"glut" poems
Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.
Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd ***** her last tear and turns away.
13.8k
He was large as frogs go
Fist-sized happy rotund dweller
of backyard pond
Garter snake large, too large
with his ominous yellow stripes
and jaws to take
a larger than average mouthful
Choked by abdomen's girth
Legs drooling from his glut
Before the victim's even hit his gut's
digestive juices
Kid with hockey stick makes him puck
for his sin
Frog makes desperate
slim swim for rocks
Where he lies in recovery
from shock and
teeth marks on his belly
Underdog gets defense from phone call-- Eve
150 miles away
intercedes
Frog gets mercy of a transport
to another backwoods pond--
to find his life
forgetting trauma
Suns himself and swims
Eats the bugs
and ***** the froglettes
of another day
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its ****** death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.
His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden's imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience.
3.7k
It was warm in Emilio’s backyard,
The site of their game of explorer.
Emilio cleared the overgrowth;
Michael complained.
He was bent over, trying
To have a conversation with the blood lilies,
But he couldn’t hear them
Above the soft sliding hiss sent up by
The passing snake herd.
(Past the Huano palms, Emilio could see them,
Moving like a fleshy woven mattress)
Both boys noticed
The glut of termites
Crawling over their sneakers.
Michael complained more.
How could he explore
Amid so many noisy distractions?
This was when Emilio went inside
To get his father’s gun.
Michael watched as he fired
Three shots
Into the clouds threading the sky.
Both explorers presumed it was the shots
That punctured the clouds and caused the snow;
In the surprising silence of snowfall,
The two boys trotted across the yard,
Catching flakes in their butterfly nets.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 8:33 PM UTC
Boredom #2
I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun,
Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom:
Boredom.
“Weariness, ennui: frustration;
Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration;
Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration;
Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration;
Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.”
Can it be overcome, this boredom?
No more war - the boredom won,
Exchanged for something more like fun?
It can.
A friend who, when we speak, says,
“It’s a part of nature…has no answer...”
Reasoning fallacious,
She is wrong as wrong can be
And her reasoning a fallacy.
Awake at night: hormones, full moons;
The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices,
Radios that play a song too strong, too long..
A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results;
A knack, a shortcut worth consulting
Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain;
Travel round in, sense and feel…
Make it real – as if you really feel
The part you aim at, frame then tame.
In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject.
Boredom fled, you freed,
You and your mood well pleased, released
And taken places least expected,
Un-objected to by you,
The burden boredom’s through.
And doomed!
Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017
Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
Dans le fond des forêts votre image me suit.
RACINE
There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?
Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.
Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thighs.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?
I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:
The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.
3k
Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.
Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd ***** her last tear and turns away.
2.9k
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
2.5k
So many eyes lay upon cursing skin
crevices grit, pockmarked with each thrashing intrusion
budding enthusiasm, awash, boiled...
suffer, oh suffer, green potato.
Crinkle cut? Jib of glut!
manipulate form and function
stain of starch satisfaction...
coffer, oh coffer, oh cough, ahem, cough!
It ain't about money.
That's right, mustn't disturb the soil,
So many eyes lay upon cursing skin
crevices grit, pockmarked with each thrashing intrusion
budding enthusiasm, awash, boiled...
suffer, oh suffer, green potato.
A memory, distant, the taste of that green potato
rots in the kitchen... eat it, enjoy the flavour,
dine on discourse...
digest it,
bury it deep inside,
release it,
let it grow again.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
your affection waxes and wanes like the moon
but unlike her
you come and go in no discernible patterns
you leave me parched for a glimpse
you let me glut on your presence
i sit shrouded in the dark
with my heart in my hands
and a telescope of yearning
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
prehistoric bobbysoxers blowing in the wind;
the lost knowledge of cities of old & the seventeen-year-olds
whom vanished & whose bones are found; astroarchaeologists
studying the tortured remains; cold cases long forgotten arouse
the interest of S-Ham-a1; who brings the ****** nature of the deaths
to the council, connecting w/ the overall glut of ****** content from
the ancient Cement Era -
S-Ham-a1 allowed to study the ******
behavior of the earth females in isolation
w/ the aid of an advanced fembot design including
actual genetic reproductive material to determine
the chromosomal pathway to rampant
promiscuity; sacred prostitution
something of a lost legend from the
ancient beforetimes; prostitution practiced
as a corporate business centering on women's
savvy at negotiating the value of their bodies;
& sometime mere body parts & actions,
sometimes simply ideas transferred
electronically or verbally in exchange
for monetary compensation; these lost
tribes of prehistoric women were the
backbone of the entire civil & social order
& this practice never ceased until the end;
we are the descendants, S-Ham-a1 told
the council; only to have his funding cut &
his connection lost; left stranded on the
lone asteroid planet w/ the pregnant robot
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
Sitting in a chair counting spots that passed before my eyes.
