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"wolfishly" poems
god flew through my coffee this morning; an intellectual crow entered my apartment, and it guzzled a sip of the holy brew me? i didn't take notice, just took notes a blind writer who seeks the extraordinary, distracted by a strayed quest for himself left eye red, the right one black, wolfishly a tribe of suicidals shattered my eye sight they were dancing in trance they were singing in kid's voices: "we forgotten who we are; our skins crumbling we don't want to live inside your body; no! we won't be your voice anymore; we be leaving golemland is our destination, shelter of letters" then, the tribe of suicidals left, depriving me of words
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Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 12:03 PM UTC
The Tribe Of Suicidals
Scraggle haired, red-cheeked, grass stained          things, running with wild flowers in hand          and mud underfoot, shouting and stomping          and grinning, sunshine sliding through          let-down curls, all missing teeth and          ankles showing beneath cuffs; who  sprawl crazily on park benches, on           dirt, on chalk-ruined cement, faces           upturned to taste the rain, who  drop everything to watch an airplane's           ascent, a scarlet fire truck, the           scrambled flight of migrating geese, who  seize mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles           around the waist and hang on for           dear life, squeezing with affection           almost too ferocious to bear, who  wail at the butterfly smashed            on the pavement, who  scatter like autumn leaves when           told to come inside, darting into           the shadows, teeth glinting wolfishly,           scampering into the boughs of trees           to hide with bated breath, who  ****** their hands out of car           windows to tickle the wind, who  choke on laughter all day and           dream of dragons and stardust           all night, who  want the answer to every          question, who  are the embodiment of wild sunsets           and turbulent skies, who  haven't yet inherited the rust          of adulthood, who  chase pigeons in the park,           flower chains slung haphazardly           round small necks in the          slanting rays, who  dance on the sidewalk to songs           that exist only in their minds, arms           flailing, heads bouncing, indifferent           to passers-by, who  walk the earth with wide eyes             and bursting hearts, whose  love could power a stellar              explosion;      Scab-kneed, angel headed, sun-burned      beings, flushed and bare legged, tearing       across fields of dandelions with      mad smiles and outstretched arms:      a band of the best and      brightest creatures
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May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Kids
Scraggle haired, red-cheeked, grass stained          things, running with wild flowers in hand          and mud underfoot, shouting and stomping          and grinning, sunshine sliding through          let-down curls, all missing teeth and          ankles showing beneath cuffs; who  sprawl crazily on park benches, on           dirt, on chalk-ruined cement, faces           upturned to taste the rain, who  drop everything to watch an airplane's           ascent, a scarlet fire truck, the           scrambled flight of migrating geese, who  seize mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles           around the waist and hang on for           dear life, squeezing with affection           almost too ferocious to bear, who  wail at the butterfly smashed            on the pavement, who  scatter like autumn leaves when           told to come inside, darting into           the shadows, teeth glinting wolfishly,           scampering into the boughs of trees           to hide with bated breath, who  ****** their hands out of car           windows to tickle the wind, who  choke on laughter all day and           dream of dragons and stardust           all night, who  want the answer to every          question, who  are the embodiment of wild sunsets           and turbulent skies, who  haven't yet inherited the rust          of adulthood, who  chase pigeons in the park,           flower chains slung haphazardly           round small necks in the          slanting rays, who  dance on the sidewalk to songs           that exist only in their minds, arms           flailing, heads bouncing, indifferent           to passers-by, who  walk the earth with wide eyes             and bursting hearts, whose  love could power a stellar              explosion;      Scab-kneed, angel headed, sun-burned      beings, flushed and bare legged, tearing       across fields of dandelions with      mad smiles and outstretched arms:      a band of the best and      brightest creatures
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52
Think it best today to jump page Says the inner sage, wild man escapes Headline banner, fear campaign Mister misinformation, propaganda minister Save face by way of erasing occupied space Grace diminished vehemently as secrets leak persistently Honor bound gentlemen hound wolfishly at the unseen What revelry, in snow toned detection Earth spotted idles of another prayer Looking like this one is satiated, mistaken vision The over crowded barge, sinking half way back to Cuba Now they owe what they never before had owned From the get go, loaned out credit levies buckle heavily Mass selective gravity magnified their electricity Grave deep run lines of inter-connectivity ******* summer of next celebratory existence Excluding the pack of wicked sack-happy vandals Hunger groans honestly, with choir hymns preaching holy honesty I am a dumb spectator with a gun.
