#sighs - Hello Poetry

~thank u Jenny for the commission~ ——— I Wish:(1) it’s been a while since they culled the herds in my neighborhood on the posh posh Upper East Side,^ in fact, ole Natty, had to look up culling to be sure he really remembered its so practical meaning, til J. refracts this titled phrase, and here I am @4:10am, culling sighs again not hard to guess, I’m both a prodigious sigher and user of four letter words when a sigh just won’t do writ a lot poem stuffing; but truth be told (which~when stated, means that nice person is likely lying) you could take every turkey overcooked on Thanksgiving day stuff’em with all the sigh-sins in/of my life that I unbeknownst to me, Naturally, were being kept in the storage closet, until they flooded the basement, and I was told, very poshly, them or me, had to giddiup on outta here but on a serious note, (nah, never) should we, us, take a day to commemorate our profusions of delusions, teary eyed moments, chest pained issuances from a manipulative tv show, or aa sad, sad, melancholy mellow melodious, bellowing, poem(?), when contemplating the preponderance of things that makes us think, of the abouts, which we can do nothing, with copious exhalations a/k/a big big sighs, another ingenious decision by our procreative semi~human designer, so we could all claim, we would all be very rich in something… and secretly we cull them sighs, witch earns your an ascot scrip for anti depressant meds, when the lover who-was-is not-now-anymore, because humans get bored or some other reason stoopingly stupid, “reason,” when the ones who truly loved you no-matter-what have to depart, and them, are always, well kept, neatly numbered, in the right side of our brain^^, in an area some call their treasury, ready to be summoned either on a quik calling up, or a tortured slow volcanic upheaval, when we recall too well the most human side of being human, and the sighs are just in waiting, left wet in the tissues we’ve kept, as commemorative keepsakes so, indeed we do cull our tears, they do not get gone with the wind, in fact, many come to reside here, like the single, accompanied by, the-single-tear I have just shed, writ, and will do so again/again/again <nml> 4:56am/Tue/11/11/25

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Nov 12, 2025

Nov 12, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

culling deep sighs

~thank u Jenny for the commission~ ——— I Wish:(1) it’s been a while since they culled the herds in my neighborhood on the posh posh Upper East Side,^ in fact, ole Natty, had to look up culling to be sure he really remembered its so practical meaning, til J. refracts this titled phrase, and here I am @4:10am, culling sighs again not hard to guess, I’m both a prodigious sigher and user of four letter words when a sigh just won’t do writ a lot poem stuffing; but truth be told (which~when stated, means that nice person is likely lying) you could take every turkey overcooked on Thanksgiving day stuff’em with all the sigh-sins in/of my life that I unbeknownst to me, Naturally, were being kept in the storage closet, until they flooded the basement, and I was told, very poshly, them or me, had to giddiup on outta here but on a serious note, (nah, never) should we, us, take a day to commemorate our profusions of delusions, teary eyed moments, chest pained issuances from a manipulative tv show, or aa sad, sad, melancholy mellow melodious, bellowing, poem(?), when contemplating the preponderance of things that makes us think, of the abouts, which we can do nothing, with copious exhalations a/k/a big big sighs, another ingenious decision by our procreative semi~human designer, so we could all claim, we would all be very rich in something… and secretly we cull them sighs, witch earns your an ascot scrip for anti depressant meds, when the lover who-was-is not-now-anymore, because humans get bored or some other reason stoopingly stupid, “reason,” when the ones who truly loved you no-matter-what have to depart, and them, are always, well kept, neatly numbered, in the right side of our brain^^, in an area some call their treasury, ready to be summoned either on a quik calling up, or a tortured slow volcanic upheaval, when we recall too well the most human side of being human, and the sighs are just in waiting, left wet in the tissues we’ve kept, as commemorative keepsakes so, indeed we do cull our tears, they do not get gone with the wind, in fact, many come to reside here, like the single, accompanied by, the-single-tear I have just shed, writ, and will do so again/again/again <nml> 4:56am/Tue/11/11/25