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Ten word
poetry
is just
me
being
very
very
lazy.
How does it grip you
when the blood's
dripping
from you
to form circles
that circle the floor?

Do you want to cut more
do you want every circle
you see to be me
is it me on the floor that
you see?

Every cut that you make
makes you free?

Sorry,
can't see that one being true.

'It's a bit loud',
said,
the boy standing tall who
watched from behind
safety glass,

pass me the vinegar and
I'll pour some of it over there,
the acid will add to the sting.

But if I learned anything
and I'm not sure I did
it's how to get rid of
the stains that tell
tales on you and
how does that grip you
as you slide through
the door/
do you want to cut
some more to add to
the circles
to add to the floor?
howling agitation

~~~
But this old man's tiddlywink, land-locked words,
blunted instruments,
needy for release & salvation,
neither silvered or exacting,
stain a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon,
'cept for the brunt'd bunting of lines
across his roughened terrain'd face,
a black and a white
Degas pen and ink etched illustration
of howling agitation.
^
Heal me
  Restore me with your Love
   Transform me from a seagull
     into a Dove
Another late night poem drafted while half awake. I hope it speaks to you anyway. Thank you for reading :)
 Apr 2016 Olivia Kent
Mike Hauser
She likes to blow up balloons
Matching the colors
to fit her mood
From envious greens
to the saddest of blues
Sits in a corner
blowing  balloons

From runaway yellows
to angry reds
All of the colors
leaving little left said
Blowing balloons
to the thoughts in her head
Till there are no feelings left
Last time I saw the sun
I hid my eyes
never seen a thing as bright as this
felt like this was no sun at all
for if it was, would I be here right now.
P@ul.
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