edie_and_poetry - Hello Poetry

with the Title of the Dead Title of the Deed willed to me and brought to me by a mooringandlanguid man-in-a-coat deadeyed dead-ended dead ugly who asked me whether I owned anything though looked surprise! (d) whenever I told him: But dear I cannot hold a Title if-if-ifff I have never lived but (no less nevertheless and nonetheless Not Withstanding death) will die, too. There is no straight line + it is cute mythology that soothes no one with a Title straight lines are for geometrynotpeople IHAVELIVEDHAVINGSAIDTHIS and I will steward the no, will PILOT the Dead the Deed until it is done, until it is unnamable.

0

Apr 14, 2021

Apr 14, 2021 at 3:56 PM UTC

edie_and_poetry

i am alive

with the Title of the Dead Title of the Deed willed to me and brought to me by a mooringandlanguid man-in-a-coat deadeyed dead-ended dead ugly who asked me whether I owned anything though looked surprise! (d) whenever I told him: But dear I cannot hold a Title if-if-ifff I have never lived but (no less nevertheless and nonetheless Not Withstanding death) will die, too. There is no straight line + it is cute mythology that soothes no one with a Title straight lines are for geometrynotpeople IHAVELIVEDHAVINGSAIDTHIS and I will steward the no, will PILOT the Dead the Deed until it is done, until it is unnamable.

20

hard sell—the sale of the idea that those Golden Girls: Rue/Bea/Bet/Get— are more existential more radically (Maud, folks!) ****** than any Sartre translation— and that Nico, Christa, she: like a necrotic moth ate her own clothes died on her last *** run, a great stoner was finished rambling and gambling These Days — and was more existential than any loud Lou.

0

Jan 23, 2021

Jan 23, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC

edie_and_poetry

hard water

hard sell—the sale of the idea that those Golden Girls: Rue/Bea/Bet/Get— are more existential more radically (Maud, folks!) ****** than any Sartre translation— and that Nico, Christa, she: like a necrotic moth ate her own clothes died on her last *** run, a great stoner was finished rambling and gambling These Days — and was more existential than any loud Lou.

13

tail wagging wall of tails wobbling wall-eyed little ball banging little tail warring a wag with a finger little ale a good day to cry with a little ale filling a balloon with the toxic breath of a loud mouth a good day to be at the tail-end.

0

Aug 28, 2019

Aug 28, 2019 at 1:43 AM UTC

edie_and_poetry

eeyore

tail wagging wall of tails wobbling wall-eyed little ball banging little tail warring a wag with a finger little ale a good day to cry with a little ale filling a balloon with the toxic breath of a loud mouth a good day to be at the tail-end.

6

In his own soft cocoon of ever-coagulating, isolated delirium, yodeling in the company of himself alone, a skull of mean bruised meat tarnishes.

0

Aug 27, 2019

Aug 27, 2019 at 3:20 AM UTC

edie_and_poetry

Laughing at the Moon, Starlit, ****

In his own soft cocoon of ever-coagulating, isolated delirium, yodeling in the company of himself alone, a skull of mean bruised meat tarnishes.

5

Nosferatu would have balked if not gone bald. They, too, from themselves their selves do balk. Circumnavigate the lily pond, Iron Lady in the swaddling baking egg pies, with spited Curlers in our fronds and — equanimity's edict — forest green-eyed addict — is A plumbed plum; a dendritic denizen for the cypress, Willow that 's hung! Willow that sung! Soothing it hugs the sights — such sour honors — so smooth-over the boy's club, so you can get in or out whichever youregoingfor; bring them their rose water which drips next to the chiffon and the lubricated sewing table — the grape to- mato-mottled lunar ligament: by dew of the top lip, do lay — go gray in taut winter

0

Aug 18, 2019

Aug 18, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC

edie_and_poetry

goes blonde in summer

Nosferatu would have balked if not gone bald. They, too, from themselves their selves do balk. Circumnavigate the lily pond, Iron Lady in the swaddling baking egg pies, with spited Curlers in our fronds and — equanimity's edict — forest green-eyed addict — is A plumbed plum; a dendritic denizen for the cypress, Willow that 's hung! Willow that sung! Soothing it hugs the sights — such sour honors — so smooth-over the boy's club, so you can get in or out whichever youregoingfor; bring them their rose water which drips next to the chiffon and the lubricated sewing table — the grape to- mato-mottled lunar ligament: by dew of the top lip, do lay — go gray in taut winter

12