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I am no judge of good character (think I am the greatest poet-cum-bf ever) I used to be a sharp dresser, (then to the time twisted testing, t'is of tiny import sense succumbed) I used to love woman by the score (Ha! fooled ya, still do, will dying do so, but caught in a single spider's heartweb, I read, and I love, and cheat only nowadays with weak eyes and strong words) I used to be young in heart, (self impressed at my talented prose, but then my eyes grew keener, the more I read, the older I got, the more others led me faster, sweeter to the promised land) so I trip 'n skip in the waterfall pool, that forms where the poems cascading are laid down to peaceful repose to keep, and too oft, sad uneyed loneliness yet, I see a graffiti on the clear bottom, white paint upon an earthen rock, wipe away the eddys, put aside the ego, lift it, lift me up, that stone, with caressing care to read: So Jo Was Here oh indeed indeed in deed another poet, who blues my heart with words modest, in combinations that say to me you knew that, but not till now! how did she know that *words and words and - ironies usurp courage adventure scowls unsated Times New Roman **** pixels unconsummated similes sin-taxed for hits stale nefarious negging all heros on the page reality waits begging* I read and I think did I not write these words? *love is a bittersweet borrowed lie time is a slowly emptied sigh deception is the sharpest yet rustiest lance and rage the slowest, saddest dance while truth's just polished-up confusion with words - the slipperiest illusion* But I did not! nope but I read them cause So Jo Was Here stoked and croaking, addicted, I read on only to find my mirror image once again, one mo' time crime *But I was held unknotted only, oblivion teetering on the pinch of a thumb and forefinger. Until slowly but cynically, gasp by gasp, all was forced out, and when the moment came to go, there was nothing left to go on* so it is written, so it will be read then you can say too, as I did, as I here confess, in my recesses unexplored, trembled to find, overjoyed to be me revealed cause: So Jo Was Here
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
So Jo Was Here (read the new poets)
I am no judge of good character (think I am the greatest poet-cum-bf ever) I used to be a sharp dresser, (then to the time twisted testing, t'is of tiny import sense succumbed) I used to love woman by the score (Ha! fooled ya, still do, will dying do so, but caught in a single spider's heartweb, I read, and I love, and cheat only nowadays with weak eyes and strong words) I used to be young in heart, (self impressed at my talented prose, but then my eyes grew keener, the more I read, the older I got, the more others led me faster, sweeter to the promised land) so I trip 'n skip in the waterfall pool, that forms where the poems cascading are laid down to peaceful repose to keep, and too oft, sad uneyed loneliness yet, I see a graffiti on the clear bottom, white paint upon an earthen rock, wipe away the eddys, put aside the ego, lift it, lift me up, that stone, with caressing care to read: So Jo Was Here oh indeed indeed in deed another poet, who blues my heart with words modest, in combinations that say to me you knew that, but not till now! how did she know that *words and words and - ironies usurp courage adventure scowls unsated Times New Roman **** pixels unconsummated similes sin-taxed for hits stale nefarious negging all heros on the page reality waits begging* I read and I think did I not write these words? *love is a bittersweet borrowed lie time is a slowly emptied sigh deception is the sharpest yet rustiest lance and rage the slowest, saddest dance while truth's just polished-up confusion with words - the slipperiest illusion* But I did not! nope but I read them cause So Jo Was Here stoked and croaking, addicted, I read on only to find my mirror image once again, one mo' time crime *But I was held unknotted only, oblivion teetering on the pinch of a thumb and forefinger. Until slowly but cynically, gasp by gasp, all was forced out, and when the moment came to go, there was nothing left to go on* so it is written, so it will be read then you can say too, as I did, as I here confess, in my recesses unexplored, trembled to find, overjoyed to be me revealed cause: So Jo Was Here
Read http://hellopoetry.com/so-jo-was-here/ it would criminal not to....
nat-lipstadt
Written by
99/M/NYC/Lippstadt/Kraków
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
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