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Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
Untitled #2
girls and red roses in grotesque poses within the covers of him flashing red lips and baby blue eyes wolfishly at his whim and there's nothing to them, i'm afraid, but the blood-white dresses they're in.
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Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 10:31 PM UTC
beauty, whim, desire
*My early mornings are akin to warm Carrot Cake I consume them wolfishly then lick the plate* ..
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Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 8:44 PM UTC
Up Before the Rooster ...
Ears pricking, only quietly haunting any other type and skirting the edges of things wolfishly, I’m howling all of the things that build up at a forever indifferent moon, pupils narrow in the light from a cracked phone screen, insatiable, academics are another breed altogether, we go back to our hometowns and feel too big inside, consumed
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Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
Wherewolves
We are already stumbling more and more crustly into the idle Infinity, and we are rooted in a wooded mood; the vulnerable Soul is damaged anyway and the Will-pulled bodies eventually give up anyway! Distorting ratios are not dwarfed - but they increase by division! The dream of everything is a silent wilderness! It’s hard to cling to the forgiving power of chance, just like a smile close to a ditch! The Vacuum still exists in sheer space, even though there is no one to capture or fill it! There is always just a kind of alarming, internally warning selfishness! It is becoming more and more difficult to look wolfishly and flirt with sincere Truth; the usual, homely Death is staring at us! Fear s Pain beats as expelled; the murderous silence devours our loneliness and the fact excites us that we can't get any closer to solving it! It takes place in the body and in the brain and produces some strange, chemical reaction! What we have become thickens into what really hurts! Every level you start leads to the darkness of the impossible! In the depths of restless souls it is difficult to live in peace! Our shiver scale scans us all the way to our vertebrae and back! If we are helpless with the formula for solving situations in our heart chamber, there is a risk of explosion. In the hourglass press, the tiny grains trample each other orphan; they're in a hurry somewhere! The border is watching the barrier of the Spirit and often stirring underworld dust! Shards of self-digesting blood are also falling…
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Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 3:06 AM UTC
Borders-briber
We are already stumbling more and more crustly into the idle Infinity, and we are rooted in a wooded mood; the vulnerable Soul is damaged anyway and the Will-pulled bodies eventually give up anyway! Distorting ratios are not dwarfed - but they increase by division! The dream of everything is a silent wilderness! It’s hard to cling to the forgiving power of chance, just like a smile close to a ditch! The Vacuum still exists in sheer space, even though there is no one to capture or fill it! There is always just a kind of alarming, internally warning selfishness! It is becoming more and more difficult to look wolfishly and flirt with sincere Truth; the usual, homely Death is staring at us! Fear s Pain beats as expelled; the murderous silence devours our loneliness and the fact excites us that we can't get any closer to solving it! It takes place in the body and in the brain and produces some strange, chemical reaction! What we have become thickens into what really hurts! Every level you start leads to the darkness of the impossible! In the depths of restless souls it is difficult to live in peace! Our shiver scale scans us all the way to our vertebrae and back! If we are helpless with the formula for solving situations in our heart chamber, there is a risk of explosion. In the hourglass press, the tiny grains trample each other orphan; they're in a hurry somewhere! The border is watching the barrier of the Spirit and often stirring underworld dust! Shards of self-digesting blood are also falling…
Continue reading...
36
burly gents in waxed mustache line wooden tavern walls intently scoping fresh hams eyes bulge and saliva drips one might think they never saw a woman wolfishly staring pondering dinner to chew through satin of blue and expose soft pink delicacy Cosby considerations in the lonely afternoon Can I get you a drink? May I hold your purse? lost in character the would be ****** holds the door smiles looking at an apple shaped bottom as they enter, together, the establishment /
0
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
he seemed nice enough......