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#exceeds
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand, *all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know, I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones when no one was about, I scribbled many notes, transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage to fallow beaches for sandy seeding no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped, ****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions, no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed, all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot, the point I broke once more before my commencement, inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad, waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear, know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words, scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!” ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^ fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,*   “why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”
0
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand, *all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know, I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones when no one was about, I scribbled many notes, transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage to fallow beaches for sandy seeding no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped, ****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions, no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed, all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot, the point I broke once more before my commencement, inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad, waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear, know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words, scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!” ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^ fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,*   “why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”
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29
while luxuriating in the boughs aching to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like february twenty first two thousand and eighteen when old man took a mandatory brake from mister sun spilling forth unseasonably balmy temperatures equated from this human drake swallowed hard taking respite delighting, holistically lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par taking paradise magical optical pulsations, a desperate need to succor dehydration that found me relinquishing a coveted reading nook and cranny, this explanation not "FAKE" excuse withholding appeasing, an unrelenting paroxysm watering parched palette **** ceded to abend imagination immersion linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin) while feeling spell bound by this warm weather unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end drew the analogy how indomitable joie de vivre kneading love intend ding, sans partaking draught found wealth between bounded pages doth mend moe so than any medication (akin to placing a wager sparring rivals) desire for on par, when body needs replenishment of fluids thus...deferring self for healthy pleasant liquid to slake in an effort to curtail parched mouth felt as if being scraped by a lab bot tummy sized rake thence entire corporeal being didst shimmy and shake analogous within mine so many dozen square feet parameters thee earth didst quake. thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice (to evade dole drums) a poem yours truly decided to make.
0
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
matthew-scott-harris2p
insatiable thirst
while luxuriating in the boughs aching to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like february twenty first two thousand and eighteen when old man took a mandatory brake from mister sun spilling forth unseasonably balmy temperatures equated from this human drake swallowed hard taking respite delighting, holistically lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par taking paradise magical optical pulsations, a desperate need to succor dehydration that found me relinquishing a coveted reading nook and cranny, this explanation not "FAKE" excuse withholding appeasing, an unrelenting paroxysm watering parched palette **** ceded to abend imagination immersion linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin) while feeling spell bound by this warm weather unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end drew the analogy how indomitable joie de vivre kneading love intend ding, sans partaking draught found wealth between bounded pages doth mend moe so than any medication (akin to placing a wager sparring rivals) desire for on par, when body needs replenishment of fluids thus...deferring self for healthy pleasant liquid to slake in an effort to curtail parched mouth felt as if being scraped by a lab bot tummy sized rake thence entire corporeal being didst shimmy and shake analogous within mine so many dozen square feet parameters thee earth didst quake. thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice (to evade dole drums) a poem yours truly decided to make.
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