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"locomotions" poems
Zoe was always a nymphic creature               God gifted prodigy   When she was three she already knew that                                        above her ecliptics                          jade eyes were shaped   as a gift to see within her strange Zephyr's soul                   there were       worlds unreachable to mortals                       indulging unconscious dance moves            she was performing      a play   finding her way through piercing sounds of animality and natural wilderness                             solely within her mind's eyes            then    shut deliberately just to prove to the thick jungle           to highly flowering sunflowers that her head locomotions are fully perceptive       her tiny hands touched the ground glistening streams of her hair had been long(ing) to touch her tiny bare heels in pace with every bonvivant little step forth                      she had been taken                                    O, Zoe you knew at three                                  That Zenith is the chosen point                                            to open up                                                      top portals                                                                 of deepest insight                                                        Zoe - there is a moving star                                                                       lit to praise                                                         returning to innoccence                                  Olympic                        sensible                smiling sweetheart          intuitive little one You could hear cracks and tremblings of every limb to limb                                                    clashed with dark humid soil and stones and crumbs on every ant trail every black beetle's step there every futuristic peregreen wizzy wings        Zing(ed)
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Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
Zoe and Zeus
Zoe was always a nymphic creature               God gifted prodigy   When she was three she already knew that                                        above her ecliptics                          jade eyes were shaped   as a gift to see within her strange Zephyr's soul                   there were       worlds unreachable to mortals                       indulging unconscious dance moves            she was performing      a play   finding her way through piercing sounds of animality and natural wilderness                             solely within her mind's eyes            then    shut deliberately just to prove to the thick jungle           to highly flowering sunflowers that her head locomotions are fully perceptive       her tiny hands touched the ground glistening streams of her hair had been long(ing) to touch her tiny bare heels in pace with every bonvivant little step forth                      she had been taken                                    O, Zoe you knew at three                                  That Zenith is the chosen point                                            to open up                                                      top portals                                                                 of deepest insight                                                        Zoe - there is a moving star                                                                       lit to praise                                                         returning to innoccence                                  Olympic                        sensible                smiling sweetheart          intuitive little one You could hear cracks and tremblings of every limb to limb                                                    clashed with dark humid soil and stones and crumbs on every ant trail every black beetle's step there every futuristic peregreen wizzy wings        Zing(ed)
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48
such-a-deep-and-comely-thing so-fleshless-moments-are-going sharing-something-the-silence and-the-quick-quiverings-of-flutings when-nothing-becomes-the-heart like-a-jungle-stripping-the-panache of-the-viridian-softer-it-is-the-truth of-the-navel’s-blue-pursuit in-the-caterwaul-of-bodies-to-a-spry plaything-summon-a-laughter-blacker than-ravens-in-the-thrall-of-the-beset-moon and-the-homes-fat-always-with-such-tender-beatings it-is-the-time-of-the-heron it-is-the-end-of-the-susurration when-the-unswift-hands-of-alloys sojourn-and-still-something-a-dagger-in-the-mire of-the-cloud-that-egregiously-whispers a-long-possiblity-of-dreams-and-their-palpable-weight (say-it-will-perhaps-contention-of-pulseless-awakenings when-it-was-such-truthfulness-that-when-the-heart-sings the-mind-stirs-and-the-hands-dance-to-roundtables-of-mirth twitching-such-belittled-locomotions-when-it-was-fashionable to-have-adorned-you-the-love-and-not-firm-obstreperous-meanderings)
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Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Hyphonema
Dear Mental **** you! I like who I am & what I do, Songs I write & hearts I've moved. Stop replacing good emotion With regretted locomotions Old decisions have made me Worst mistakes have shaped me & one night stands have tamed me...
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Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
Letters to my mind: s1