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"revitalises" poems
i'm not writing, more or less simply knitting, a jumper - which is more than just a mere poem. the comfort allowance, listening to delta goodrem       and i love pop,                       more than a rugby player aged ~20,                        mind you, sometimes labouring over one selfie with 20 Chinese to match makes you feel oh so good -                    it took those 20 Chinese the same effort - pretty white girl and blonde syndrome,                         eastern Europe gets a sniff and simply says: well, that' **** isn't it?                       the days that came with the motto: we need astronauts more than tourists...                      days like these i rather take selfies of the sleeper than write something...                 and i do... i fiddle on the roof                                           and cartoon the rest...                    because that matters.                             pristine Australian and the gimmicks worthy of South Korean singalongs....                                           next in line ***** duped Jews...                                      whenever the gentleman lost hist top-hat and the confectioner glyph typo -                        me and an audience? as in a day job?                                   i don't mind...                         d'ah la la la...                                               and the piano....                 these days are rare....                                                 having enough words in-tune with all others...                                                      of such days i say: sometimes a picture revitalises the lost words....                and when encouraged                                          a slip-up of beckoning... readied for an avalanche -                                    to make writing into knitting a jumper or a scarf...                                            equivalent... in a society that deems Japanese culture                   inquiries                                      as the righteous standards to avoid the jobs of nursing and dentistry -                         well...                                         we're in sure need of robotics to ease off stress that our societies have themselves halving demand...                    sure, she's still there, crazy naked and starving a kaleidoscope hope                     of reminiscence                              concerning a fear of spiders: that do not weave webbing...                                         the size of your palm...         those ones, scary...                                           that context of x, between agoraphobia minor                                                 (in an urban setting)                                         and agoraphobia major in an countryside setting -                            phobia: or the intricate fear when an antidote is due because of too much rationalism -                            agoraphobia minor:               fear of being in an open space with too many people... agoraphobia major:                                fear of being in an open space anticipating a congregation that never comes...                        i'm enthralled by these compounds: kindred of: lithium salts - or other compounds.                      sometimes just a day with a selfie... or a poem like this: an exercise in utilising language                                   to no grand scheme of making a profit: rather an indentation, and nothing more.
0
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
Wendy West Crazy
i'm not writing, more or less simply knitting, a jumper - which is more than just a mere poem. the comfort allowance, listening to delta goodrem       and i love pop,                       more than a rugby player aged ~20,                        mind you, sometimes labouring over one selfie with 20 Chinese to match makes you feel oh so good -                    it took those 20 Chinese the same effort - pretty white girl and blonde syndrome,                         eastern Europe gets a sniff and simply says: well, that' **** isn't it?                       the days that came with the motto: we need astronauts more than tourists...                      days like these i rather take selfies of the sleeper than write something...                 and i do... i fiddle on the roof                                           and cartoon the rest...                    because that matters.                             pristine Australian and the gimmicks worthy of South Korean singalongs....                                           next in line ***** duped Jews...                                      whenever the gentleman lost hist top-hat and the confectioner glyph typo -                        me and an audience? as in a day job?                                   i don't mind...                         d'ah la la la...                                               and the piano....                 these days are rare....                                                 having enough words in-tune with all others...                                                      of such days i say: sometimes a picture revitalises the lost words....                and when encouraged                                          a slip-up of beckoning... readied for an avalanche -                                    to make writing into knitting a jumper or a scarf...                                            equivalent... in a society that deems Japanese culture                   inquiries                                      as the righteous standards to avoid the jobs of nursing and dentistry -                         well...                                         we're in sure need of robotics to ease off stress that our societies have themselves halving demand...                    sure, she's still there, crazy naked and starving a kaleidoscope hope                     of reminiscence                              concerning a fear of spiders: that do not weave webbing...                                         the size of your palm...         those ones, scary...                                           that context of x, between agoraphobia minor                                                 (in an urban setting)                                         and agoraphobia major in an countryside setting -                            phobia: or the intricate fear when an antidote is due because of too much rationalism -                            agoraphobia minor:               fear of being in an open space with too many people... agoraphobia major:                                fear of being in an open space anticipating a congregation that never comes...                        i'm enthralled by these compounds: kindred of: lithium salts - or other compounds.                      sometimes just a day with a selfie... or a poem like this: an exercise in utilising language                                   to no grand scheme of making a profit: rather an indentation, and nothing more.
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79
They always were as they are now, weaving there toes between the earth. Do you know how many footsteps can move the earth beneath the impressions of the gravity of there every single motion.                                                                "No neither me, But their inclination of premature motivation is the driving force between every footstep that greets with forward motions. The phosphorescent blossom that is held within each others possession that neither will relinquish.                                                                                                                         "Does breath extinguish hope, No it revitalises that which was given luminosity through words of encouragement, for when the foreboding Cimmerian clings to the edges of what was vivid but now dulled by the effects of a stain that inclines upon the naivety of creations breath.                                                       "How many flickers make a light, That was the inevitable questioning of everything that followed, every breath that was extinguished suffocated from existences unobscured exhalation. But breath cant be asphyxiated if each hold an respiration of a lingering flicker. Each did breath for the other. "Though a radiance  is extinguished,                         "There is always another burning bright,
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Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
poetic-t
Luminosity Walks A Steady Pace
They always were as they are now, weaving there toes between the earth. Do you know how many footsteps can move the earth beneath the impressions of the gravity of there every single motion.                                                                "No neither me, But their inclination of premature motivation is the driving force between every footstep that greets with forward motions. The phosphorescent blossom that is held within each others possession that neither will relinquish.                                                                                                                         "Does breath extinguish hope, No it revitalises that which was given luminosity through words of encouragement, for when the foreboding Cimmerian clings to the edges of what was vivid but now dulled by the effects of a stain that inclines upon the naivety of creations breath.                                                       "How many flickers make a light, That was the inevitable questioning of everything that followed, every breath that was extinguished suffocated from existences unobscured exhalation. But breath cant be asphyxiated if each hold an respiration of a lingering flicker. Each did breath for the other. "Though a radiance  is extinguished,                         "There is always another burning bright,
Continue reading...
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