"iiiiiiiii" poems
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***"Hey, I worry that
music's our only shared thing."
"It's fine. That's enough"***
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IIIIIIIII IIIIIIIII
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Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 8:59 AM UTC
.
*•vile plumes reaching to the
sky•killing the earth as days go
by•cutting corners, we dump our
waste•the easiest of solutions exe-
cuted in poor taste•there are many
signs, how could we miss•when
we are the ones who did this•
scores of geniuses and inte-
llects•can't come to consensus
and drive a pact•to save the
world for our children•
to save what's
left for
future
gene-
ra-
ti-
o
n
s
•*
**IIIIII
o o o I I
OO OO OO I I
OOOO OOOO OOOO I I
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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IIIIIIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIII IIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
In the waking, in the wrong,
I stumble -- spitting synonyms for love
daring the scattershot night to take control
to steer me into the early morning bedroom
of anyone other than my own,
and over the phone breaking, over with biting
the mimicking face of former promise ring holders
and front pew sitters I ask the sun to emerge gently,
to kiss my forehead, scramble up eggs--
wearing my oversized t-shirt, cotton underwear, and
an apron left behind by the sun's mother,
but as night turns and walks away,
no bright sun replaces--
instead it is that grey, it is that gaunt
overcast haze that never shows teeth,
only hisses, "How's the routine going?"
In the waking, in the wrong,
hands pull denim and throat itches for shouting rebuttal,
but a man never won against the eternity of the sky,
so I lower my eyes, spin madly into why why whys,
a beautiful woman between pavement and sky jogs past
and I see myself drinking coffee with her and grinning
at what our elderly parents don't know,
but before the words fall from lips,
her feet, legs, and hips wisp
into the early morning mist,
the overcast sky whispers to the meadowlark
above my head,
I open the door to my home as the meadowlark begins to laugh.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
A
s
m
ile con
tagious
is a and gift.
free
Give And What
One See Happens!
IiiiiiiiI
O O
I
. .
. .
..............
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
A lost hungry vagrant
on a train to nowhere
everywhere's his home
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on a patch of hay
in the heat of day
he doesn't bother to get
on his knees and pray
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everything he wants
is in his sweat and blood
the shirt on his back
and his matter of fact
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no one can touch his
solitary freedom
even when burdened with chains
and in heavy rains
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he flies through time
known by himself
on a patch of hay
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in an empty, lonely cart
on a train to nowhere
wandering the face of the earth
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yearning for Starlight💫
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
Am James
I don't know, but I think am James
Sometimes they call me
Play bbb
boy I know am a mess
Living life on stress
Which leads to depress
maybe meds
hell I don't know
Sssawing what's left of my shells
It's strange I've not seen death
after devouring all this ****
a crack head
on C o i n,C o a l, *******
I got it, it's *******
or whatever
just shut the **** up
You see
Youuuu'evvvv disoriented me
iiiiiiiii hate you
where was i
ME. Writing a poem
Him. No
Me. Writing a book, your will, maybe your eulogy
Him noo (frustrated)
ME. You were sniffing something
Him. Yessss, give it back, where is it
MeIn your hand
Him . sniffs (groans) this is great
Me... Errrrm, Okey... Maybe we can get back to the novel you were writing sniffing or puffing
hell I don't know
but
book me a bedsitter
I could use some hot sleep
it's cold out here
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 1:46 AM UTC
I
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a glass bottom boat
in central park
the snowflakes all
have your smile
(their mother
of the ice)
stirred her drink
with a finger
and fell asleep
in the sun
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC