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"pulping" poems
here's hoping the eye of the storm will direct it's way towards yours, but mostly, that it holds warmth. In the beginning: I'm not sure if you understand, but you're smiling wound up into a new universe tangled in the sheets of all the things we're learning, we are eaten up by nothing. the sun explodes. the moon rises amongst the ashes: labeled snow. It's not the end of the world, it's the middle. I never knew of a place more beautiful. time: it's pulping. 'I love you,' she whispered through her closed eyelids; and as the light did every morning, along with perfect lips to one another, the cat approached.
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Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 5:49 PM UTC
heavy tripping
Paper friend. You flew away on the breeze. Once that scribe, wrote loving words. Deep into flaking bark. Bark stripped off in preparation. For serious pulping. For silent he became. Once was awesome. When on the grass, we laid and held. Where, so tenderly curled in luxury. Needing nothing, no other than the other one. Beneath primeval oak. As a pair of skylarks, we played in the park. Spirits of trees, dissected and pulped. Re-modelled, created as love letters. Perhaps, maybe a book. Or maybe made a plane of paper, just so you could fly away. By ladylivvi1 © 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
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Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
PAPER PLANE
Collect tan and bring in the sin to sacrifice to overlord contraption! Use up all the forest and burn the earth to ash The longest flash is too short for pulping to take hold and turn her into here There I am now, too far gone to see the stars as sun Big void Pig droid Annotated and annoyed so SUFFER THE MOON AND SSSCRRRREEEEAMMMM! Da-da-da-da listen to the Cr-A-Zy musIC MY FRIENDS! Long last thou heart through cold and heat alike and melt side' the mire FORE the lieutenant LATE Bass and soul go together and GROW One letter away from sold-so-few! How doth fright and fought be told to TEN-BILLION array of conceptual delight Does it sound good to you or will it hurt your brain and ears and scar your delicate flesh Do you enjoy it or does the passion inform you of your recently muddied thought? I enjoy it thus I am it, and I am it so it goes without saying it is me Thank you!
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Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Burn Top
A dusty box full of paperbacks, a cheap auction haul, an archive of someone's memories, old enthusiasms, enchanting stories, exciting action yarns. Time was too short to read them again, more recent ones waiting attention, unread juniors ambitious for promotion, leaning out of bending shelves. These dog-eared browning pages, acid etched in someone's memory, ready to serve again, resisting pulping or landfilling illiterate soil.
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Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
Acid Etching
A discount soundboard, rust chipping away the corners, with a fresh coat of Pabst-stained rings orbiting it's various dials, is the solicitous reward of my uncle's will for my third year production. My daughter camp around me, lining themselves on the far side of this short room; a phase of white walls and even whiter light, sagging their AM eyes to cocoon into their sleeping bags, shield themselves from the permanent fixtures, cuddle with themselves while I slide volume controls. Forest calls spliced to the ambiance of last winter's **** synchronized to the wet thuds of my friend's face pulping repeatedly into a tree. We shot heavy boots in this scene; snow crunching viciously as his mangled body was dragged off frame. I twist rotary knobs, clumsily from finger grease, as the captured rumblings of far off traffic corrupts a month's work of sequencing. Nature had retreated from this Northwestern city, had left only the rustling of pine needles and useless silence for the making of this movie.
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Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
19mm Film
Her body shape is curvy as pumpkin But media tells us it's beautiful. Make-up she wears makes her face look like pulping Hair that she has is just black straight poles But no one's gonna tell you that because of the fake respect Her personality is like a cube - icy and cold She says her future's lookin' bright - what do we expect? She needs some fashion advise, because her clothes don't look very nice. When it comes to cakes, she takes more than one slice Pictures we see on the net aren't always correct, But we all know that everything she owns comes with a price. All those haters she's gonna reject, Because she has no self-respect left. But that's the way she is - she's also a human being and we've to treat her with politeness and respect.
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Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
About her
earth wakes like a blinking marble worm cake ravine of ravenous hunger breathing bowl of fruit and black hole cauldron of spit and sediment where life grows like debt disembodied skyward souls who's haloed ground a funeral coif of etched intaglio grim headstones that remain arcane symbols of refuse underworlds sunken under black beds shaped like centuries of tragedy in moldering graves and dusty trailer park archaeologies cosmologies eclipse open pleasures and sultry winds that form charades of architype golden eyes impregnating us with dreams like animated tarot cards while body-caged man-o-spheres on apocalyptic mountain sides crawl and claw in endless nights to thrive with every breath and squalid gasp                                 *** we propel ourselves through this life by sacrificing the present for the future in arduous labors of discord and glowering autopsies of smoke & blood until we remain unable to live with ourselves i vaguely remember traveling disembodied like a new sun past empty hulled tenements where the living dead perform soap opera cameos as sliding doors open and shut like switchblades on withered clanking subways of shuffling bones all the way to Hades time bruised and beaten bedlam of age we each fall forgotten grey as pulping zombies shuttering downwards from primordial nuclides of contagion and death gossiping Doppelgangers on tesseract winds witnessed energized prodigies teaching the dead to construct dreams with drum stick rhythms and flutes of savage craving in meta whirls that mobilize astral spitfires faster than tachyons in a forever extravagant next world monster infinity
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Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 3:07 PM UTC
Worm Cake
earth wakes like a blinking marble worm cake ravine of ravenous hunger breathing bowl of fruit and black hole cauldron of spit and sediment where life grows like debt disembodied skyward souls who's haloed ground a funeral coif of etched intaglio grim headstones that remain arcane symbols of refuse underworlds sunken under black beds shaped like centuries of tragedy in moldering graves and dusty trailer park archaeologies cosmologies eclipse open pleasures and sultry winds that form charades of architype golden eyes impregnating us with dreams like animated tarot cards while body-caged man-o-spheres on apocalyptic mountain sides crawl and claw in endless nights to thrive with every breath and squalid gasp                                 *** we propel ourselves through this life by sacrificing the present for the future in arduous labors of discord and glowering autopsies of smoke & blood until we remain unable to live with ourselves i vaguely remember traveling disembodied like a new sun past empty hulled tenements where the living dead perform soap opera cameos as sliding doors open and shut like switchblades on withered clanking subways of shuffling bones all the way to Hades time bruised and beaten bedlam of age we each fall forgotten grey as pulping zombies shuttering downwards from primordial nuclides of contagion and death gossiping Doppelgangers on tesseract winds witnessed energized prodigies teaching the dead to construct dreams with drum stick rhythms and flutes of savage craving in meta whirls that mobilize astral spitfires faster than tachyons in a forever extravagant next world monster infinity
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