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"evaporates" poems
My lips stroll along sultry soft skin I close my eyes , and see your curves with my kisses, fingers caressing your belly in infante swirls as if polishing the porcelain surface of a statue, You lay entranced beneath my gentle stroking , your tummy stimulating the rest if your senses, ******* yearning for attention , Strings of a harp waiting to make music, my canvas , your desirable body, ****** finger painting I meet your lips with mine , for your stamp of approval, my hands answer the call , My warm breath , Brushes your neck with the stroking of ****** feathers , Intensifying the raging desire within your ***** , Remnants saliva painted with my tongue evaporates into more of a magnetism, you open yourself to me, The weight of my passion envelops you Our tongues dance to the rhythm of our beating hearts Blood flows through our veins at an increasing temperature Ignited only by the meeting of our lips. Intensified My hands continue to brush your body , Answering all the yearning calls , I watch you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, And I continue to stoke the fire And with a burning wave of passion, Enfolded bodies I simply love you off to sleep .......
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Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
Intimate
[Hashtag]MeToo Here it goes again, trending on Insta and Facebook. Where real awareness stems. Mind the sarcasm, social media’s a powerful tool not knockin’ that. I wonder though, does the mind of the follower understand the context of the hash? Do they get it should be a call to action? Not necessarily at the keyboard. More like on the couch with their children, Giving the conversation of consent.   Most people do not even understand it by definition . The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.   Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame. The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan, quickly drying; leaving their mark. Until the soap and warm water flows over them, and the steam evaporates the confessions. Until they are again whispers we all hear and know. It’s whispers from the alley ways, and from married couples bedroom doors. The woman is the property,   the man is the proprietor.   We refuse to address the real problems, the failures of our up-bringers. We point fingers and slay names yet the statistics provide the truth.   One in four for females, one in sixteen for males. We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say [Hashtag]MeToo Not going to say I did not share it, I know the touch of unwanted hands, the invasive *********** All for the sake of the insanity,   in repeating a useless gesture. The only difference is My hashtag went to my Senator.
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Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
#MeToo
Jesus runs in Everglades, Mohammed climbs the roof The Angels stamp in anger as the Devil stands aloof, A wandering Pope in la-la land while Jewish hands do writhe Those apoplectic Muslims glare while Catholics pay the tithe. Religion, girls, has hit the skids…the game is up on God With rosaries rotating hard, theologians do nod, While Mormons rant moronically with frankincense and myrrh The irreligious bark and howl in Rastafarian fur. Sectarian’s recant Sanctum’s Shrine the rite of soul is lost As neophytes are dancing… the High Priest counts the cost, Theocracy unbalances as Voodoo’s stamp the floor And the Prophets throw their hands up, fast retreating for the door. It’s transcendental disbelief that’s nailed it to the Cross With the Priesthood chasing little boys all credence here is lost. With sanctity’s monastic plunge the pagans roar and shout As Shamans scream their incantations…God declares a route! There is silence in the Temple now, stillness in the pews As dust lies thick on altars, a nervous clergy holds reviews, What, once, was good and vibrant here, is now as dead as dust As the Blood Red Wine evaporates and Holy Bread…to crust. Marshalg Feeding the pigeons by the dusty, open door of the very, empty Chapel. 30 November 2013
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Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
And Holy Bread...to Crust!
It’s kinda pointless The purpose was clear as its intention But still, it was kinda pointless It was like when a kid lets go of his balloon. The string slowly evaporates from his hand As he covers his brow looking skyward to the horizon He let go of his first lover because maybe that would make his wishes come true Or maybe he let it go so a part of him could touch God. It was kinda pointless. Our on and off again two month relationship Every two months or so I would create every insecurity that my poetic lips could fabricate Twist and turn on my restless nights in one way street fashion But those other every two months Were magical I could write a million poems about your body if only my hands weren’t too busy touching it I would memorize the way your footsteps walked home incase I ever needed to find you And every song on the radio was our love song But for another two months I let you go officially And I guess that was kinda pointless *** now I pointlessly think aimlessly for why I did it Maybe I just didn’t want to see you evaporate from my hands again Or maybe it’s *** I thought if I let go of my first lover, my wishes would come true Or maybe it’s because when I’m kissing you, I feel like I could touch God And that just scared me But when a kid lets go of a balloon, He thinks he’s done with it, but he knows he’s never gonna get it back. But God, damm it, I want it back. I want a reason to smile and know I’m smiling for a reason I want something to hold my wrist, to go on adventures with Making love with you was never pointless, and no, I don’t regret it. In fact, it was flawless. And I’d be skipping for days, waiting to do it again But the feeling was lost. We let it evaporate from our hands. We let our emotions escalade and we lost it. Sacrificed it to a summer’s day Watched it float into one of God’s crevices Letting go you, was like letting go of a balloon. I’m forced to watch it drift away but I never, ever, really saw it pop. When you let go of a balloon, it kisses the sky. So I kissed you good-bye in hopes you will reach new heights.
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Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
Balloons
It’s kinda pointless The purpose was clear as its intention But still, it was kinda pointless It was like when a kid lets go of his balloon. The string slowly evaporates from his hand As he covers his brow looking skyward to the horizon He let go of his first lover because maybe that would make his wishes come true Or maybe he let it go so a part of him could touch God. It was kinda pointless. Our on and off again two month relationship Every two months or so I would create every insecurity that my poetic lips could fabricate Twist and turn on my restless nights in one way street fashion But those other every two months Were magical I could write a million poems about your body if only my hands weren’t too busy touching it I would memorize the way your footsteps walked home incase I ever needed to find you And every song on the radio was our love song But for another two months I let you go officially And I guess that was kinda pointless *** now I pointlessly think aimlessly for why I did it Maybe I just didn’t want to see you evaporate from my hands again Or maybe it’s *** I thought if I let go of my first lover, my wishes would come true Or maybe it’s because when I’m kissing you, I feel like I could touch God And that just scared me But when a kid lets go of a balloon, He thinks he’s done with it, but he knows he’s never gonna get it back. But God, damm it, I want it back. I want a reason to smile and know I’m smiling for a reason I want something to hold my wrist, to go on adventures with Making love with you was never pointless, and no, I don’t regret it. In fact, it was flawless. And I’d be skipping for days, waiting to do it again But the feeling was lost. We let it evaporate from our hands. We let our emotions escalade and we lost it. Sacrificed it to a summer’s day Watched it float into one of God’s crevices Letting go you, was like letting go of a balloon. I’m forced to watch it drift away but I never, ever, really saw it pop. When you let go of a balloon, it kisses the sky. So I kissed you good-bye in hopes you will reach new heights.
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40
*Heat waves blister us Water evaporates fast Temperatures soar high*
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
Too Hot
If I close a Door I want You on the other side with me If I close my eyes I want your light to shine through my eye lids When I Grit my teeth and pull away will it keep you away Forever I can’t kiss away Suspicion I won’t in brace Distrust With a Reputation like that You’ll be sure to brake something I can’t replace When my Conscience evaporates from this Heat I find our simple situation controlled by complex chemicals All the things you just don’t understand They just slip through your sneaky fingers and I will too
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Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 12:08 PM UTC
Chemical Reaction
Sitting here, I wonder Maybe we aren't so different Maybe there is good in you After all. My faith it grows, Just a drop, But enough for me to Escape my small shell of hatred. But just like that My drop evaporates And I am stuck Back in my shell again.
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Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Turtle Shell
Some raindrops fall faster and heavier than others, and some raindrops are shinier or larger than other raindrops some raindrops are part of refreshing April showers some rain drops turn into pretty snowfall, and some raindrops become harsh thunderstorms. but all raindrops eventually hit the ground and form puddles with other raindrops. and when the puddle evaporates the raindrops will fall once again And maybe this time, the once innocent April showers will become crushing thunder storms.
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Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
rain
A slow sun Peeps over the horizon The golden dawn Joins the lovers in Their warmest embrace Promise of The most perfect day Offered with reverence From God Herself Before the daydream Can even begin A swift hand Snaps the blind shut A not so casual escape Towards the cliff edge Startling the curious bluebirds That were beginning to gather Vanish does the dawn. With caution Light fingers trace the earth exposed Cracked Repelling all offers of relief Regret overwhelming The warmth of the sacred center Evaporates rapidly Releasing a sigh Light and heavy In every way She retreats As once again She is reminded That he is not A morning person
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 3:24 PM UTC
Can We Keep Our Eyes Closed?
