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Scott M Reamer Aug 2013
I was never moving backwards, in fact I never moved at all.
Here; among the markers and holy proof, have I, the path finder always sat.
Body stoic, thoughts dampened, eyes crossed spying wide but, ever wise?
Atop the two inch tower, in the humid shadow cast neathe the pine and needle.
Silas Wright Dewitt, my company unapparent, December fourth, 1844 was he bore
November tenth , 1904 is he born.
Scott M Reamer Aug 2013
I was never moving backwards, in fact I never moved at all.
Here; among the markers and holy proof, have I, the path finder always sat.
Body stoic, thoughts dampened, eyes crossed spying wide but, ever wise?
Atop the two inch tower, in the humid shadow cast neathe the pine and needle.
Silas Wright Dewitt, my company unapparent, December fourth, 1844 was he bore
November tenth , 1904 is he born.
Scott M Reamer Aug 2013
Swift sifter of info splinters
After thoughts in cosmic winter
Mind the mind, tis on the briars time
Master me, freak of the week
Your on deck, brother
Do not bother with folly protest.
Scott M Reamer Jun 2013
Don't, don't, don't
Dart.
You **** my,
Imploding heart.
Scott M Reamer Jun 2013
Tarry tempers of locust scented bath salts
knowing Latin phraseology, broken pig-tonged asexualite
*****-less worth is my many meaning of sense witless
dripping cool colored love from the holes I keep picking in my face
in my brain, without a grain
I am changing lanes three am, drift wheel sleeper
doth he the body I watch below truly belong to me?
They told me god was watching
This I could believe
So I wish for He Their father to see guilty little me
dying of thirst for his life
of hunger self deprived
ego die, my egg over fried
teller of lies, please keep it spinning, yes I know it's upsetting
just let me.
Scott M Reamer May 2013
The most beautiful thing I ever,
was just that; I never.
Awesome was its splendor,
always and never.
Scott M Reamer May 2013
Yellow-tinted-noxious-lung-warf-stunk-salty-oysters-stolen-rotten­.
Where am I? but the driftwood castle promenade, fish market gardens.
Congo jungle, steam ship sunken in crying river, village elder persists at warning.
Hear the fiddle burning, drug sullen quarter note steadily, it's veracious creak reverberates through me, the loveliness reveals me, and yet I cannot behold the.
Negligent narcissus subdue me, hurry up and ***** me.
Here is the birthplace of living curse, whats bottles up by living thirst, awakening face down in a black-bellied hearse.
Driven hard line through desert ambit , throttle locked at 85, no control, levers, nobs, or nodes.
Half a Cuban snuffed out poorly, sleeping in gaping jowls, I could not believe this thing even had an ash tray.
Death had bailed and locked the doors, filled the tank, and whipped the devils horse.
I worn the blinders and found my pockets stuffed with carrots and a lighter.
Then i smoked what was left without protest, I was not about to ask what came next.
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