The insect smiled and said "hold still" i missed one.
They swirl this way and that.
dont move Please. be still.
Not an easy task
a fever of 104.2
could you. I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as a tree.
Sitting on my blanketed chest
The insect did his best to sing me a lullaby.
his breath was horrendous but he meant well.
He stroked my burning cheek and
changed the cool washcloth regularly
on my aching head.
Then turned my pillow to the cool side again.
There my friend.
He scuttled under with me and snuggled
his hairy legs were itchy and rough.
small price to pay.
eh wot.
Oh yes we have no bananas
We have no bananas today.
Captain if we keep pushing her like this
she's gonna blow.
We regret to inform you that
the price of tea in China is now
High as gas in California.
Chicken broth he brought
with a silver spoon to boot
The insect waited patiently
as I swallowed then spooned
the next load in.
"Here let me wipe you chin."
Ladies and gentlemen and all ships at see
The Hindenburg has landed
oh the humanity.
This is not the end
No not the beginning of the end.
But more, the end of the beginning.
Help me up Mr Checks. I think I gotta ***
Oops forgot to raise the lid.
Mr Checks. Can you have room service come up.
we need more Trowels. Uh towels.
Stop hogging the remote. Where's mom
Have you seen my Teddy with one eye missing.
To bed to bed
You sleepy head .
Tarry a while said slow.
Put the *** said greedy glut
Lets stuff before we go .
Mr Checks.
All hands on deck.
We dont have enough lifeboats sir.
The iceberg is sky blue and beautiful dont you agree.
What do you do with a drunken sailor
early in the morning.
Heave ** and up she rises
Early in the morning.
THIS FEVERISH DREAM TO BE CONTINUED.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
The coach capsized and spilled its freight,
a glut of rabid reprobates,
who swarm towards a sea of lights
and fill their cups with harbour nights.
We do not heed the lighthouse glare,
or match the fortune-teller's stare.
We storm the cliffs as if to pillage
the gift shops of this seaside village.
We mill around a restaurant's doors
and nip at hot dogs with our claws.
Stockpiling rock up by the stick,
whilst wearing hats marked 'Kiss Me Quick'.
Because we cannot hear their cries
for whispered arcade lullabies,
the gulls will dance above the tide
and mock sandcastle suicides.
The distant fort once planted proud,
clings to the hillside like a shroud.
Its craggy face a last dissuasion,
against the sea's saline invasion.
Perhaps the Ferris wheel's arc,
can count each dawn against the dark.
A spotlight shone upon each heart,
as we rehearse our weathered parts.
Pastime play or parlor show,
we forget the lines we ought to know
and stumble on with blind devotion,
to pour our years into the ocean.
And yet! We catch the child's smile,
projected on a seafront mile.
His mirth casts doubt upon the claim,
that each new act concludes the same.
The beach begins and ends each dance,
each interval a second chance
to wake the youth we put to sleep
and cast the hourglass into the deep.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t’whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heav’nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir’d with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
1.6k
In the land
Of the burning tribe,
Dwelt the worst of evils.
A tribe
Where immorality is moral
And flaming human minds
Can be traced.
Allergic to goodness,
Cancerous to strangers,
Abhorrent to civilization,
Glut with cheating.
Pure hostility
Even at jovial point
And under loving atmosphere.
A tribe
of courtesans
Where adultery is tradition,
And fornication begins at ten
To enhance development,
For healthy living.
