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"talker" poems
I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region. I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion; I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman, A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman. I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist; I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist. I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina, A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner. I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later," I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader. I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker, A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker. I am a salesman and clerk, A criminal and a serf, The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth. I am a drinker and smoker, A consumer and broker, A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper. I am a Citizen. Religious and secular, Macrocosmic, molecular, Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular, A "packie," a **** a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee; A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus, History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us. The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted; It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted. Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic, An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip, A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman, A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician, A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist, An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic; I am a citizen, And as one, I'm elastic.
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Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:35 PM UTC
I am a Citizen.
I am a Province, a State, a Municipality, and a Region. I am a Soldier, a Pilot, a Minister, and a Legion; I am a black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman, A French man, American, Canadian, and Roman. I am a rap artist, a singer, a slam poet and guitarist; I dabble in the dark arts accompanied by a Marxist. I'm a barista, a gas man, a secretary, and Tsarina, A King and a Queen and a janitorial cleaner. I am a "lover," a "hater," a "here now" and "there later," I am Luke Skywalker, yet at the same time, Lord Vader. I am a driver, a walker, a rider, a stalker, A conservative liberal and a well-learned straight-talker. I am a salesman and clerk, A criminal and a serf, The proud owner of a weapon that, while it kills, saves the Earth. I am a drinker and smoker, A consumer and broker, A bomb-maker, con-artist, Priest, and interloper. I am a Citizen. Religious and secular, Macrocosmic, molecular, Suit wearing, uncaring, emphatic, irregular, A "packie," a **** a Scrabble fan playing Yahtzee; A Jihadist, sadistic, addicted to Herodotus, History is repeated by the philosopher that thought of us. The eroticist literature towards which we've all lusted; It looks like the bullets machine-gun is busted. Indifferent, ecstatic, illicett, erratic, An infant, a senior, a young man with bad-lip, A black man, a white man, a brown man, a woman, A Jew and a Christian, a Muslim musician, A monarch, elitist, pro-abortion defeatist, An anarchist, Black Panther, and a rich plutocratic; I am a citizen, And as one, I'm elastic.
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36
A doer not a talker, A finder's keepers, not a stalker, first he is A Man, gentle in his MANnerisms, but not the knuckles or his calloused hands. He does not stand out in his field, he is too busy working to increase the yield, not make best use of fifteen minutes, OF Few men can this be said, his hat still fits his crew cut hairy head. when he opens his mouth to speak, his thoughts take shape and become Words, not charged with emotion, not angered or raging, not with some rite of self- righteous indignation. He speaks his peace, and sits his *** on the nearest thing he can find, he has a sound body and a sound mind, when she decides and marries him she will find, treasure. Rare.
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Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
A Man Of Few Words
Hey babe You say you don't like a **** talker But my bad ***** energy just made you harder
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
Talker
Once I read this quote about how quiet people have the loudest minds. Now, and only now do I know what was meant by this. I sit there while you talk. Just sit and listen. A little nod, a silent sound of consent. That's all you'll see from me. Because I'm not a talker. I'm the one who listens. Attentively. Tireless. An open ear for everyone's problems musings, thoughts. And I don't complain or give advice I don't argue or deny I will just sit there subtly smiling, gathering my thoughts inside my mind And you are grateful for that someone who listens and cares without judging But ask me once on my view, my experience I will start slowly, trying to hold back on all the things unsaid. tiptoeing around so as not to drown you And finally it will overthrow my discipline and words, letters, stories start flowing out my mouth passing the barriers that have so long retained them. And I'm afraid it might easily crush you because there's so much within me that wants to be said and so very few people ever taken the time to listen.
