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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
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Read books online » Poetry » sometimes it's like talking to a human by esp (e book reader .txt) 📖

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brain of the dandelion


brain of the dandelion
scattered across a fading meadow
(infinite memory of moisty youth)
o! green promise.

o! green swindle.


------------------------------
fall day near a park


little girls scream
preparing for their futures
as autumn sun
(some memory & warmth)
dissolves
behind a distant
suburb


------------------------------
woke up


i woke up
that morning,
i could have spoke.

after such knowledge,
what forgiveness?


not a party


this is not a party
but people know your name.
the sweet decay of
exhaled breath,
a woman in a pick-up truck;
a china doll
with occidental features.

"love comes quickly
when you know
what you are doing."

& i get this feeling
like when someone gives you
your 40 bucks &
you feel rich
until you realize.


family reunion


another descent
from the mad explosion

the fire
the noise
the easy target

the flowers
a note...
my true sorrow
could not fit
in the truck
that brought them

but shame
and regret
(the scions of remorse)
stammer on
evangelically
with the patience
of a church


depression's wings


the clouds blacken.

blackened beasts across the sky
from darkened quarters
and shadows of my forest
which blot out the sun.

toothsome fears
live here
writhing in cold gesticulations
and black humours
and rancid smells
(black smells)
and black noises.
a spiteful taste
on a spiteful tongue
from my perch...

from my heart...

from all places where death
resides.

i live the carrion
and i know the winter,
and the cold barren places
where the snow is black,
wearing the earth's shame.

i can see the colors,
but in my stark vigil
i slay them,
until all is black about me.

the night is my comfort
and the daytime
is my thrice cursed enemy.

while i am dying
go birth your great poisons,
i smell the rumors.
i know who i am.

i am the raven.
would you like some raw meat?

i am raven, and
i am certain:
the end is near.


euphoria's cure


euphoria's cure...
cocaine and cocaine
sex.

give skin
which crawls
from bugs and insect
lust

it is
steel sex behind
steel walls;

a stolen fuck
called
sex-speed
drop.


ka


seven flights
my cold ambition
shattered darkness
then three
(and three)

an apple
and wisdom
the nails
and for
eternal living
watch the tv clock

nothing new
under the sun
but oh!
the moon
cried dry

samples of lightning
without tears
my death
a cherub in the pond.

too clumsy
for my crystal heart
the ocean churning rock
to sand

blue sadness
i drink
and share this passion
with the world.

aum?

aha!


Jerusalem


i am jerusalem
jealous
of your
adolescent hands

break

solve

truth
in the crowd?
you are half

pride
in legacy?
proud in escaping length
in measuring length
and escaping
measure


thoughts


thoughts
clean
i thought of you
before we met
the beast of love
(before we met)
teeth of dust and vanity
and flow of rivers south
(never waded twice)

what fork?
what meat?
what river
can take me home
if love has bested
us?


the house


somehow teeth
devour air
enough to swallow
time's descent

the dogs sniff stars
and bodies spit their souls
to heaven
since all things break
(always
and
forever)

disintegration pulses through
our last deception

deception
deception

ask not why...
the house
always wins


the cave


i don't remember
my entire life
(all steel wool
and barbed wire)
but some people live
in the daylight

to them
the effortless dance
a wife
a child
with jesus in the leaves
and in the pond
reflected

but now i have
two lives to live
and now i see the wall
but the rock of the cave
which never forgave me
is as cold as all of you

the shadows dance
as light disperses
and the sonic shakes
with heart damning violence
and with the lies
that reside within
the four walls
of our souls


pin cushion


words
in my lungs

where is
the longed for?

the correspondence
from you

such idiocy

time's knot
will not untie
for me.


tanning


the sun
just burst
from his cocoon
but only the earth
has caught fire

i lie basking
on this summit of asphalt
a fist appears
on some horizon

the fist across the sky and the butterfly throat
(a python 'round an elephant)

god's tears fall

bees sting the rain


peeling


like a butterfly?
no
the same old slug
bursting through this temporary time
a bronze bust wilting
melting with humanity

toiled and sweat to build this thing
gilt
onion layered
while liquid metal dripped

now the dry sahara
seas of sand
with little islands
floating to the surface
waiting for a turn
to drown within
this ocean
of dust

is it cancer?
no
just vacations end.


