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Pauper of Prose Jul 2018
Sometimes I think we’re all mere magnets
Pulling towards this, pulling away from another
Getting closer to your grandmother while fighting with your mother
Moving out to find your identity but shielded online by anonymity
I swear we’re all mere magnets
Tired of running towards our goals but happily running from boredom
Telling others we know so much but then adept to play dumb
Wanting a bigger slice of success yet unwilling to gift the beggar a crumb
Aren’t we all mere magnets?
All relationships looking for some big reward
And pulling away if our emotions become too sore
Yet, what if some weren’t really magnets but pretended to be
Could those outliers find one another and stick for eternity
So my dear, are you a magnet?
Searching Seer- like for unfathomable forms of connection
Nigdaw Aug 2019
He watches them with amused scorn,
The tourists with their cameras
Factual guide books and audio tours;
Collecting his memories as their own
Walking from room to room,
Trying to sense his presence
Capture the essence of his spirit;
Ignoring the signs that say
Please don’t touch and
No photography.

He was a tourist who conquered worlds
Risked his life for his souvenirs,
Instead of visiting the gift shop
For some token piece of plastic crap,
Or magnet to put on the fridge door
As a reminder when they got the milk,
Of adventures they never had;
Wishing they could’ve walked
In the footsteps of the ghost,
Of a tourist.
The Earth
Is a flowering magnet
Round and round we go
Through the ages
Of watermelons
And snow
Vitruvius Oct 2019
The second light of sunrise filters
through the blinds of a broken transom window, gliding the kitchen.
There’s an instant
in which bottomless jars, worn out dishes
and a headless Mickey magnet that has fallen off the fridge
Seem to levitate in a sea of dusty honey.

I haven’t witnessed the scene.

I think about all the other ordinary prodigies
That must be happening somewhere.
A trembling chrysanthemum blossoms in the frosty gardens of Nagoya.
Six grey wolves fail to hunt down a white deerling.
A middle aged man whispers into a hollowed stonebrick, then covers his secret with mud.
Two  giraffes disappear in the middle of a starlit Colosseum, to the astonishment of a roman dilettante.
Twenty years of boredom; then an ex con feels the tact of dewy grass under his feet again.
In a balcony over the Seine, two lovers prepare a padlock.
Some skinny kid from La Matanza scores a last minute free kick to win the neighborhood derby.
A pretentious teenager watches The purple rose of Cairo for the first time, and  discovers his true calling.
Days before dying, an old man stops by a bakery and inhales the same caramel fragrance he would inhale in the afternoons of his childhood summers.
An older brother decides to throw a game of Mario Kart to his sibling.
On a deserted reed bed, a blackbird sings the most beautiful tune in the world. There is no one there to listen.
A single mother finishes cooking breakfast for his son, and decides to let him sleep for another five minutes.
A physics grad student solves the meaningless quantum noise model that’s been torturing him for weeks, and stops wondering why he didn't choose to be a lawyer
Two old friends share the same espresso in a hidden Manhattan coffeehouse, perhaps for the last time.  

None of this everyday miracles are
happening to me.
Third Eye Candy May 2019
The East is singing. Like a slug of happy Banshee
at a salacious angle across my decedent pillow, while my phalanges
***** for your waist like a sleepwalking magnet
to the sun-drenched ***** of an impossible Mermaid.
It's Josephine for Breakfast….and all is steam.
And I Amazed.
FreeMind Oct 2019
In a room full of people, I meet your gaze and wonder:
Do they all feel the tension rise in the room?
Can they smell the fire burning inside me?
Will they silence the voices murmuring in my head?

No one notices.
No one knows.

Intensity is a form of distraction you use to send my mind into microgravity where you can ****** my clarity away from me and pull me towards you like a magnet as you have become the center of gravity but my thoughts have already vanished into outer space and the only thing I have left is my feelings that push me towards You

They notice.
They know.

Judgement is a subjective way of knowing, but they know, when they see your clear blue eyes, your sharp jaw, your muscular frame. They see what they want to see, they always have. And I can't judge them. Hypocrisy is the enemy of Truth, and I too have once saw God in You

You see me, stripped of my armor.
I see You, but my tears make you so blurry...

For years, I tried my best to forget you. To replace you. With food. With exercise. And if there was a patch, I swear to God I would wear it. But right now. I want to forget about the pain. Because I miss You.