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Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
Listen
Betty Jones was a talker. Had the whole town spun in her web. Door to door she'd collect her prey. Cunningly, she'd score on each stay. In confidence, they'd all come clean About some week old drama or the fresh cooked steam. And while she twisted And plotted and sewed the lies and propaganda began to grow. She became ever so greedy with reputations held up in her fist that she didn't seem to notice, really,   the deep hole they'd dug in her midst. Shed thought she had it made, her silky voice and her grin.... Thought she'd go on forever.... Until one day the did her in! Betty Jones was a talker. Had the whole town spun in her web. Not thinking of the consequences. She ended up dead.
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Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
"gossip"
Hey girl where you going? I’m very much a talker Cos I can’t dance good And I never been a stalker Where you off to my l’il lady? Hop in my left seat for a ride Wind it up or slow it right down – I can get you to the other side I’m just a country boy And I can take you up city streets, country roads Just a poor l’il redneck But I’m sure I can get you to where you want to go I got a full tank of gas I got an all-terrain SUV You sure do look good Buckled up next to me I can take you up the fast lane I can drive you round the cones I can take you slow through the forests I can take you fast through 30 zones I got air conditioning in here Chamois leather seats as soft as babys butts I can take you across the smooth asphalt I can take you through the deep ruts Putting on my aviators Just let me know if we’re getting close We can slip on out Or we can take the main roads. Just listen to the music And i can listen to you if you like I can rev the V8 and take you there Be it day or be it night I got fully automated And a nice little gear change I got super beam headlights With a three hundred foot range I can go on the straight and narrow I can take you down winding roads Nothing’s a problem for us; we know where we come from And I can get you where you need to go Yeah, I don’t dance so good But I’m a country boy, A nice little country boy.
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Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC
Ain’t No Shame In Bein’ A Redneck
Words are raining down like snowflakes....falling on your tongue like icing from a cake. I don't bake...but i create rhymes sometimes. Happy or sad....I love to write about love ....I try to be hard...but that's just not me.....I'm more of smooth talker. Take my hand and come walk with me. Can we lay in the grass and look at the clouds....and daydream about our future together out loud. I avoid drama because that takes the attention off of you...but i wrote about Attention that was dedicated to you. The power of words....My Word is "breathe" because God breathed in the nostril of man.....and for that reason .....I am able to caress your hand. To kiss you ever so softly and look in your eyes.....I don't compare myself to those other guys ......because i stand alone. I love a challenge.....and you make me work. My mind is working overtime in an effort to impress....but my eyes are fixated by your body in that dress. What is poetry? Poetry is the connection I have with you. I'm the paper and you're the pen, Amen. I learned from a teacher that "A parent is the first one we see. The apple falls next to the tree. So...you continue to be on my mind even when I'm sleep. That letter from a stalker made your heart weak. He cut your brakes and said he was looking inside....maybe he saw you....while I gave you a ride. The **** on my head as I tried to protect you was well worth the wait. I glad that we could share a peaceful date....but hold up...wait! I'll be right back. Look up in the sky! What do you see....a poem written in the clouds all courtesy of me....your favorite superhero. I don't go by a name....because i am free. Hey...I'm back ....with a few more dollars from that bank.....for some odd reason there was a hole in the wall. A guy walked by and said he saw an advertisement on Craigslist and stated it was free....I grabbed all I could carry and said that's cool with me. So...as we are together and the rain is money green. I pray you understand what this poem means. It was a paper that i found from long ago....A poem about a poem was the title. There were severel judges and comments like American Idol....but I never had a clue.....until I read that last line.....the author was You. The mind is a terrible thing to waste.......
