stephanie-m-kohler - Hello Poetry

you flutter, but you're still in every aspect of this creviced existence. it may be best to act as decoration in a decorative world, the prettiest are always happiest, the ones who feel exalt or cry in creation will even- tually turn numb, or ice-cubes for pink margaritas, or reproductions on cascade walls of white-picket dwellings in a trajectory of white and beige houses like a ***** line of ******* pain is temporary. numbness is forever when it shoots for the brain and not the stars, when overcast skies become the reason for inner-living and streets are scary and trees are mere necessity for your breaths to filter, for your chest to flutter as it does, as it so surely and unabashedly does. you flutter, but you're as still as decoration.

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Aug 23, 2012

Aug 23, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC

stephanie-m-kohler

the artist woes

you flutter, but you're still in every aspect of this creviced existence. it may be best to act as decoration in a decorative world, the prettiest are always happiest, the ones who feel exalt or cry in creation will even- tually turn numb, or ice-cubes for pink margaritas, or reproductions on cascade walls of white-picket dwellings in a trajectory of white and beige houses like a ***** line of ******* pain is temporary. numbness is forever when it shoots for the brain and not the stars, when overcast skies become the reason for inner-living and streets are scary and trees are mere necessity for your breaths to filter, for your chest to flutter as it does, as it so surely and unabashedly does. you flutter, but you're as still as decoration.

18

there is no worse folly a raconteur can make than the forgotten pen or utensil acrylic or stick in dirt - so be it the dwarf ignored the arbitrary sidekick the austere tool the maker of magic (also known as, history, as recorded by big, bad meatsacks and sometimes hungry sheep luxuriously garbed as wolves) who/what/when/where/why never/stop/asking/questions my deity, the earth said no one is right in this world we tells it hows we sees it i reject your reality, you undo mine with a simple twist of your mouth-muscle who's to say who has a say I say, no one not one none of us. I say, keep writing bards. the world's a desolate & treacherous stage the world's a blank & ***** canvas the world's not so much an open book, as it is an open cave with mysteries deeper than ocean depths. I say, keep writing bards. swim through the carpal tunnels, the holy grail lies somewhere down there, it looks and acts like an ink well.

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Aug 22, 2012

Aug 22, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC

stephanie-m-kohler

business reply mail

there is no worse folly a raconteur can make than the forgotten pen or utensil acrylic or stick in dirt - so be it the dwarf ignored the arbitrary sidekick the austere tool the maker of magic (also known as, history, as recorded by big, bad meatsacks and sometimes hungry sheep luxuriously garbed as wolves) who/what/when/where/why never/stop/asking/questions my deity, the earth said no one is right in this world we tells it hows we sees it i reject your reality, you undo mine with a simple twist of your mouth-muscle who's to say who has a say I say, no one not one none of us. I say, keep writing bards. the world's a desolate & treacherous stage the world's a blank & ***** canvas the world's not so much an open book, as it is an open cave with mysteries deeper than ocean depths. I say, keep writing bards. swim through the carpal tunnels, the holy grail lies somewhere down there, it looks and acts like an ink well.

32

i Know exactly who you are, and i know very little of where you've been who's touch left a mark or suckled at your side --- i don't really care to know, but i also don't really care. you may prEtend that i am just another blindfolded beauty --- you don't but you Very well could not at my expense by in your defense scared child and one who chides In fury like a seesaw in sway a question toppling another ... i'm not trying to dig so deep, it happeNs it shrugs you shrug i tear on off today tada no witchcraft here! --- you know exactly who i am. there is something i can't hide. there's a place i don't know about. and it creaks collects dusts, mutilates and folds over in a creepy crouch, just Zoning inandout of your consciousness. you've found the deceAsed girl, the 'I-could-never-love-a-soul' under troll-bridges girl ... and i've been nowhere but here. and i know nothing of you excePt as you are to me when you're tangled in my extras controlling your relAxandrelease, and i'm the pretender, i act like i knew anyThing before you as you Atmosphere around me and ship me off in mist to sleep

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Aug 22, 2012

Aug 22, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC

stephanie-m-kohler

my fortunekeeper

i Know exactly who you are, and i know very little of where you've been who's touch left a mark or suckled at your side --- i don't really care to know, but i also don't really care. you may prEtend that i am just another blindfolded beauty --- you don't but you Very well could not at my expense by in your defense scared child and one who chides In fury like a seesaw in sway a question toppling another ... i'm not trying to dig so deep, it happeNs it shrugs you shrug i tear on off today tada no witchcraft here! --- you know exactly who i am. there is something i can't hide. there's a place i don't know about. and it creaks collects dusts, mutilates and folds over in a creepy crouch, just Zoning inandout of your consciousness. you've found the deceAsed girl, the 'I-could-never-love-a-soul' under troll-bridges girl ... and i've been nowhere but here. and i know nothing of you excePt as you are to me when you're tangled in my extras controlling your relAxandrelease, and i'm the pretender, i act like i knew anyThing before you as you Atmosphere around me and ship me off in mist to sleep

43

so people say that there are things objects abstracts other people earth's natural boundaries and bounties that urge or maybe converge the mind into action - though most probably think the act, they reverie in what they dream as exceptional. so here is an ideal, a prototype esteemed like that emblazoned scrap of paper with the birth names and letters dotdotdot etc ... so, tell me are you aspiring or laying deep in the molds ? will it buy you a ring for your trophy ? will it make you prolific ? we would not know happiness, if only for the grand stories told to us of our entitlement to enjoy our senses. well, look at this container, you were perfectly crafted to roam with intention, across all spaces conquistadoring and expanding and 'destroying to create' whatever the **** that means and never learning not to rear our ugly heads to the paradise breastfeeding us, or to the processing keeping us bred nice and tidy. so there is the ambiguous person again, and is there something wrong with monotony, does it imply a good in consistence does it lend translation to the static (coming up and out of your roaring mouth; he is an angel, i grant it worth.) so be inspired by feeling. that dumpster over yonder is what it is, as your lobes transmit and lucidly self actualize :: i am not here to convince anyone but myself.

0

Aug 22, 2012

Aug 22, 2012 at 2:20 AM UTC

stephanie-m-kohler

fact

so people say that there are things objects abstracts other people earth's natural boundaries and bounties that urge or maybe converge the mind into action - though most probably think the act, they reverie in what they dream as exceptional. so here is an ideal, a prototype esteemed like that emblazoned scrap of paper with the birth names and letters dotdotdot etc ... so, tell me are you aspiring or laying deep in the molds ? will it buy you a ring for your trophy ? will it make you prolific ? we would not know happiness, if only for the grand stories told to us of our entitlement to enjoy our senses. well, look at this container, you were perfectly crafted to roam with intention, across all spaces conquistadoring and expanding and 'destroying to create' whatever the **** that means and never learning not to rear our ugly heads to the paradise breastfeeding us, or to the processing keeping us bred nice and tidy. so there is the ambiguous person again, and is there something wrong with monotony, does it imply a good in consistence does it lend translation to the static (coming up and out of your roaring mouth; he is an angel, i grant it worth.) so be inspired by feeling. that dumpster over yonder is what it is, as your lobes transmit and lucidly self actualize :: i am not here to convince anyone but myself.

54