October 25, 2019
(first draft got deleted.. :( )
Pyrrha Aug 2018
There is a bus stop I stand by everyday
Around me is every person who has ever hurt me or let me down
They stand here with me day by day
When the bus comes I'm the last to get on every single time
I stand awkwardly as all of the seats fill
As usual there are no empty seats left for me
I must pick the lesser of my evil's and choose one each day
The heaviness of the fear and panic sink into my core
As I place myself beside one of them once more

Today however as I stood with the others as I stand everyday
I felt their hollow eyes burn into my back
As the bus arrived I saw it load with all these people that detest me
With all the memories that they carry
All the memories that weigh like dumbbells on my being
And for once I just stand there
I do not get on
And I watch as the bus full of all these things I hate
Drives away as another appears

It stops before me and the door opens as the driver beckons me to get in
It isn't my bus, but I still drag my feet forward
As if pulled by an invisible force like a magnet I can't pull myself away
When I enter I see other passengers
Not all of the seats are full, in fact many are empty
But it still feels full, yet not stuffy
I feel welcome as I stand in the aisle of the bus
I'm dragged down by a brown eyed beauty
And I feel like for once I've found my place
Within this bus filling with the things I love, with people I trust
I got this Idea from a dream I had
Chameleon Dec 2018
We got back from the bar and were sitting at a makeshift one in our friend's ratty old trailer that was barely suitable to live in.
He grabbed a piece of paper and began writing something out of my eye sight.
He smiled and slid it over to me like we were passing notes in class.
"You are cute. Wanna hold hands?"
Check YES, or NO.
I put a check mark in the box next to Yes and just as quietly gave it back.
We smiled at each other and I shoved the yellow piece of paper into my purse for safe keeping.
It now hangs on my fridge underneath a magnet from the Aquarium.
Luz Hanaii Jan 2019
Your spirit a mixture of strength and kindness
such commanding and loving energy
a magnet which has kept me glued
by your side for so long
the power of your voice
makes me feel specially feminine
just the sound of it makes love to my ears
your presence draws the most precious
reassuring feelings never felt before
this love like fine wine
with the years has become
an undying choir of light to my heart
and for you I don't fear to be called a fool
to write the most common cliches
all in the name of love
First published and written on Dec. 20, 2016

Even Mike from Picture Loans don't wanna banter
'bout the football: I must be Mr. N.S. Senshawl.

My fascias & guttering are gagging for it,
but Safestyle never call: I must be Mr. N.S. Cenchall.

Nadir? It ain't bloomers baron Asil
in Cypriot sanctum tranquil:
it's me, myself & Mr. N.S. Senchall.

All the shitposting edgelords
catsitting for their exes Saturdaynight
are still more cool
than Mr. N.S. Senshaul.

I cross the informationsuperbillygoatsgruffbridge,
data unharvested: I must be  'NIFOC In Norfolk'...
'Drat & dratdrat, wrong username!'
blushed Mr. N. S. Censhawl.

Happy Hanukkah card was a circular
from the Inland Revenue.
Wasn't even addressed to
Mr. N.S. Senchawl.

In my hibernaculum, awaiting the business acumen
of a Sally Army mercenary, knocking to sell
me a doorbell that plays, 'Jingle Bells,
Mr. N.S. Censhall smells'.

Neither chaplain attached to suicide magnet estates,
nor my own personal Semitic Jazz Zeus, ministers
to unspeakably forgotten O me of little face,
Mr. N.S. Cenchawl ,
unseemly as all the major faiths.

Even if I rescued Meghan Markle
from Mr. & Mrs. Shackles' tumbril,
in sadiemaisie bunnyland black swaddling
on the road to Much Marcle,
the press would still misspell the hero of the hour's name,
'Mr. N.S. Censhaul'.

On my birth certificate, impasto vitiligo
of correction fluid furs the phobile mome no.
at my mum's hobile mone. & my name.
I cannot decifur
if it's Mr. N.S. Senchaul
or Mr. N.S. Senshall.
Or 'Mysteron Is Sensual'.

Has my mind gone blanket,
or is it a sense shawl?
Now I feel like Wolverine,
at least a vulperteen.
Militaryindustrial *******, sob,
did they massacre my memories, bub?
Defuse my dreams of a life less stabby?
Contorture me into this cybertiger Caliban,
Now I feel like Wolverine's
wisdomtooth, a pain deemed
so negligible
- like Mr. N. S. Cenchaul.