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Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
The conclusion
Words are raining down like snowflakes....falling on your tongue like icing from a cake. I don't bake...but i create rhymes sometimes. Happy or sad....I love to write about love ....I try to be hard...but that's just not me.....I'm more of smooth talker. Take my hand and come walk with me. Can we lay in the grass and look at the clouds....and daydream about our future together out loud. I avoid drama because that takes the attention off of you...but i wrote about Attention that was dedicated to you. The power of words....My Word is "breathe" because God breathed in the nostril of man.....and for that reason .....I am able to caress your hand. To kiss you ever so softly and look in your eyes.....I don't compare myself to those other guys ......because i stand alone. I love a challenge.....and you make me work. My mind is working overtime in an effort to impress....but my eyes are fixated by your body in that dress. What is poetry? Poetry is the connection I have with you. I'm the paper and you're the pen, Amen. I learned from a teacher that "A parent is the first one we see. The apple falls next to the tree. So...you continue to be on my mind even when I'm sleep. That letter from a stalker made your heart weak. He cut your brakes and said he was looking inside....maybe he saw you....while I gave you a ride. The **** on my head as I tried to protect you was well worth the wait. I glad that we could share a peaceful date....but hold up...wait! I'll be right back. Look up in the sky! What do you see....a poem written in the clouds all courtesy of me....your favorite superhero. I don't go by a name....because i am free. Hey...I'm back ....with a few more dollars from that bank.....for some odd reason there was a hole in the wall. A guy walked by and said he saw an advertisement on Craigslist and stated it was free....I grabbed all I could carry and said that's cool with me. So...as we are together and the rain is money green. I pray you understand what this poem means. It was a paper that i found from long ago....A poem about a poem was the title. There were severel judges and comments like American Idol....but I never had a clue.....until I read that last line.....the author was You. The mind is a terrible thing to waste.......
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12
Right or wrong Short or long Agree or disagree When singing a song Ape or kong Blunt or kong When you're high Its like you're living a life of a person from Hong Kong Persuasive talker Convincing stalker Both of these are mind players But I'd rather choose to ignore them with a bottle of Johnny Walker Subconscious mind Left behind Likw a hypnotist I'll pursue this until I find Blame it on the left Decision making The oven of thoughts Busy opinion baking Anxiety is close Hands are shaking All of the mess I made I'll be out there raking Mostly its pressure from your peers Flowing through your ears Seems like you've conquered most of your fears And then peers begin to cheer Sensors begin to hear That you were wrong to listen to them,dear Its... One thought to another Disrespecting you mother Ignoring your father Cause' you'd rather... Party till the morning Drink while you're yawning Get drunk until you sleep on the lawn and... Drink and jive Drink and drive An accident happens Then you're no longer alive But you thought you'll survive That's because death gave you a high five
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Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
Decisions
No one even asks what I'm doing these days, and it's obvious they don't care. I want to wash my hands of these people; I come from a family of fist fighters, and forgiveness is like a cardinal sin. **** even I'm still bitter about the **** Even I still get upset at the thoughts. My lover wraps her arms around me and I radiate this ******** into her. Every time. Sleeping next to me is dirtier than sleeping in any grave. This dirt farmer can't wash his hands or his mind, he isn't a fist fighter or a loud talker, he won't let the easy things slide, and even six feet into this hole, this dirt farmer is still digging.
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May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
"Dirt Farmer."
