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#crawford
She arched her eyebrow, bit her lip and got that open skirt slit she loved that lens. it loved her back But fame like life. It fades to black. And maybe fame finds its demise but real talent never dies.
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Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 3:36 PM UTC
To Joan Crawford
Eden’s Weeds (Andrew Crawford) “seed buried somewhere six feet deep beneath dry bones and brittle debris, lost in all of eden's weeds” Andrew Crawford <><>><> you tripped exploring mine own eden's weeds, more precisely, tripped me up, your poring over, my one hundred year old poems, flawed, by many spilled tears, aged old, for and over them, and now, once again, je vous réponds s'il vous plait this poem planned, title chosen, well before you exercised my memories, disinterring by your fingers, (surprise!} but the content you also now provided, @ ten to midnight, your privacy invasion, a very fine sleep deprivation excuse to compose one more time who knows, perhaps this next one could be ”flawless”^ not likely though, flawless never found amidst the weeds though in Eden chances are, chances are, not impossible, for that’s the place where slow, simple songs get replayed, celebrating lovers of life, its pleasant harmonies, go figure over, over again, like a rolling stone, until friction finally wins, yes ”my own chosen speed”^ is a-slowing, direction home, finally, the mosses occluding new words and combinations, concealed, like a moss, got no roots, birthed by shedding spores airborne, my new old poems, plucked from air, words passing by in phrases your phrase, eden’s weeds, hit my irises, insisting it deserved, instant cognition, two words, demanding special education, accolade recognition, perhaps if I stick around, for a few more poems, I’ll learn to write as beautiful as you.
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Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 12:31 AM UTC
Eden’s Weeds (Andrew Crawford)
Eden’s Weeds (Andrew Crawford) “seed buried somewhere six feet deep beneath dry bones and brittle debris, lost in all of eden's weeds” Andrew Crawford <><>><> you tripped exploring mine own eden's weeds, more precisely, tripped me up, your poring over, my one hundred year old poems, flawed, by many spilled tears, aged old, for and over them, and now, once again, je vous réponds s'il vous plait this poem planned, title chosen, well before you exercised my memories, disinterring by your fingers, (surprise!} but the content you also now provided, @ ten to midnight, your privacy invasion, a very fine sleep deprivation excuse to compose one more time who knows, perhaps this next one could be ”flawless”^ not likely though, flawless never found amidst the weeds though in Eden chances are, chances are, not impossible, for that’s the place where slow, simple songs get replayed, celebrating lovers of life, its pleasant harmonies, go figure over, over again, like a rolling stone, until friction finally wins, yes ”my own chosen speed”^ is a-slowing, direction home, finally, the mosses occluding new words and combinations, concealed, like a moss, got no roots, birthed by shedding spores airborne, my new old poems, plucked from air, words passing by in phrases your phrase, eden’s weeds, hit my irises, insisting it deserved, instant cognition, two words, demanding special education, accolade recognition, perhaps if I stick around, for a few more poems, I’ll learn to write as beautiful as you.
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Two camps, divided; On which one will I stay? Little did I know The road I took Would **** me someday
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Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
boray
Irreplaceable you, Drifting into my world With so little a care As the heat of the evening Turned into a sordid affair Irreplaceable you, Riding me gently, tamer Of heavy waves Tangled together in shadows -- For you, I’ll always misbehave Irreplaceable you, Slipping from my grasp And into another’s  -- Trembling toward your kiss Tell me I’m your only lover Irreplaceable you, But replaceable me Left to wilt at the shoreline While you sailed off to sea.
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Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
irreplaceable you
Little girl with wide blue eyes Dreams as boundless as the skies Surrounded by dust and dead ends Waltzing in a land of make pretend Freckled, fervent and coy Twirling past the neighbor boys When she moves, she slips away Lost in a smile and a happy place Left to wander the desert dry Alone and forgotten no matter what she tries Looking for affection in an empty well Fading echoes of forgotten church bells With her reveries she swiftly dropped A leap of faith and the whole world stopped Warm blood and dampened grass, A mangled foot and a binding cast In dark days she prayed for help Wanting to step and perform Not ready to give up her last chance To take the stage by way of dance Ten years later, she's swaying and twice as stunning as before Sculpted cheekbones and brooding eyes Grabbing audiences by surprise She's reborn a star of the movies, With a new name and tiny waist Pretty young flapper with a striking face The little girl has finally found her place
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Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
A Star Is Born