Stan, Stan!
Baker,  M'intosh, Zodiac Killer,  
Dr. Livingstone,
Mike from Picture Loans,
do you copy, over?
It's me,  Mr. N.S. Dooberry.
Chris Feb 2019
Humans are like the positive end of a magnet
Don't believe me? Just take a look on the net
There's dozens of people attracted to the negative.
But how often do they crowd around the good?

draws more attention than

Is informing others of tragedies what makes us human
Or showing empathy to those treated like they're subhuman.
Aseh Jan 2019
you were too much like a nectarine
in early summer. All poreless and bright
and insinuating sweetness. Filled me up
with your secret eruption then shut me down
with your sleek silver tongue. Lava barricaded my eardrums,
enhancing my blood, fire in your eyes.
I was a plum, stealing forth
in the wake of your Augustine heat. My tender skin
gave way to your deft touch.

But then I bit down,
tasted the flesh beneath your glossy sheen
and oh how it betrays you!
So yellow and unripe, so taut with newness,
still clinging to the brightness of dawn,
spring-frozen with fear of the darkness
of my nectar.

Today I woke up with a magnet
in my pitted stomach. Echoes of
cold metal scour my throat. That love-
-less twang in the aortal penumbras--hope,
a refuge swallowed by the ephemeral night.
I always knew
you were too much like a nectarine
in early summer.
Whit Howland Jul 2019

we pray
for rain but poetry
never comes

birthday suits only

whit howland © 2019
Third Eye Candy Jun 2018
The mug stains leapfrog a linoleum asphalt countertop, sunbathing in the breakfast nook.
A magazine proofreads a hole in a bagel. Scanning for clues to the whereabouts
Of a Jewish heart. Beads of Oolong tea archipelago from a resting kettle
All the way to the 'good ' China. A cup on a pearl, laying flat… ear to the ground.
Listening to the stories only Formica can tell. Deciphering the steam
Rising from a steep. Curling whiskers into omens, embroidered upon a shaft of light
Heaven sent. Postage dew. Gilding quaint luxuries, tucked in a cozy roost
Smelling of oak musk and slow roasted dreams, evaporating before memory may lay claim
To the riddles of Morpheus. There’s an aire of Return.  
It molts in the bacon fats hovering in the strata unique to kitchen islands lousy with active volcanoes that shuffle in stocking feet and terry cloth bathrobes. Restless and foggy minded.
Looking for the keys. And...
Chewing a thumbnail. Staring out the window. Where there used to be a car in the driveway. But the officer flagged a taxi. Explains the migraine, like a Vulcan; stoically flipping switches in a fuse box wired to a vague recollection of a soiree.
All the while holding a pitchfork and today's horoscope.
For irony and street cred.

{ But out of cream cheese. }

Concurrently... This part of the house still has the rustic naivete of a celibate beatnik picking teeth with a signature pen presenting an Hawaiian girl with a vanishing skirt; blinking in and out of Vaud-villainy, like Erwin Schrödinger’s Cat. A kind of hole in a barge with an ornate cubby; loitering with sugar cubes and a bendy plastic fern.
Like the foyer to a room, still under construction.
      A busy little metaphor, lounging around the east wing of a humble abode… like news clippings in a mason jar… it’s superfluous handle threading a ceramic eye.
Like a stainless steel joke under a refrigerator magnet, pinned to a plate in your forehead. As any lamp-shade with ambition.  
      Playing to a rough Cloud, hung over an ashtray; that has seen Better Days - envy the baroque occlusion of monotony and routine, merging a hangover - into morning traffic. Replete with modest gains.
And Horizons that stab bleary eyes that would know a gypsy
By the weight of her purse…
     When the day begins, it gains a foothold by the spine of an overdue book, reclining adjacent runcible spoons and antique kitche. As a bathroom light squeaks between a door and a frame.
As ancillary and precise as a beacon for a blindfold.

Like turpentine palming a brick. And Wagner.
Sue Collins Oct 2019
I have been searching for the perfect tree. It has to reach the sky with limbs that embrace the world.

Its frond-like leaves would protect its master and shade all those who need to hide from the law.

It would be a magnet for vacationing creatures large and small who have lost their way in the world.