Fire Walker Angel Talker Tree Hugger Technicolor Dreamer Imagination Jumper Long time Barber Recent Photographer Twisted Big Sister Missus of the Mister Wicked Stepmother to Some Auntie of Others Armchair philosopher Always a Poet and my Friends mostly think a Know- It-All but in a nice way:) Karen Newell
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Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Who I Am
stuck between pride and ****** mood lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips we are 96 souls away from the magic and we nevah wake up or get up, nope i swear on my momma's grave and pray may she rest in peace with good ghosts wise man told me to wear a black suit me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it was i trippin from dawn to dusk again probably but ya gotta triple that time and consider the weirdness of my speech dem words stumble other words upon meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs she's spreading her legs and licking 13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108 while meetin milly, i imagine her naked 64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin the lips such big perfect matches by the end of the day we float over glaciers our months vanish within a few days hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy steering dreams, mysterious mixtures golden goblets, served on light tables we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds in a bed spacious like a football field a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet gotta look at it under the light of the sun reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg we come, observe, read, blast and leave stuck with mental blankness, in limbo block party of creation 96, 2056 souls oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath marriage of mystery and skyline tales sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires 8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
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Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 6:25 AM UTC
Trippin
stuck between pride and ****** mood lurid lights, laughter, ladies, lively lips we are 96 souls away from the magic and we nevah wake up or get up, nope i swear on my momma's grave and pray may she rest in peace with good ghosts wise man told me to wear a black suit me, tho', forgot if i did so, can't help it was i trippin from dawn to dusk again probably but ya gotta triple that time and consider the weirdness of my speech dem words stumble other words upon meanwhile me and milly made luv to luv luv laid back like rasta villages, jah songs she's spreading her legs and licking 13.8, worship the fountain, that's basic gangsta poetess & burglar, membah 108 while meetin milly, i imagine her naked 64 minutes later, lolling on silver satin the lips such big perfect matches by the end of the day we float over glaciers our months vanish within a few days hihaho, tickling trip, totally toony, truly milly and tizzy equals eccentric & woozy steering dreams, mysterious mixtures golden goblets, served on light tables we falling into the floor, a voltgreen maze wondaland's gardens, we reach 'em frozen loops of yummy yearning, yeeeah all dem blankets and pillows, hundreds in a bed spacious like a football field a quarter of milly's back is my tattoo parking lot at 4:16 am, 24 k bracelet gotta look at it under the light of the sun reminds one of eazy legs & adorable greg we come, observe, read, blast and leave stuck with mental blankness, in limbo block party of creation 96, 2056 souls oh my, sweaty forehead, i'm so cold burning bloodshed, beasting bloodbath marriage of mystery and skyline tales sparkling are the eyes of yayo vampires 8 days awake, bangin in sky dunes schmock, dinosaur, sole talker
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44
The Wall Walker and smooth talker he, being a ticked off ****** with a knife, is mostly mole faced but with an incredible grasp on spacial relations mysterious mister stalking the barfly's and time flys endangering a species just for ***** and giggles the great google hooligans pace rapidly back and frothy beer drowned down by the river kawaii
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Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
most feathers tickle-fuck sensitive skin cells.
You jumped into my life callin' me a stalker Grabbed my attention and made me your sweet talker! You're a raging fire on a winter night I didnt know how you did but you did it right! I understood that I had fallen for you When an idiot entered between me and you I tried alot to express my love to you But you still treated me as a stalker.. Tears of blood fell from my broken heart I never thought we would apart I knew they say love is blind But I had only you on my mind!! ----de3pak
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
A Stalker!
CDC was basically closed. Their OLCC application is stuck in processing somewhere between here and wherever. I went to the other one, instead. The taco place out front still isn't open. I have to imagine that a taco shop is going to do pretty well next to a dispensary. It was T2 something. Counter guy too cute, fast talker. It's a good smoke, but I ate a tray of brownies. I wish I could throw up, but if I'm gonna have love handles, I'd rather they be diabetes sweet, rather than the alternative.
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Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
What Do III
Sitting in a crowded room, everybody has something to say, i try to tell a story but nobody would listen. At that moment when i try to  raise my voice, i just realise that am blocked out. I sit alone in a crowed room and i wonder what my purpose is. Much of a helper thats all i am, much of a planner thats what i am, so much of a listener and a talker when something needs to be solved, but less than that am blocked out, less than that am invisible. Thats what i am just less than that
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Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
Blocked out
You said you needed an extra pair of hands                                     so I took mine off and gave them to you. The sun set in my glass,            darling-                                    can't you hear that?          coo-ee, coo-ee                     oh the cockatoos are jabbering philosophy again.                                                           Sweet-talker, I want to push my fingers into your mouth,                                   swirl it in all the      honey in there.                                                               My hands on the clock pointing at quarter past five,                          birds swing up into the air like                     the half-beat of a pendulum                                                               lungs filling up with water- we're all romantic fools here.                      Sometimes I think of time         as fluid tick tock tick tock                 my glass dripping into                                            yours.                                                           We're all running dry, quickly, before the night ends-                                  ask me to         dive off the edge of the world                                                                    with you.
