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APRIL 2006

> LIFE SWEETEST LIFE | stephen j. golds

Donít pick the flowers
Cant you see they are already dead
All the scent is now a lingering stench
The petals will crumble to ash
The stems break like dusty bones
No life in these once bright things

Donít wind the clock
Cant you see it has stopped for once and for all
No tick, no tock only the sound of hollowness
The hands donít point they rattle like poisoned snakes on the face
The cogs tumble like chipped rolling stones
All the time in the world leaking through my palms, the blood of Christ.

Donít hear the radio
Only the songs of requiem play
Your eardrums will flow red hot sticky blood
The screams will pop your eyes like party balloons
The static will boil your brain like an egg pecked at by the crows

Do unscrew the bottles
Do light up the cigars
Do smell a womanís hair
Do taste a womanís sweet nectar heart
Do feel a quickened heartbeat
Do fall in love
Do whatever the fuck you feel like

> BIOGRAPHY | about the author

Stephen J Golds (1983) is jobless and hopeless in a small inbred city called St. Albans, U.K. He has poems and short stories published at Zygote In My Coffee, Laura Hirds Showcase, Remark, Lunatic Chameleon, Skive magazine, Lit Chaos, 3am magazine, Indite Circle, Instant Pussy, Strange Road, The Beat, Cerebral Catalyst, Blowback magazine, Scorched Earth, Gulch Press, 99 Burning, Unholy Biscuit and Underground Window.