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#shallows
Land-protection with a wide gully: ullage tide -- silts up sand, shallows.
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Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 4:15 AM UTC
Land-protection with
_They say don't test the waters_ but absentmindedly dived in blue and black engraved with the souls that once adorned my body— bone crushed and barely breathing. Drowned in lovestruck, a ***** to an armor.
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Sep 11, 2023
Sep 11, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
Deep shallows
<> *“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem and no matter the change in horizon, there is always some thing to be found that could remind me of the worst ways I have ever been.”* from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria <> rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow, my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct! stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts, for there is always something to be found, recalled, that the horizon’s only constant is constant change, especially the worst worsts I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine, robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come, stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone, and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term, may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing. rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil darkens my fingernails, it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil, but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits. my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
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Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem
<> *“rootless in shallows of momentary mayhem and no matter the change in horizon, there is always some thing to be found that could remind me of the worst ways I have ever been.”* from “Harlequin Days of Fecund Fervor” by Victoria <> rereading these your words, upset forces me to break a recent vow, my own writing banished, now faceless in the ranks of just another poet, busted in rank, chose my own decommissioning but then your momentary mayhem plea, fecund you, your third harlequin, states construct! stay the constriction, the recalling of our worst worsts, for there is always something to be found, recalled, that the horizon’s only constant is constant change, especially the worst worsts I am colored by your treats, your word plums ripe even out of season, and the mayhem is mine only mine, robbed you for it is I, rootless, given up my planting, then the cobblestones of old new york, trip me up, saying even old things such as you, have a prime yet to come, stones fecund seeding, predicting I am not done, just undone, and fetuses within this dying body, may yet be carried to term, may yet, maybe, may be, but may be caesarean stillborn rambling this, mostly musty unclear, so summarizations a sensible thing, a pardon requested for clarity is a sometime thing. rare are the days that the terracotta colored soil darkens my fingernails, it is dried blood from my scratching deep beneath the skin’s topsoil, but nothing grows that’s whole, warped are the word fruits. my soup is hot water with salt, a tasty dish apropos for one whose growths are rootless in the shallow, infertile dirt of stones that reside in the shallows of a garden of mine own fecund may-hem of the grey fall sky autopsy turvy
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35
forces took over me listeners listening listening to many many listeners listening could you swallow his shallow ? ... .. .
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Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
his shallow
Maybe, people only loved the easy parts of me; the shallows; the circumstance where they don't struggle. But it's okay, I always forbid entry every time someone tries to come near the deep borders of my soul, anyway.
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Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 2:45 AM UTC
Easy parts of me to love
A shark afebrile acceded deep in shallows there his teeth lasted with anticipation of her bay was akin to high jinks as his floridity was aghast with achievement that caught her so nobly again.
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Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
A Shark