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Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 2:48 AM UTC
Synapse
You said you needed an extra pair of hands                                     so I took mine off and gave them to you. The sun set in my glass,            darling-                                    can't you hear that?          coo-ee, coo-ee                     oh the cockatoos are jabbering philosophy again.                                                           Sweet-talker, I want to push my fingers into your mouth,                                   swirl it in all the      honey in there.                                                               My hands on the clock pointing at quarter past five,                          birds swing up into the air like                     the half-beat of a pendulum                                                               lungs filling up with water- we're all romantic fools here.                      Sometimes I think of time         as fluid tick tock tick tock                 my glass dripping into                                            yours.                                                           We're all running dry, quickly, before the night ends-                                  ask me to         dive off the edge of the world                                                                    with you.
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26
She's such a smooth talker She could talk the rust right off of a nail Given a chance at a Saturday dance She could talk the slow out of a snail I saw her wake up one morning And talk the sun into sharing its shine Then she went into the garden And talked the melon right out of its rind We went down to the ocean Where she talked the blue out of the sea That's the day I remember She talked the love straight into me My girl, she could talk a flower Into giving its fragrance away She could also talk the words out Of a mute man with nothing to say I took her to the park She talked the kanga right out of the roo That's the day she talked me Into saying I love you I've even seen my baby Talk an ant out of its picnic lunch One day on the side of the highway A hitchhiker gave her his thumb Whenever she plays storm chaser This girl talks the wind out of its breeze But she's not the only smooth talker I talked her into marrying me
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Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Smooth Talker
I'm tired of messing up, I want things the way they originally were. I wish things would start looking up, nowadays anything can occur. I see I've changed my personality changed into something I'm not, Only to find that the new me, has more problems than I'd formerly thought. I want to change things back, I want the life I had before. There is so much that I lack, Don't know how much more I can endure. The shy introvert has been hiding, In a corner she is bound; While the friendly talker has been thriving, offending loved ones around. It's time to put the end, pay attention to what is said. Time to make amends, and put the shy girl ahead.
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Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 11:15 PM UTC
Mistakes
A born salesman, my father made all his dough by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo. A born talker, he could sell one hundred wet-down bales of that white stuff. He could clock the miles and the sales and make it pay. At home each sentence he would utter had first pleased the buyer who'd paid him off in butter. Each word had been tried over and over, at any rate, on the man who was sold by the man who filled my plate. My father hovered over the Yorkshire pudding and the beef: a peddler, a hawker, a merchant and an Indian chief. Roosevelt! Willkie! and war! How suddenly gauche I was with my old-maid heart and my funny teenage applause. Each night at home my father was in love with maps while the radio fought its battles with Nazis and **** Except when he hid in his bedroom on a three-day drunk, he typed out complex itineraries, packed his trunk, his matched luggage and pocketed a confirmed reservation, his heart already pushing over the red routes of the nation. I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening thee wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones. He died on the road, his heart pushed from neck to back, his white hanky signaling from the window of the Cadillac. My husband, as blue-eyed as a picture book, sells wool: boxes of card waste, laps and rovings he can pull to the thread and say Leicester, Rambouillet, Merino, a half-blood, it's greasy and thick, yellow as old snow. And when you drive off, my darling, Yes, sir! Yes, sir! It's one for my dame, your sample cases branded with my father's name, your itinerary open, its tolls ticking and greedy, its highways built up like new loves, raw and speedy.