A tribe
Of awkward belief
In a path of abstinence to sickness
Curable with *** alone.
Of what descent
Are they?
Too violent to exist
with no regard to life.
Of what mentality?
When playing safe
Is inhuman!
And ******
Of the innocents unborn
Is nothing.
Spreading the virus,
Never afraid to harbour it.
Where is their good side?
Is it unseen or extinct?
If any, “ wuese te”.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 6:14 AM UTC
how I honor you (notes from a conversation with Patti Smith)
~for Cné~
<•>
honor,
honor on my mind
(ran into Patti Smith last night at the Standard Hotel
in the Meatpacking District)
told her honor,
honor,
on my mind
she said that’s
why I like you
city poet
”you, are a free range thinker,”
when you get stuck on a bubble gum word
on the sole of your shoe,
you one sticky stuck poet,
can’t let be freed~released till you get the
*curve of the word,
curve of the world,
you stumble where gods get lost.
where the divisions of the subconscious thread together,
and you got to peel the onion all the way back, while
you cry*
here is what I think about honor:
*there is so much added glut
in this world,
honor the reader
never write a word that
wastes a minute of their time!”*
you wrote you have only poem in you wright,
and you writ it to right the world,
thrice, and over and over in disguises.
and sometimes, I hear, even with
spaghetti sauce
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
The echoes of a generation
Somehow ring of desperation
It's a separate battle that I fight
Kick the dirt and grind their face in
Find a hole and dump the waste in
Worn in the floor, I can't stop pacing
Anxious thoughts are poison darts
Kids with cars, they can't stop racing
Oh, Mama, I'll be okay
There's no reason to be this way
You know in time, you'll be just fine
The journey's long, I'll find my way
Moderation will save our soul
Excess of glut will take it's toll
My body is mine, I'll take my time
The consequences will unfold
Life is full of pain and danger
I'm learning how to cut out anger
See a cliff and dive right in
Let love be my float, your wisdom my anchor
So, Mama, don't cry, I know my heart
I know you never wanted to be apart
We'll keep on dancing, find our balance
The road is long, I just need to start
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 2:35 PM UTC
Red
Bed
Lead
Head
Gob
Rob
Sob
Mob
Flit
Fit
Bit
Writ
Ooze
Cruise
Choose
Lose
Glut
****
Rut
Mutt
Ace
Race
Space
Face
Haze
Craze
Daze
Maze
Crump
****
Dump
Slump
Wipe
Ripe
Snipe
Tripe
Dub
Grub
Tub
Hub
Gnaw
Draw
Flaw
Saw
Gape
Ape
Tape
Vape
Lick
Sick
Nick
Pick
Flop
Plop
Drop
Mop
Age
Rage
Sage
Page
Bend
Tend
Mend
End
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Aug. 10. 1653.
Answer me when I call
God of my righteousness;
In straights and in distress
Thou didst me disinthrall
And set at large; now spare,
Now pity me, and hear my earnest prai’r.
Great ones how long will ye
My glory have in scorn
How long be thus forlorn
Still to love vanity,
To love, to seek, to prize
Things false and vain and nothing else but lies?
Yet know the Lord hath chose
Chose to himself a part
The good and meek of heart
(For whom to chuse he knows)
Jehovah from on high
Will hear my voyce what time to him I crie.
Be aw’d, and do not sin,
Speak to your hearts alone,
Upon your beds, each one,
And be at peace within.
Offer the offerings just
Of righteousness and in Jehovah trust.
Many there be that say
Who yet will shew us good?
Talking like this worlds brood;
But Lord, thus let me pray,
On us lift up the light
Lift up the favour of thy count’nance bright.
Into my heart more joy
And gladness thou hast put
Then when a year of glut
Their stores doth over-cloy
And from their plenteous grounds
With vast increase their corn and wine abounds.
In peace at once will I
Both lay me down and sleep
For thou alone dost keep
Me safe where ere I lie
As in a rocky Cell
Thou Lord alone in safety mak’st me dwell.