The same song looping over and over… The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity… Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble, Vigorously fighting these thoughts, These demons of mentality, A constant cartwheel of emotion… Always racing… Not ceasing for a mere second… Forcing the pill in my mouth, And then another, And another… The only mental painkiller is death… I feel numb, Darkness seeps into my vision… Blurring reality… The Pain is going away… I feel alive as I feel myself die… Emergency Medical Squads break the door down… I sit there, Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare, Eyes not moving, Weak, You never came. I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise… Always knowing I love you, Never doubting yourself again… I want to make love until we are one… My body and yours… Sharing the night, and day… Filling senses with pleasure and love… I want to hold you until you are weightless… A feather in my arms… Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night… I want to love you forever… I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun… I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses… I want to love you when the bell tolls, The bell does not mark the end, It will never end, I will love you always, Forever, Not stopping even for a supernova… No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting… Toxic fumes are given off, The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find… No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving, You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters… All the cuts, The closer you get the deeper the grooves… This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust… Wonderful you say… But that is just for now, Today. My past is dark, dead, rotten, Who knows if the future will be any different. Today I have a moment of peace, You, A bright blue gem shining in the darkness, So pure it becomes it’s own light-source, Echoing beauty throughout the blackness, Illuminating me, True Commitment, Warm and sweet Love, Unquestionable Trust, Seraphic Beauty, Everything I need… I sit here questioning these words… Thinking of the purest way to put them, But emotion is not pure, It’s ***** rough, and raged, But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different, It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body… The past evaporates into the air, Dispersing and losing its importance, You are my future, Not the past.
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Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 2:03 PM UTC
Three Five Minute Poems
The same song looping over and over… The same suicidal thoughts torturing my sanity… Repeats accruing on infinite piles of ruble, Vigorously fighting these thoughts, These demons of mentality, A constant cartwheel of emotion… Always racing… Not ceasing for a mere second… Forcing the pill in my mouth, And then another, And another… The only mental painkiller is death… I feel numb, Darkness seeps into my vision… Blurring reality… The Pain is going away… I feel alive as I feel myself die… Emergency Medical Squads break the door down… I sit there, Watching them cycle electricity into my body as I blindly stare, Eyes not moving, Weak, You never came. I want to tell you I love you until it becomes white noise… Always knowing I love you, Never doubting yourself again… I want to make love until we are one… My body and yours… Sharing the night, and day… Filling senses with pleasure and love… I want to hold you until you are weightless… A feather in my arms… Carry you up to a safe place on a dark night… I want to love you forever… I want to love you till stone itself evaporates into the air as it boils underneath the red giant sun… I want to love you when the Universe rebirths or collapses… I want to love you when the bell tolls, The bell does not mark the end, It will never end, I will love you always, Forever, Not stopping even for a supernova… No matter how lovely, how vivid, how colorful the painting… Toxic fumes are given off, The closer you look the more cracks and flaws you’ll find… No matter how soft the wood, how elaborate the carving, You can’t even begin to feel all the splinters… All the cuts, The closer you get the deeper the grooves… This rusty drain has grown clogged of emotion and dust… Wonderful you say… But that is just for now, Today. My past is dark, dead, rotten, Who knows if the future will be any different. Today I have a moment of peace, You, A bright blue gem shining in the darkness, So pure it becomes it’s own light-source, Echoing beauty throughout the blackness, Illuminating me, True Commitment, Warm and sweet Love, Unquestionable Trust, Seraphic Beauty, Everything I need… I sit here questioning these words… Thinking of the purest way to put them, But emotion is not pure, It’s ***** rough, and raged, But when I talk to you that emotion turns into something different, It turns into satisfying warmth that runs through my body… The past evaporates into the air, Dispersing and losing its importance, You are my future, Not the past.