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2.3k
And One For My Dame
A born salesman, my father made all his dough by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo. A born talker, he could sell one hundred wet-down bales of that white stuff. He could clock the miles and the sales and make it pay. At home each sentence he would utter had first pleased the buyer who'd paid him off in butter. Each word had been tried over and over, at any rate, on the man who was sold by the man who filled my plate. My father hovered over the Yorkshire pudding and the beef: a peddler, a hawker, a merchant and an Indian chief. Roosevelt! Willkie! and war! How suddenly gauche I was with my old-maid heart and my funny teenage applause. Each night at home my father was in love with maps while the radio fought its battles with Nazis and **** Except when he hid in his bedroom on a three-day drunk, he typed out complex itineraries, packed his trunk, his matched luggage and pocketed a confirmed reservation, his heart already pushing over the red routes of the nation. I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening thee wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones. He died on the road, his heart pushed from neck to back, his white hanky signaling from the window of the Cadillac. My husband, as blue-eyed as a picture book, sells wool: boxes of card waste, laps and rovings he can pull to the thread and say Leicester, Rambouillet, Merino, a half-blood, it's greasy and thick, yellow as old snow. And when you drive off, my darling, Yes, sir! Yes, sir! It's one for my dame, your sample cases branded with my father's name, your itinerary open, its tolls ticking and greedy, its highways built up like new loves, raw and speedy.
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48
*He was such a sweet talker, Met him at a real nice bar He didn't have a ring on I didn't know it would go so far* Yes, he is a charming ******* That sounds like his M O Always getting drunk in a bar Looking for his next *** *That's not how it was He wasn't even that drunk I see it all clearly now His lies all stunk* The first thing I thought as I saw you two together Is not what a lady should say So I think that I had better Keep my mouth shut And rise above the situation Calling you a **** Would just start a confrontation. *Listen here, "wife" I didn't know he was married, Thats not my type. Throw away this hatchet you carried I'm not the one you should be mad at, He's been doing this behind BOTH our backs!* That is fine "mistress" I think we can both agree He is the one to blame and it shouldn't be taken out on you or me Now the hatchet that you talk of The one that I have carried I know what we should do And where it should be buried *Who knows how many times He's sweet talked an innocent girl We could do something real nice To rock his fantasy world What do you say, you and me? I think this could be destiny.....* To Be Continued.....
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Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
"First Meet" ~~~ Collaboration with the Beautiful, Kalypso!
**** and chips buried in the bass-line All shaken heads tossed listening to the misadventures of a shit-talker Her lips taught and dry sporting a second skin of ripped denim Thick eyelashes caked in spiderwebs Hustling on doc martens crunching teeth beneath toes Ankles taught with leather A pretty ***** touched like flowers dipped in chalk stuck in choke it down memories Quietly screaming      look for me
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Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Urban Decline
He's a sweet talker. A kindhearted charmer. One, who knows ways to deceive a woman? It's hard figuring you out. Here you had a gentleman. Okay. Maybe not a perfect man. But one that worked hard to provide. It's hard figuring you out. When you decided a unemployed guy was your choice. He uses you. Dictates to you. Even call you a fool. It's just hard figuring you out. You go to work. And give him your pay. And tell you when to speak. And limit what you say. It's hard figuring you out. When I know you use to not be this way.
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Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
It's Hard Figuring You Out
I turned the corner cautiously into the kitchen at work, hoping for emptiness. I just wanted a quiet sanctuary, away from the gossip agenda. Much to my surprise, I found out I'm ******* the secretary. "That's odd," I think to myself. "I don't recall that." In struts Justin, the ******* from accounting. "So, how'd you get that play?" A devilish smile crawls onto his face **** you, man." I walk to the breakroom. Kaylie's there in a pencil skirt that could be mistaken for skin and a sheer shirt over a lacy bra that pushes up her **** so much you'd swear she was suffocating. She raises an eyebrow and I assume that's a greeting. But she speaks as well, "Hello, ******* I gulp cold coffee down. This talk is usual and never goes below two feet deep. "Hello... what is it today? **** "Very funny. I heard you're ******* the ***** up front." "Yeah, well, talk is cheap, ain't it?  Besides, I heard you're blowing Troy." "What? Where did you--" "Relax, red light. I don't give a **** if he's ******* you on his head. Just make sure I don't walk in on the fun, alright?" "You think you're such a smooth operator, don't you? You know, you could write the book on being an ******* "Well, thanks for having faith, but you've got it wrong. I'm a smooth talker. And it would be a 10-step pamphlet. I don't have the integrity or patience to write a book." **** you. When I'm a Washington big shot and you're a washed up ******* with a camera, we'll see who's laughing." "When you're a Washington big shot, I'll set myself on fire and jump ship out of this ********* country, screaming "Kaylie the Cumbucket!" on the free fall down like the lunatic I am." She grins, "sometimes I think you've lost your mind." "Sometimes, red light, I know I have."
