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#psychedelicpoetry
I felt infinity at a minute past two and I died with great gig in the sky. The waves swirling over deep seas of blue, carried me as I waved earth goodbye. I floated around beyond the realms of sleep, lost my tongue on a different plane. I surrendered to the creatures pulling me deep, into the depths of my brain. Where I lost myself among colours and sounds, never heard nor could ever be seen. Slowly my self melted into the grounds, where the most merry among us have been.
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May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC
Little Friends
. Wrapping the sky       around shoulders of grief, prepared shuffles of aimless motion in time, a hood of moons transpire to illuminate,           conveying the dissolution of reason and rhyme, as logic takes a bullet and bites the dust resplendent in a cloak      of transparent darkness swirling,           a veil drops like the final curtain, with the august play about to commence,      the actors, forward,           taking a bow of silence, to an absent audience who do not care, the arrival at platform zero,      of nowhere,           travelling to nothing on a vacant train, an instant express to the heart      of the void, carrying hallucinations           *in a purse                     of stars,* Promise rides a chariot of blessing, yielding a gift      sugar coated in           images and                     words. © Pagan Paul (11/04/18)
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Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
Purse of Stars
. Fazzy moams on wivvel crusts carry jazms on flocked pavs. Rinkulled witty over sark unburcoaled plinks of bloo. Serry nark are they cronking and fillipas grapples in kloque. Verx on spappled gurns are they torting through gattering weems. Fernol wend the schism klone Glolling fast in clutty pawk. Scenty flox drozzle by teas Nisting on cowt rinnalled dawn. Yurish casts of nash pigoon stoz over hinty-hanty bynum. When in merdeen lemp quimsy dilly noff flyx and wempwarble. For loofin under korots mingle At the imtem tong fallop. Shoozy bales of cremp deflate and gwample rooks the plisties. ©Pagan Paul (22/06/16)
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Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
Jibberish
My words yearn to wrap around those warm bodies breathing poetry wandering in their beatnik gypsy mountain time dancing in the citrine champagne universe pouring daybreak stardust into hands getting a buzz from the indigo vibrations tickling the wild child turquoise flowers blossoming from their hearts opening arms allowing my words to slide over them fitting comfortably like a t-shirt or hoodie. http://bit.ly/1Re2Ubu
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Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Wearing Words in Daylight Savings Time
I take deep breaths And plan a ****** To **** the bird that flew Over the crow's nest On a summer night I feel the warmth Of the day not yet done The sound of laughter Is all around me This is cool- I say I find myself lying on a surgery table Holding an apple in my hand I throw it against the floor And landing there It bursts into a million Children of my mind Spreading into every Country on the planet I am the new master As my children grow and grow Still in rags I speak And throw my thoughts into a bin Their work is finished you see Still the sound of laughter Carries on around me Living is easy With your head In the clouds I saw- and still I hear The giggles and noises Of delightful romances being Born These should be mine But they are not mine Such things are little more than Mist or whispers Promises not yet realised My children sympathise And bringing me a woman To sit with me in the tall grass Together we shall Plan a life instead
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Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
PORTRAIT OF THE POET AS A FRUIT CAKE