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I listen to the words of tv hosts
trying – or maybe just pretending – to analyze
topical issues of the day in depth
on their panels with certified experts on the issue

yet in the end mostly remains a host of possibilities
rarely a clear decision
more seldom even a provocative conclusion
one could at least start arguing about

what happened to well-structured arguments
that did not lend themselves to fuzzy readings
but had a recognizable opinion at their core
challenging viewers to discuss some more?
Griping about the lack of good TV panels seriously discussing topical isses
EBTI  Jan 2018
It's all fuzzy
EBTI Jan 2018
I am my mothers daughter
I am no daughter to my father
That ship sailed a long time ago
Driven by my sister that I have right now
She is her mothers mother
She is the soul of all the lovers
She told you, you're a getter
And im a filler, so fill them up with poetry
Get a hold of them, she got a hold of me
“Can you see something?” She asked
No it's all fuzzy
My mom told me, they tried to conceal me
Tried to take a breath but, it's all fuzzy
So she's a killer!
Tried to run but guess what? She's a fast runner.
September Rose May 2018
Thick, warm, fuzzy air
Radiates against your skin, making you want to doze off
You sit on the front of a low red car that looks another era, leaning on the glossy hood.
I want to put your lips on mine
The world feels yellow, and orange.
It's as if clear smoke has filled the air
My eyes are dimmed through thick sunglasses, my body absorbing the warmth through jeans and a small black shirt
I'm in a lucid daze
Looking at you through a curtain of straight black hair, not bothered to move it from my face.
You're eyes the crisp refreshing blue in a world tinted amber
Like fresh water, so cooling as I gaze in them.
Like a spray of water on your back
After hours of sunbathing
We sit there
We say nothing
We take in the sun
   We don't need anything else
lmbf  Jul 2018
Awakening
lmbf Jul 2018
Her touch is warm like a fuzzy blanket. She wraps one around in the cadence of her voice; it's like an old song one had forgotten about, quietly humming in the foreground. Her smile beckons, both as a siren and as an old lover. One listens to her speak and wonders about all the galaxies whirring around in her mind.

And when I look at the curve of her spine and the ***** of her chest, for the first time it makes me want to explore that place. It is the sacred place where kings and queens are written into existence, where love and pleasure and sometimes even pain collide with an unending force. I wonder what she could do to take me there. And I think of what I could do to make her escape this broken universe with me, if only for a few moments.
// Summer Freewrite Sessions 2018
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