Happy EasterI'm groping for dignity, trying to maintain the illusion. The box is sealed from within, like the forgotten witch's hut. I gave up the smell of roses, their petals stank of metal. Blind in longest night, the only light from the burning chapters A mouthful of thorns, barbs blunted with misuse. Now I've encountered boundaries beyond the lined page. Theres a ringing in my eardrums from singing in a vacuum. I must transcend my silent stethoscope, find that obscure purity. I see a face trickle through my hands, but it is not mine.Happy Easter
This is the season of fertility, sacred ressurection And
Satellite Two Thousand 100Here, at the last outpost, The days pass hot and breathless. We occupy ourselves sending echo messages Back through the cave network. But headquarters maintains silence on the airwaves, And has done for ten thousand days. Our lonely compound is the last uplink in the chain And the astronomer claims we've entered the final phase. By night we moon bathe, star braille caresses retinas. We know we're at the human epicenter Something true and epic is represented here. We teach the legend in the forest clearing All we fear is shards of knowledge disapearing. Here there'sSatellite Two Thousand 100
ComfortYou retreat from this turmoil.Comfort
Returning like a worm to soil, To your warm fort. Recoil from your toils, To your comfort. You patiently pluck water from the boil,
From the heated electric coil. To biscuits removed and alotted, Soon to be chewed and glotted, To this elixir you are glued and besotted. A large handsome Dar Jeeling Mug
And already circumstances are feeling snug The pyramidal bag gently selected, The precious leaves inside protected. Slowly pour and savour the fragrant vapour, Elope in dreams of steam, &n
Wrinkling TapestriesDaylight somnambulance, The curtain is drawn. Tunnels and passages, mobilize.Wrinkling Tapestries
with an antique type writer, oh! the possibilities are infinite.
tapdancing on a volcano.
The petina between us is perception, a me brain membrane. perfect. dawn syndrome. all roads lead home. i leave a trail of goosefeathers, to tickle my persuers, a wild hunt. The fabric is torn and the cheese swiss.. the perspective panoramic. Porcelain butterflies flutter in the gallery, drawn by the glow of the frozen waterfall. Fight or flee- the sword or the sandal. Which bakery baked me? we need the t
WRiter meow
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To Freedom?
The Milky Way is the only Way
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scar my face
show me ive been to this place
id rather die peacefully
than drown in mediocraty
with thee o holy soul
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do your part. love your mother.
Friends of Earth [link]
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my mom's page
support artists! I mean it!
“i wish coke was still cola
and a joint was a bad place to be”
-merle haggard
I really like the look of your poems.. I'm going to read some of them now.
And Buck65... good choice!
Waiting really? Most people prefer hero the whore. Thanks anyway. I'll give your some of your stuff a read tomorow, right now its half one so reading is very appealing right now.
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Squiggle line dot loop Squiggle
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