Plain Honey
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  • Chronic foregret – speech in time

    by H.B.

    Speech in time, hailing from a future unknown. Heading through a past too known, or most too barely unknown as to be any consolation. No sweet souls here, thank you very much; they are always the first to get eaten. Not that my soul was eaten, mind you, after all I am writing this prose in a somewhat hopeful note of regret, or a symphony of melancholic celebration. Everybody loves a party, everybody. Here’s a rule with no exceptions, which makes it into a law; Law assuch really. And that’s precisely why I find it so depressing.

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  • …that this should be poetry?

    by H.B.

    Coup de Grâce (to deserve a lover)

     

    You cannot cling to

    consolations they

    decay

    like a safe deposit box whose code turns out

    to be the burglar’s birthday (any

    burglar’s birthday).

    Now only the banality of disabuse is sudden —

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  • Another Poem What

    by H.B.

    Amemory

    After the laundry, after

    several showers,

    After the malevolent decree of memory performed its painful trace

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  • My Thinker’s Gamble (don’t know what…)

    by H.B.

    My Lover’s Gamble (… that is)

     

    Do you love someone or do you love some-thing about someone?

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  • The Trouble with Resolutions

    by metaphysicalvillain

    I am typing in the living room of my chilly, dimly lit apartment. This Chicago morning is blandly gray—nothing new under the wan wintry sun. But it’s December 31st, the one day of the year that harbors the promise of beautiful novelty. We will soon flee from ourselves and become completed humans. We will vow to make a minor adjustment, which also stands in for every adjustment we possibly could make in order to perfect ourselves. We will start again. We will make New Years resolutions.

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  • punctum’s aliens – a poem

    by H.B.

    here’s to missing the point

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  • PH. 101

    by H.B.

Words and images by Plain Honey, circa 2012. site credits