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This is not a poem
Just a thank you
Message
It's ma birthday
Just want to say
Thank you
Poets of hello poetry
Thank you for the love.
It's ma birthday and I want to thank all poets of how who have patronized ma art. Amanda, dr. Lim, and a host of others. Thank you very much
I never meant to hurt you.
I'm just a clumsy lover.
Throw down your gun.
Don't be so reckless.
I hit the wrong hole and
didn't hear your screams.
The sun whispers me awake
from a dream with you naked
nowhere to be but make love
the whole day long. We call in sick.
Who needs the rest of the world
we have ourselves to ourselves.
I eat live toads in the daytime
put it in the bank and spend it
in the night with drunken poems
I write listening to magic songs
that put me in frames of mind to
put my puzzles together again.
She was terrorized of heights.
   I marveled at her bravery and
   pain that put her on that cliff
   she jumped and broke hearts
   and more lives than she knew.
   We gather mute to mourn.
I know.
we've all played it.
Relationship Roulette.
Spin the wheel and ****.
Is this forever after?
Wake blinking in a bed
smelling of *** and regret.
Do the walk of shame.
He had to flee his Ireland.
The God ****** British
stole his life and land.
He floated to America.
John Donovan from Cork
was my great grandpa.
Stubborn as a mule and
strong as an ox he lived.
There's a deep dark hole
for Irishmen to bury anger.
Soon enough the Earth will burn to a cinder from Irish anger.
I was dragged to a whipping post
    and ******* desperate naked angry.
    Bring blood from lashes of a devil's
    tongue until I'm moved to creation.
    
    Writing poetry is a lonely effort
    full of doubt. No one likes a word.
    I drink me insane and set it on fire
    I burn lines of smoldering emotion.
Tonight I smell something in the air.
  The city's burning down in despair.
  The water's up to my ankles on the deck.
  I feel the noose tightening on my neck.
  I'm in dad's bomber in fields of flack
  we're on fire and aren't coming back.
I find a mood and settle in its nest.
  Full of laughter full of pain rich
  beyond my dreams where I reach the
  edges of my poet soul and find words.
  Bits and pieces are hurled into verse
  that might express the universe or at
  least my journey to my understanding
  ****** up as it is of why we're here
and not there instead of now.
Nothing else matters after all.
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