My tree would have cunning instincts when it came to survival not of the fittest but of the kindest.

It would turn its magnificent trunk away from those nefarious beasts who have only cruelty in their blood.

My dream tree eludes me still to this day. But I will never stop searching. Mankind’s survival is at stake.
LS Jun 2019
Like Medusa she has me hypmanatised
Threw the crowd
Those green eyes catch my soul
I can’t blink
I can’t speak
My feet one after the other following her scent like someone possessed
Possessed by her
Like a magnet she pulls me closer
I feel danger and excitement
I know not to follow
But I do
My heart beats out of my chest
Sweat drips from every pour
Shes beckoning me like a siren
I am her fisherman
She turns away from the crowd
Someplace quiet
I can’t see but I can hear her foot steps
From the darkness she pulls me near
So cold to the touch but I cannot resist
I await my fait
Like a animal startled and mesmerised
by the light
She indulges her next victim
I let her feast
Riley OHalloran Mar 2019
They say home is where the heart is,
But my heart’s in a million places
All at once like pieces of a magnet,
Drawing together and pulling apart.

These fragments are sharp to touch
Stuck in fingernails and achy paper cuts,
They get in the way, some self-destruct
Once they’ve already been left in the heart of someone else.
ACAC Dec 2018
hold on, wait, what, what similarities?

I sit in the group looking around, the grey plastic chair crushes my ******* spine as I cling to it for dear life.
the tutor comes to me last, two weeks in a row I don't get time to talk.
great, I'm already an outsider, now I don't get time to talk.

I listen as the group in the nicer, cosier and brighter room next door laugh and joke.
they are all young and pretty, a feeling of longing pulls me down like a giant magnet, why am I not in that group. have I not got the skills to be young and pretty anymore?

for almost one month now I despair.
how can I ever find my voice in this group there are all so strong, strong women.
this week she comes to me first, I speak, it doesn't help. can they even see me, understand my accent, it seems I'm more different than similar.

the next week I don't go, avoidance wins 1st place gold trophy as I sit alone in bed.
with other groups I'm so strong and proud, can I fake it next week, or maybe just conform and comply.

and so it goes on, am my question remains, what ****** similarities?
lua Sep 2019
what does love feel like?
i heard it feels like butterflies in my stomach
fluttering about inside
i heard it feels like fireworks
an explosion of colours i'd never even think of seeing

what does love feel like?
they say it feels like fire
warm and slow
and sometimes it grows so big it can burn whole buildings
they say it feels like floating on a cloud
it's soft and smooth
and so high up, that they can only see the flickering lights of cities down below

what does love feel like?
i heard it feels like skin against skin
and lips against soft lips
i heard it feels like a magnet,
pulling you closer and closer to someone
until you're completely inseperable

what does love feel like?

i've never been in love before.
If all the entire earths ants had calculaters
If ever blade of grass had a hundred or so
If man could count each hair animal human
Not one entity on earth would ever know

So many different reasons  for all of love
The very many things that attract another
To have anything stop in ones very tracks
*** love true love soul mates and a lover

And then one with the ability to look within
Often sees what no other soul does ever see
As they could be aware of a magnetic aura
Often has two strangers aware of a destiny

In a crowded room two strangers eyes meet
And they work their way to a soul far away
Ending up within a charismatic conversation
Often lasts till the light of a following day

How often has one's peers say whats with you
He or she is not attractive in any kind of way
However two hearts and minds tightly entwines
Without explanations  reasons any need to say

Nor need to search further two now always one
Like two nails on one side of a magnet clinging
Not a care of any soul out there or oppinions
As a type of oneness a lovings keeps bringing

Longest meaningful kissing hugging holding on
One can see the love gleaming within the eye
And each time as different as a most rarest wine
Fragrance feelings of being has two hearts sigh

