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Evelyn Wilkins Sep 2010
take off my shoes please
there's no where left for us to go if we're together
and i'll give you back this nickname you gave us
cause it's the most endearing thing you ever did
and somehow i fell upwards into backwards board games
somehow my bellybutton got on the outside of my shirt
or maybe this is just your shirt that i forgot to give back
yeah maybe i took this when things made more sense
i was always scrimpin back then

the only things i remember are
heart shaped ashtrays and little blue pills
i fell in love with dodge street
and all of it's diseases
but you, you only loved the little blues
cause one made you large and two made you larger
and then i was small enough to fit in your pocket
hide and seek was never so easy

except
leaving was never so easy
cause you weren't even looking
Giuseppe Stokes Dec 2017
Some say the sonnets a dead form ¦ on yellowed pages and booklets torn,
Pentarchy shed and slain, replaced ¦ by memes I'm bicc, dat boi, he based

In synaptic pools, and neural spools, ¦ with cool *** claws, and digital jewels;
we set as one, booked up our sole ¦ while tindr/grindr take their toll

On sultry pages cast to withered dust ¦ while leaves left golden crust,
the muttered lines unbound escape ¦ to Tengri's starry 'voided gape

I think I am, I am I think, ¦ with wink and shirk and nod and drink
and cough, we splutter NoStros verse ¦ as fiery Gaia suffers curse

But then again, who are but we? ¦ a single sound, a drop in sea,
a dangling solace sharp in key, ¦ a lonesome sold for wired fee

When finally, undone we are ¦ our freedom sold, our chains bizzarre;
I'm caught between two planes that part ¦ a Second Life, and First (too dark)

So when again we sit and talk ¦ and fill the space with idle balk;
I'll notice parts of you I've missed ¦ and seek a comfort long dismissed

So when again we meet and stray ¦ to thoughts of hidden brevity;
I'm happy knowing it's just me ¦ Unhappiness my major key.

So finally, I'll try again ¦ to feel the pain, the roots and then
Pretty Pimpin? Scrimpin' life amock¦ Sat at home with screen and sock.
An experiment de-structuring stanza and flow

— The End —