash by night.

-Bob	tilden@nuhepl.phys.nwu.edu
From: donz@ui.org (Don Zirilli)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Re: A Sudden Insertion Into Life
Date: 28 Aug 92 13:07:21 GMT
Organization: UNIX International, Parsippany, NJ

In article <w1cnf5_.jaguar@netcom.com> jaguar@netcom.com (Crazy Poem Head) writes:
>hips
>LIPS
>slip
>s
>ship trip dip whip!
>i think any of these words work equally well with
>the squeezy juices of her ---

How about the squeezy juices of her spots?  (sorry.  bad jaguar joke)
>
>-- 
>
>*jaguar woman*				near wild heaven,
>[jaguar@netcom.com]			not near enough
>[jaguar@ardath.slisp.cs.cmu.edu]	


Yours (and all cats'),

Posthumous Purrilli
-- 
nobody/not even the rain/              	/	   /      /  /    
 /   /   /     /   /   / /     /       /    /    // /    /  /         /    
/     / / /   /   /     /   / /    / /   / / /  /  /   /      /      /
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Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
From: leoncioe@balsam.ppc.ubc.ca (leoncio estevez-reyes)
Subject:  Surgery
Keywords:  Surgery
Organization: University of B.C. Pulp & Paper Centre
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 00:10:45 GMT



	SURGERY


Is never late 
to hear the news.
A bleep: 
that's my heart.

Is never late 
to smell the roses.
A dozen: 
that's your gift.

While watching this screen
I can't help but wonder
how long can be the road
between memory and oblivion?

How long can live the fragrance
after my smell is gone?

This screen does not want 
to listen to my stories.
This screen does not have 
the touch of human flesh.

It doesn't even know 
that the flowers are yours.

Is a mystery then,
why I bathe in deep emotions  
every time that it bleeps
the greetings from my heart.