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2019
I  still write as the words come to mind ..From within ..
As I do all I write .. They all a part of whom I am ..
Bijan Rabiee Jul 2019
Days are passing faster
Than I can recall yesterdays
The unobservable speed
Taking its toll upon my youth
Leaving me half hearted
In pursuit of relations.
Is this the way of the world
That strips you of all your verve
For a debt that must be paid
To compensate the privilege
That creation offers?
So what does it all mean
Here today and gone tomorrow
After a lifetime of reflections
I have yet to understand
The true meaning of my own life
Let alone life as a whole
Are we just moving in circles
For the pleasure of unseen forces
Or is there an invisible rhythm
Pulling us like magnet
Into unmistakable finality.
Either way is an insult
To our creative capacity
To our potential as intelligent beings
Then again humans are cursed
With dichotomy of perception
And perhaps this is the reason
For our misguided attempts
To invent utopias and distopias.
Just like water though not as swift
Energy must level itself
Far too few come close
To balanced frontiers
Far too fewer
Experience the coalescence
Of Heaven and Earth
While the rest struggle
In a pool of mystifying policies.
Anwesha Apr 2019
I remember the exact day when I knew
That i am going to work with you.
Being honest,  I was not that much excited,
But now I regret the way I reacted.
Couldn't realise the moment when everything did begin,
I started liking u strongly as though any magnet was drawing me in.
In very short span of time you have been turned into my priority.
You used to make my morning beautiful,
when u appeared with full clarity.
Now my days are ending with the thoughts of meeting u the very next day.
Have never ever thought I would also pamper someone this way.
I love the smile i wear,  when we meet anyway,
But absence of yours literally turns off my day.
I don't even know whether you like me Or not,
Bt u have already occupied a special place in my heart.
You have been so supportive and encouraging,
You made me realise that i m also capable of doing everything.
I know our journey together is going to end soon,
Must say your company was so nice and fun.
Though our departure was Predestined,
But I promise,  you will always be missed.
Hi...I am doing my masters in zoology. My project is on a bacterial culture and the strain is Bacillus subtilis. When this project is assigned to me i was disappointed as i always wanted to research on fishes.But when i started my work, i slowly fell for my strain. I developed a strong attachment with those bacteria. And now, when my project is on the edge of its conclusion,i am already missing my bacteria.So here i dedicate this poem to my dear Bacillus subtilis.
John Bartholomew Nov 2019
Not all yours but at first glance it looks like they are your fine pile
Lanzarote, Greece, even the Tower called Eiffel
Clumped together like a map of exceeding heats
From Lisbon down to Cape Town
Tell me of these differing seats

Did you really fly through the depths of the Grand Canyon
Or take a helicopter to that quiet place known as the Scilly Islands
Yet venture the climbing follies around Ben Nevis
And take a gondola ride around the canals of Venice

The adventure parks known as Chessington and Alton Towers
Where the rides left a taste that came out as sour
Your friends have bought you such distance as OZ and NZ
Where they'd be flying in the sky and you'd be at home in your bed

One day I will have the money and aspiration to fly to such a place
For now I will let the young adventurers fly away with such grace
As I seem to be grounded without the bank-to-fly
Do I really want to thoroughly say goodbye?

Hmm, Well I know what you mean
I'm slightly batty to have crazy yet ambitious dreams
So don't poke around my passport looking for stamps to check
As like lies on my fridge magnet door, I haven't been there yet

Fridge Magnets (most of them are fibs you know)

Do no take this poem seriously. If you do then you need psychiatric help
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2019
There a mountain in my rearview mirror
  a magnet for my soul

Pulling on what’s only borrowed  
  its lease to keep me whole

There’s a mountain in my rearview mirror
  calling out my name

Its winds have blown my heart to rest
  —which time cannot reclaim

(Santa Fe New Mexico: February, 2019)
Robin Carretti Feb 2019
Jeweled.. map... talk
Wipe her... teardrops...
He summoned her
"The Hipster" starry eye
Commando Chief
Trampled the hot item
*     *     *    
 Rubies in the Paradox
Pep-talk thief Fox
     *     *     *    
Red Rhapsody
Hey, Buster, on the
Tip of the "Ice Queen"
"King Speech"
Her lips
Practice what your eyes
Preach whats inside his lips

Lip marooned force
Afterfight doomed


He tapped took a bite
  So vamp lit her lip
Apple stumbles
Mr. Cobbler
Lips got caught to be

Clicks movie flicks
     *     *    
Physiological College of chicks

On her Demon laptop lovesick
Sisters of the Sentinel
Fingers clicking like quicksand
  Ancient lips  touch the shadow
Of his smile
Does anyone have a
soft spot for *Angels

The psychotic broken wing on the verge

The lip pledge Demon
Give him a shot lip
bullet glass
"Red Electricity" he smiled
Certain lip she deserved
The floppy disk
Sweet breath
His baking whisker's