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Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
jumping ship and writing the book (on being an *******
I turned the corner cautiously into the kitchen at work, hoping for emptiness. I just wanted a quiet sanctuary, away from the gossip agenda. Much to my surprise, I found out I'm ******* the secretary. "That's odd," I think to myself. "I don't recall that." In struts Justin, the ******* from accounting. "So, how'd you get that play?" A devilish smile crawls onto his face **** you, man." I walk to the breakroom. Kaylie's there in a pencil skirt that could be mistaken for skin and a sheer shirt over a lacy bra that pushes up her **** so much you'd swear she was suffocating. She raises an eyebrow and I assume that's a greeting. But she speaks as well, "Hello, ******* I gulp cold coffee down. This talk is usual and never goes below two feet deep. "Hello... what is it today? **** "Very funny. I heard you're ******* the ***** up front." "Yeah, well, talk is cheap, ain't it?  Besides, I heard you're blowing Troy." "What? Where did you--" "Relax, red light. I don't give a **** if he's ******* you on his head. Just make sure I don't walk in on the fun, alright?" "You think you're such a smooth operator, don't you? You know, you could write the book on being an ******* "Well, thanks for having faith, but you've got it wrong. I'm a smooth talker. And it would be a 10-step pamphlet. I don't have the integrity or patience to write a book." **** you. When I'm a Washington big shot and you're a washed up ******* with a camera, we'll see who's laughing." "When you're a Washington big shot, I'll set myself on fire and jump ship out of this ********* country, screaming "Kaylie the Cumbucket!" on the free fall down like the lunatic I am." She grins, "sometimes I think you've lost your mind." "Sometimes, red light, I know I have."
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Paula is digging and shaping the loam of a salvia, Scarlet Chinese talker of summer. Two petals of crabapple blossom blow fallen in Paula's hair, And fluff of white from a cottonwood.
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2.1k
June
I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed. I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic. I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table. I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting. I am day drives to no where. I am the Middletown train station before the movies. I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away. I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall. I am the bandaids. I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with. I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger. I am that key on your key chain. I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed. I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame. I am the sheets on your bed. I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better. I am New Jersey. I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix. I am the stain on your mattress. I am the drool on your pillow. I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey. I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for. I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer. I am the light wash boyfriend jeans. I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door. I am the reason you once felt content. I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool. I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it. I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us. I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable. I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies. I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now. I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence. I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer. I am Sensual Amber I am UBE I am my legs on the wall when I dry them. I am the tiny pills on your dresser. I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than. I am the bobby pins.
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Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
I Was Part of Your Life
I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed. I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic. I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table. I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting. I am day drives to no where. I am the Middletown train station before the movies. I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away. I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall. I am the bandaids. I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with. I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger. I am that key on your key chain. I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed. I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame. I am the sheets on your bed. I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better. I am New Jersey. I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix. I am the stain on your mattress. I am the drool on your pillow. I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey. I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for. I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer. I am the light wash boyfriend jeans. I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door. I am the reason you once felt content. I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool. I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it. I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us. I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable. I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies. I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now. I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence. I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer. I am Sensual Amber I am UBE I am my legs on the wall when I dry them. I am the tiny pills on your dresser. I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than. I am the bobby pins.
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