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My dress, sheer as blood
Under light, falls so soft,
Your fingers, stone hard
And pointed as the sun,
Free me from cold body,
I loose as my dress, fallen
And my spirit, bare, fresh
As the lighted moon, quakes
Without sound.  

Touch me  .  .  .
My prince, rake my nudes
With tooth and lip, smell
My breaking waters living,
This spring is autumn, live,
Like a pool shudders in rain,
My skin kippering in cloud
And my *** unleashed from
Shroud, you, my man are all,
I wake in a garden full, ripen,
Of leaves and old embracings.
My springs, eternal sprouting
From a source, branch to earth
Spend me, my Lord, fire me up.
Takin a spliff
after me ****
me got ta go runnin

for LoL is loadin
but me *** couldn't holdin
**** ***** THEY TOOK A TURRET
made while waiting for league to fackin load
The room was dark,
and my screen was bright.
Pale hand on my mouse,
oh I was ready to fight.

"Welcome to the rift"
the game had began.
I bought my first items,
and to my lane I ran.

I made some bad calls,
but the team had my back.
The seconds passed us by,
the deaths started to stack.

Forty-two minutes in,
neck and neck we stood.
An ace would end the game,
yet neither of us could.

With dragon on the line,
both teams vied for power.
Fighting ensued and we had won,
for their ADC chose to cower.
So If I had to guess, maybe like .05% of the hellopoetry community even plays league so I dont expect this to go far but it might be a fun read to those of you who understand it.
 Nov 2016 Jellyfish
MV Blake
New words in old styles

Tracked on a canvas of brick

By a precocious kid

Sneaking on the lines;

The little *****.

My morning art show

Laid out in illiterate words,

Scribbled by artists

Who failed art at school,

Then shat on by birds.

An exhibition of names

Written worryingly wrong,

Evident to the system

That failed before they

Even joined the throng.

We pause at one piece

Daubed in indelible paint,

White streaked on black,

A chaotic sprawl of letters,

"**** al saintz".

I've been there before;

A nice school I thought,

Catholic of course;

I doubt the child gave

The saints a spare thought.

And what about Al?

Does he care at all?

Does he pause here,

On his way to work,

And dream their downfall.

It drives me up the wall

To see tracks filled with art,

But are they to blame?

We let them loose

And they play their part.
 Nov 2016 Jellyfish
Doug Potter
The thought of loving

Brings me to you

Who I carry in my pocket

Like a needle

*** could be joyous

Or, anticlimactic   .
 Nov 2016 Jellyfish
Doug Potter
I bring you pitiful news from home where
the large McDavitt family has  a strain of
lice that has become immune to all nit
killing  soaps  and  shampoos; joyous
information is, the clan moved from
the neighborhood.
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