Those baby boomers
Top of the lip rumors
the right kiss
"Emmy" Jet set trips
Their chattering lips
Niagara falls duty calls
"Lip Shoutbox"

Her lips touched on
A nerve

He blew up like the
Cherry bomb we will
succumb dreamily
Could blow his
lips down
How she wore the
red velvet bustier
A+ lip magnet

He's the connoisseur

La Luna melancholy
"The World Is Dying"
No apology

The symphony in line
With the lip up
His chin down is lying
But when your smiling
A poem knows what your
lips are saying  
Are you in way too deep

Lips like cold cuts the
paparazzi mob sheep
The movie cut Deli line
Race her the Italian
Mazzaratti be mine
Demon jungle no plain
Jane's lips
Hurry up your highness

lost his taste for goodness
Do angels die her lips went_?
Angel confession another
One lie please "I am the Angel"
we never live to die
This is a fantasy story about Demons and Angels what kind of lips do you have are they divine do you over talk your stay does your lips love to play too much coffee and red demon talker in your words release it fly like hummingbirds birds are the word and lips will never be absurd they are Godly
aj Dec 2018
I experienced
and I wrote:

When I think of you I feel like I am going to cry.
Well, I don't cry
but my stomach decides to cave in and collide with some sort of fluttering that feeds into my lungs
my heartbeat turns into more of a tick

into my stomach a small rock is dropped
it rolls around at the bottom
slowly it gets hot
the heat spreads up my throat and across my chest radiating down to where my elbows meet the inside of my forearms
from there, the energy pulses to my fingertips
its like buzzing but with the addition of tiny little ******
I feel that in my wrists

The heat grows heavier on my chest
now I feel it a bit behind my eyes
my hands that pulsed now throb along with my thighs
now the rock in my stomach decides to put press up on my spine
it tickles in a way that makes me want to laugh to relieve the pressure

I laugh but laughing leaves me feeling winded
my esophagus now thinly coated with a foggy thickness
the word that comes to mind when I think of it is dread

my spine is now a magnet that my ribs want to meet
I breathe out
they sink back towards my spine, reaching for something
my breathing feels forced but at the same time I can't control it

my thighs feel warm and almost swollen
my feet are already cold
each hair on my head seems to gain a pulse
certain ones even feel electric
the stinging in my nose tries to curdle my expression
I try not to let it
but my nose wants my cupid's bow and my jaw wants the corners of my mouth

the rock shifts around again, renouncing itself
my ribs suddenly collapse causing my to inhale my own exhaled breath
the stinging in my nose rides up behind my eyes and

(this is where I usually stop it, often with speech or with another laugh
images carry away sensation
I place them back into those mental pictures of pastimes and things potential and things yet to come, replacing the label with "sadness" with "hope"

knowing now that the rock is just my heart, it finds its way back up to the tiny box where it beats on the walls, constantly trying to find its way back out

I remember that hearts do good
I remember my lips, only then do I realize that they had gone numb
I think of warmth

the stinging in my arms, the picks and the pulses in my fingertips
those are the only things I can't beat
the energy at the inside of my elbows goes back up to my chest and  hovers over my heart

the hovering feeling never goes away

but I remember this energy is mine to live with and move on)

but if I don't stop, if there is a sense of weakness to my day
I feel the urge to smile almost
the burning in my eyes gets hotter, it usually comes in bursts
my vision turns to stained glass
the rock starts punching its way up my spine
my lower eyelids want to sink back towards my face, my eyebrows try to tie themselves in a bow
I try not to blink

If I'm lucky, my eyes tear up
If I'm not, tears roll down

my stainless masterpiece ruined by a contorted, conflicted smile-frown

I feel air on my tears
I breathe out and remember thought

my hands want to hold
my arms want to hug
my lips are numb but they know jut as well

that the catalyst has come full circle on this one, love
With this poem (monologue?) I had no intention other than to report with words the physical side of emotion. I just wrote as if I was reporting objective, physical sensations. My hope is to make this a series, maybe reflecting in this way within contrasting moments? Or maybe have other people report their own descriptions? Who knows where it will go. But please, enjoy.
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
The creative process
  in a repressed spirit…

Its pressure a magnet
  —attracting the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: Watching the 3-Hour Eagles Documentary: June, 2016)
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