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lush.

one of those words,
whose sounds conjures
but does not onomatopoeia
like chirp or oink.

the irony is rich for me,
in the sunroom, with others,
no one speaking
and it is a harmonious sound,
the quietude,
indoors, outdoors,
is a good thick, rich and plush,
unbearable, but
like soft, spreadable butter,



…the quietude is lush…
met Presidents,
kings and queens plenty,
so many princes and princess,
each one, most impressive
to their themselves.
but never knew an Empress…till now~(k)now

twice for emphasis, but better yet, enraptured,
her commandments, demand immediate readings,
never demanding solicitation, just a whispering
"come hither fool~baby"

the paucity of my words grow paler when I compare,
my tongue tied bonds, and I consider abandonment
of what gives me sparks of belief that tomorrow
will still be worth it, that I can create, something
worth sharing, and the words come up in the throat,
abandon all hope, ye who dare read the Empress

I know, you accuse me of exaggerated exaggeration,
plead the Fifth, the right not to self-incriminate,
pointless to demure, make an appoint ment for later,
when by silence surrounded, everyone gone, re~Read,
out loud chewing every soft obsidian granule, drink
pure water, and curse myself again, who knew, eclectic
electric, as they jay jelly roll (😉) off my was just a few bytes
away, head in hands, equal parts of joy and despair
parting my hair, drawing lines in my scalp, and the
demon muse gleefully, perhaps, at last, thinking mmm…
this will be his last
First Poem of the Day (FPOTD0

and now the day  a)  mences b) ensses
just for poems; please read her…
https://hellopoetry.com/TheempressofInk/poems/
One composes a poem, in a singular fell swooping,
the words, previous, unknown in that particular order,
are felled like trees in a ****** forest, newly saddened,
an emptying and simultaneously fulfilling sensory battle,
a dressing and an ******* and the
poem (again) writes itself

This literary body, literally is birthed with realized labor pains,
actual aches, a pulsing pursuing, and you dare not
stop to fix an errant knight of a typoe or an out of placed
CapitalizatioN, lest the streaming be broke, mind's momentum
be disturbed fiercely feared, lost to the vagabonds that
exist solely for the express purpose of denying your self-expression

One such poem, written yesterday (1), reminded me of another (2) composed, years ago, inspired by a ferry trip returning home, an ode to an old dear friend, a lover of the fulsome of life,
who had recently
passed away

Twelve years passing, yet well remember,
the utter urgency
of its composition, the purging of the sorrow,
and leaves me bereft, very sad,
for after writing thousands of scripts,
like a ****** obsessed,

feeling in the quietude of a sleeping household,
soon to be tumultuous with morning to and fro
runnings around and about, a/k/a errands,
wondering
Where and Whence
will come such a poem,
my next fix(ation)
a desired damnation of emotion,
and fearing its potential
unhappy origins

5:39am
Wed Jul 23
On the island
In the sunroom,
shushing hesitation
with chest pounding,
mouthing my forefinger
in puzzlement, befuddlement
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