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76
The water cycle Of my soul Goes something like this Pain collects, Joy evaporates Hopelessness condensates And sadness preciptitates On and on and on This is the water cycle Of my soul
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Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
Water Cycle
*Nothing is permanent Everything is ever-changing Change is inevitable* The dark shadowy clouds of Sorrow linger over the horizon of our Mind only to usher the rain of Happiness And then a Sunlit sky to find With Moon and the Stars as a guiding light comes Night after a Day Only to call upon the Sun Illuminating the world, to keep darkness at bay The shower that gushes through Mountain springs flowing as a River it merrily sings becomes one with the Ocean, a depth to attain then evaporates into Clouds, to usher the Rain The Flower that blossomed is meant to wither the Pupa is meant to become a Butterfly That what Arises is meant to Cease That which is Born is meant to Die Pain and Suffering is there but to pass Delight is not going to forever last One follows the other in Circle of Life like a rhythmic pattern in Vitality vast Matter is made up of tiny atoms we are but merely Nature's vibration An entire Universe resonates inside us Realisation of which will lead us to Wisdom Time, the bird of change, has taught impermanent in itself  it always flies Things as they really are should be known without craving or hating the feelings that arise Ignorance, Conceit, False Hopes and Self Deception are the very causes of Human Suffering Consciousness of it all removes the Passion for Existence in it alone lies the secret of our Well-being Desire gives birth to Sorrow nothing else can be so true because after all "*You only Lose what You really Cling to! "*
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Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
Impermanence
I can feel the cold setting in. Each morning is more bitter and frostbitten than the last. The air and my thoughts are becoming stale, dry, and unpleasant. The sun does not warm me anymore. Like me it seems to have become weary. The birds are gone. All life seems to have abandoned this place. Ice clings to my bedroom window, begging to expire in the warmth of a living room fire. Smoke rises from the chimneys, covering this world in cold ashes and grey. A life of color now painted banal and mundane. I can feel the frozen air seeping in, slowly chilling me to my core. With every passing night I grow colder and slower. I have become eternally internally tired. I end each dream embracing the boreal winds. Ice evaporates into my thoughts. I can feel the cold setting in.
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Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
Winter Blues.
a shooting star is born from the bleakness of the heavenly spheres racing to earth the flashing streak sears a burning path across the sky at dazzling speed it accelerates, slashing the porous atmosphere like a laser bolt from Zeus's own hand then evaporates into the nothingness of the midnight sky the universe remains little changed from its advent and passing Charlie Parker: Star Eyes jbm Catskills, NY 8/88
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Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
Shooting Star
Dreary meadows... empty halls... I soak myself in candle light... I wash away my form of wax.. In your tears i find comfort... Bathing in your mind.. makes me relax... Ravenously devouring your memories.... I am the creeping dark around the corner... A future distorted, a past discorded... your present state in turmoil.... Tumbling further into depravity... A shadowy fragment of what once was you... Dripping, gaping maws. Elongated fangs laid bare... Rend sinew and tissue.... Gnawing violently your rotting tongue.... Venom seeps out of every orifice... As you transpire myself from you and dress your misery in flesh and blood... While your sight evaporates... I roll my eyes out of sheer boredom Your frail waxen form.. melting in the heat of my hands... Dripping in dead puddles of discomfort... Your sorrow festers like mould on corpses.... And on that faithful day you gave birth to me... You gave me my name..... When you look in the mirror you will always see... You will whisper my name... Melancholy..
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Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Melancholy
Lost notions of hope fade into thin air, developing with destructive growth. Warm sunlight on an early morning evaporates a single teardrop. Broken waves crash in debilitating consolation. Moaning winds blend to create agonizing discontent.   Darkness brings upon growing rage and Remorseful renegade ends with burnt offerings and insincere apologies. Misty air dissipates, dishes break. You and I replace foggy memories full of grief and regret and unsaid words with Indifferent opinions lacking courage or conviction or compassion creating comforting chaos. The slumbering void full of encompassing individuality somehow pulls us closer. Freedom and peace found. -andrea
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Surrounding Us
A solid center presages two generous edges to shoulder the weight of the curve: the bow relinquishes tension to the anchors of the taut bow-string. The wayfaring archer tends to the curve, notches the arrow, selects the target, gauges the wind, surrenders -- *Riding like an arrow on the wind,       sure to find its mark in Breath,       and the end of Breath it portends.*       A reveler abiding the flirt of angle and arc, finite and eternal, arbiter of the holy moment, the dance linking death with life; So unbearably near the horizons, desire yields its grip to the coaxing womb of the curve: tension sighs into the space between arrow-head and its mark. *And in the transmission of feeling       is the spirit of Life,       clinging - so gently - to free itself       of its own burdens.*       A sudden violence voids archer and stag: Continuity rushes forth to meet the sacrifice. The heart of the bow resumes its tension. And the curve evaporates, all but a trick of Timing.
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Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Asymptote
The coffee cup is stained red From strawberry chuppa chups and your lipstick, honey. The salty liquid from its fibres Evaporates under your fierce breath. Despite this, your voice is thin, ragged And worn. How has life been treating you?