1.4k
if you could only ease my eyes from their sockets
and pop them into your own head, unfettered,
you would see the truth in my words.
i've gone and spilled my guts here- the letters
are viscera and blood upon the page.
how brave they are to carry my sentiment,
how strong to bear my burdens.
dig into my intestines in an effort to understand
why i am leaden: they are bags of sand-
or is my immobility caused by the black hole in my gut?
tonight i'm the sidewalk, trodden on, grey, stained with yesterday's glut.
i am sober tonight, i swear. it's you who swells
and fails to understand what i am talking about.
i will not watch myself fade and sink for any longer.
tonight i abscond from your corner of hell.
"i am the combined effort of everyone i've ever met",
so baby, if i'm failing, maybe i just haven't found the right people yet.
we are both responsible for this crash.
you didn't start the fire, but you handed me the match.
my chest cavity is hollow. my body is rotting out from beneath me. i stagger on scaly feet.
when was the last time i bothered to eat?
if i come home tonight, i'm bringing my army with me.
tonight i'm bringing it all back.
i will not face this basement without something harsh to numb the pain.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
Cooling air, the senses assault
Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt.
Daytime light has turned on me
On moonlit streets such trickery
The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot
Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot
Pensive mood floods the mind
And of their beauty I’m truly blind
I do not think of Autumn whole
Only alms within my bowl
As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired
Though their rudiments I have mired
Autumn ring, the chilling tenors
Rejoiced and played in earthly manors
That icy rush makes cold the spirits
Yet conflagrates ye adherents
That festive smell, incense the air!
No motive o’yours ever err
And though the day leaves more hastily
These changing leaves get the best o’me
Transient seconds plump and inspir’d
Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire
The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic
Whatever great works, it’s more archaic
Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain
Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane
These little souls returning to earth
Fill me with the greatest mirth
Though they exemplify an age ended
Verbiage they have transcended
I’d fill my days with gallery mileage
Gladly glut with their splendid sillage
As they flit, the stuff of dreams
In their midst, pure sophrosyne.
Day or night I’m overcome
Eyes wide open and stricken dumb
Overcome with words and tune
Bursting forth, this ideal plume
And like a flower, complex in bloom
Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn
Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d
No due medium, pen or lyre
Untouchable this golden essence
Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds
Appropriate, it seems to me
My head, my thoughts a leafy tree
Arrives the autumn, gold and dun
Thousands escape when I reach for one
So I’ll just watch in quiet awe
The beauty whole, no hem nor haw
Not try to make that art my own
Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone
I’ll simply revel their naïve lull
Ephemeral, yes, but never dull
Shout out happily in leafy halls
Marry to words what return my calls
Leave thou ****** in pulchritude pall
And question not what comes of fall.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
Gushing sweat ..
Bare feet….
Walking on a narrow path ..
Through dense forest…
*Dark gray clouds..
With roaring sound..
Deepening night…
Glut with fear…*
Trying to speed up in vain
Restlessly walking in ..
Strange grove..
Wounded soul..
*Faded vision, tired …hopeless…
In vain Peeping into the darkness..
Looking up…towards the dark sky..
Feeling hollow ..want to cry ..*
But will never ..
Give away hope…
Will come out ..
From all miseries and soup..
deovrat - 20.02.2015 (c)
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
das helle Licht,
der nahe Sommer
die zarte Fröhlichkeit
blühender ******
das schmeichelnde Lächeln
meiner Wut
die monotone Stille,
der Sehnsucht Glut
zu dir
ich liege
ich stocke
ich stolpere
du sehnst
du redest
du willst
zu mir
das helle Sein,
meiner vollen Seele
deine nahe Stimme
deine Gedanken und Pläne
durch das verstaubte Fenster
hellgrüne, verwirrte Blätter ranken
Licht fällt gebrochen auf meine Hand
du bist so fern, ich sehe dich nicht
wie Gedanken versanken
auf Blättern auf Wiesen
in Wörtern und Träumen
was für ein schlimmes Gedicht
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 1:21 PM UTC
Gracious patience at my feet
White shadows ride
Gliding downward to meet
Arrows tide
The hardest part
Science of love
Stardust apart
Alliance from above
Snapping free of soul
What I got wrong
Wrapping that love whole
Glut neigh brought song
Bleed your heart over the side
Cede war art nationwide
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC