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ARCHIVE #8 6/19/98
"A FRIEND HAS HIS MOMENT" written by L.S. Shevshenko Visit this author's website.

His dad was abusive, a cop-
his mother left
his children smoke
do drugs
their girlfriends drink
cuss him
in his own house of
false laughter.
There were days
when he wouldn't have
taken all of this
there were days too
when his smiles were
real
when authentic howling filled
these rooms.
He just sits here now
stoical in a swollen chair
listening to these
parrots
they gaze from cages
dreaming of amazon forests
where no-man has ever been.
He rises from this shit-hole
meets me at the railing
we look out into the lake
he clears the throat to speak
and
a single tear is all that comes.
There is nothing I can do.

"THE FURY" written by L.S. Shevshenko

In the light
is the darkness
the dead who thump by
in their own prolonged misery.
Today, that quiet corner
sees commerce
durable transactions of
deathless life-
amongst the efflorescence
that which is so- effulgent.
Crows and pigeons watch
wait, wail from the perches
these are
the witnesses
the quarry
the suffering fatalities of
interference.
Now, there is only hope
dreams
castles in the air, aflame
and the moats overflow
reeking, to a point:  where
even diamonds
cannot hide from the fury.

Have a nice day. . .

"THE STUCK MOJO SHOW AT LIZ REEDS MUSIC HALL written by L.S. Shevshenko

some one
had me guarding steps
leading to the stage
(for no money mind you)
and in front of the band
were animals
colliding
tossing others into
the air
and the floor was shaking
and the crowd was swaying
and bouncers were like midgets
compared to most
and it was hot
muggy
rank
and the smell of sweat was
everywhere
and there were women there
with protrusions ashardasminds
some... you could've hung keys from
they were pushed together, like poems
and over music
a three hundred pounder hollered
"I WANT TO DIVE INTO THE CROWD!"
So I let him
and as he filled the air
everybody parted
from the insanity that fell
and the band played on.

"LAST BUOY BELL" written by L.S. Shevshenko

"They say this buoy, is the 
last thing connected to land
that you'll see out here.  If
you die, it'll be
the last thing on your mind.

Charles Gregory Jr.
Sea Captain and Attorney

Fog rolls across the ocean tonight
Clangs a buoy bell.

Light rolls across a wicked sea
Clang-clangs they buoy bell.

Antique ship, a broken mast
wind-less it sails seas flat as glass
Clang-clangs this buoy bell.

All eyes upon it, 'tis an ennobled sight
skull upon the cross bones, under hollow lines of white
no heavenly acceptance by their twisted deeds of fun
disappearing only, at the rising of the sun...

but a moon is full, forever in their eyes
'twas their destiny to be, to me it no surprise
a captain hails orders, with nothing else to gain
whipping most with pleasure, an eternity is his pain.

While cannons pound us asunder, rolling on the sea
flashes from the muzzles, ar' pointing straight at me
when I close the curtains, silence is the sound
looking now for someone, but no one is around.
Again I close my eyes...

"LAST BUOY BELL- continued" written by L.S. Shevshenko

Sunrise on the ocean, quiet so it seems
was it an aberration, merely just a dream?
I raise a cup of coffee, press it to my lips
feel the devil stir inside, cracking his leather whip
moving out to sea
on this forgotten ship.
Clang-clangs, the last buoy bell.

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