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Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Stained red
Distill water is healing. The moons voice manipulates the ocean, By reaching and pulling away from the sand the suns smile equips us with Vitamin C The Water cycle is a universal enigma. She starts of as clouds quenching our planet with: Oceans, lakes, rivers, and water puddles she evaporates into mist of waves Camouflaging her family recipe in the sky, While cooks up new baby clouds its starts all over again like the tadpole evolution even though we all take water for granted sometimes, She still supplies our needs. By Shannon Pollard ©Summer 2012
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Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Master Craftsman
Sticky Sticky, So **** Sticky, Us Brits and our Weather are so **** Picky Sun Beats Down, Evaporates the Frowns Then there's the complaints for which wer are so renowned Too Cold, Too Hot, Please Just Stop... I was waiting all winter long and now you strop I much prefer shades to a winters coat Up round my **** not up round my throat Own far more Mini's than I do Scarfs and it was the Summer Holiday's I had most Laughs So you can keep your dreams of cosy nights in As I excite the 'Vit D' and Tan my Skin All trhose extra layers keeping you wrapped I prefer the White lines where my Crop-Top Strapped "I can't Move, Think I'm Melting", I quickly choose 'Rays' over 'Downpours' or 'Peltings' Sitting at this screen writing is now getting Tricky It's Sticky Sticky....Too ****** Sticky... Yeergh!
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Sticky
You never did manage to see The final nail on the casket nor The 9 years it has taken me To unweave it from my crown of thorns You say you shout you scream You could not have foretold The bullet I held clenched between my teeth Heavy to the touch, heavy and unbearably cold Not as I my mouth became a steal barrel, Not as it came racing out Not as it came to meet your creased forehead's third fold I shake with loss I shiver with relief My silver armor melts away and evaporates into flesh The life you had left ahead of you was anyway brief Unlike the fruits you stole from my long life that once lay ahead of me An ugly, loud, rampant, hobbling thief I leave my pills to you For all the times I failed Trying bleed your blood out from my wrists Bullet blown, skeletons thrown, casket nailed I walk back up the stairs light as a feather A crested crow, my wings unfurled, a crested crow unveiled
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Jan 5, 2024
Jan 5, 2024 at 1:28 PM UTC
Birdie in the Basement
The weight of the world sitting dumbly on those fructose eyelids. They, in turn.      melt into the mummified morning. laying in the corner forever like a favorite-shirt ruined in the wash. Every other stripe on you is stained pink from some cheap volunteer tee that ******              up The whole load. Each ray from the blinds Takes some life away. Searing past you- into the floorboards with quiet fury. Time passes_ It shoves us down into compact spaces. (but) I thought of you In a shoplifter's prayer. (There is something left that evaporates out in the form of you) I imagined you Still. But growing Like Crystal salts Crusting up the pores of the earth. Vapors fumbling upwards to rehydrate My dry fingers_ We make decisions . that stick around. We break off blisters. Rip little things that hang off our lips. We take breaks before we need them. Take too long to say **** this. Thoughtlessness. *Somewhere out there, they are screaming loud. Somebody either cares or Doesn't.* The marks on the carpet know better than us How to last forever
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Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
:the first domesticated crop
There comes a time when tyranny of numbers, Evaporates into tyranny of idiosyncrasies, Especially when the ethnic tyranny tyrannizes Voice of reason the matrix of humane inclusivity, When the malice in the enormity of clan numbers Worships brutality of foolishness that purtains In the group of the over sized ethnicity To cement the tyrannical tomfoolery.
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Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
Tyranny of Tomfoolery
the brevity of a singular breath, one that is full of peace, such a rare glimpse but if you look at his face, at the right time, you might just see him smile. then, much like an old spruce cello, descending in suspense, that smile  -evaporates-, and the quick "bliss" is no more. oh how old and wise is this cello i play, if only it was genuinely surprised by the intensity of such -hair raising horror- it faces in its composure, daily. "but it simply ain't", as Bukowski would drunkenly say, and his quivering cigarette would rightfully echo through the halls of this unholy Cathedral.   "put me the **** down already, Charles", it echoes. "no, i refuse to let go of my identity... ...why would i let go of all -i feel- is left?" he (i) is either a man, or on the road to understanding what this even means really... ...maybe he's halfway there... regardless, he now understands, he must accept "reasons" to smile won't come often, and one is subject to the tug of war of life, of society, of women, of his children, of his forgetful mother, of his vices, his hair raising horrors, the torment, of his absent father. to continue is to face those suspenseful -crescendos- of life, with "a ********* smile on your face", as Bukowski would say, no matter -what- he's been through, or -how- -deeply- he -feels- ... -melancholicreator
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Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC
-a spruce cello and Bukowski's echo-