the hiss of snow


the hiss of snow
and geese gone south
echo through a vacuum
cold, stark space...

this misery
turns playful with worry,
stops people in cars
in their tracks
in their wonder

while rain patters gently,
singing songs of joyous cycles,
the snow simply hisses
its secret hatred; sometimes melting
in a spiteful suicide
(before your
ruthless eyes)
on protective glass
and warmth.


cold hard rain


pellets
of moisture
running down
the face of time

and future weeps
for present's
folly

staring through
the restaurant window
with the heroin jaw
and mumbling through it

it is theatre

it is bliss

it is the utter sadness
of humanity's lot


still life poetry


a table with
a plate;
fish on it.
glass of wine,
light dancing.
and garnish.

------------------------------
january


i paced grey january
mussed up my hair
is this some weary folk-song?
cold windless future

"life passed as seen
through the blur of a highball"

an icicle of loneliness.
------------------------------
mirror


in a small room
with four walls

in a distant wasteland
static
insane
a barren wash-stand
aflame
with she

in a mirror


anne '05

I

we all have the exes,
the costumes,
the shivering tao,
and skin that breaks
under loves heavy burden.
(light in abundance
but here...the bottom of the sea)

SKIN THE KNIFE
DROWN THE SEA

II

she hated snow.
it melts away
and leaves its dead
black and
sodden,
everywhere.
(i hated you when you melted.
everything is blackened
still)
and like the snow
i'm under snow

III

alone
and apartments twinkle
chains of stars

IV

spitting gravel
at the word
and bathing in sincerity fountain
everything is stripped away
(bite my english
you repetitive dunces)

SPIT THE WORD
BATHE THE FOUNTAIN

V

your desert teeth
(and wordly)
draped like tethered feathers;
something
in a world
filled with thirst


chest in the courtyard


the chest
in the courtyard
is breathing;
an empty vessel,
its heart
still beats.

the stars
on the sky
strobe and threaten.
a name appears there
(if you know where
to look).

my fingers touch
the face of a star.
nothing is proven.
the colors harden;
a cold place
in the ceiling of heaven.

but, i see through the ether;
i can see the wind blow,
the water clear,
the stars die.

my eyes
(like daggers)
cleave the lie
as i watch
the ice chest
breathe.


commuting


there's silver on the things
and carbon on the cars that pass
or park on my speeding thru
an answer on the way to work

the orange
the flatness
the steel the rust
and things that smell
are all about the day i've had
they're shining in the daylight
flinch


thunder


i wanted the crush
the lightning's crash
the shouting at the night

a fierce unquiet promise

unquiet!

divinity-fist
a sound like shatter
and a rumble in the soul

dilute this anger...?

sonic burden
burn the air
and i scream the lightning
resting silence
'til the end of time
and the end of all time
and the end
of that end
as well


tremble


it's difficult
this filthy love
turn the black snow
back

sordid stuff
locked in dark embrace
the blood of memory

crippled from inside
each the same
but shatter the lie

tremble
tremble
tremble
and die

i'm almost done
the world awash
with ghosts


the wasteland


here, the wasteland
and i see death

her fingers
touch the world
but no one goes
away

(cries of denial as
the balcony thunders)

everywhere
proof of her works:
the camera
the flash
the images of demise

but
the corpses
that litter
the avenues move
a rebuke
to her gentle
caress


9-11-2001


twins of steel
of blood
and ruin

god's offense
at two new babels

he touched
their crowns
and fed them
murder
sending david
to slay
two monsters-
the phalli which fell
to the pubic hair
of new york

an icarus story
that i could have written
had it not been written
countless times
before


furth


weeping cobbles
beneath the cement sky
hard water like poe's raven
tapping

"all water comes from the same place."

time is like a room too tight
with germany dripping from every pore
'til it sounds like a stranger
and i am in this room
(30dm/night)
in a foreign country
these huge cashes
and pockets puking change


london

an echo in the bone;
the evening's cool embrace,
aloof.

out at sea,
a party,
submerged in
blue-green tears.

the proof
eludes the senseless
years
through sensible days
of plenty and woe.

but empty hands and
churches, clockless,
whisper crystal
"time to go."


weekend


i'm being bitter
to everyone

and standing
small
in my own feet

forcing time
like it's through a syringe

and wishing it all away


never fond


never fond of life
its grating
repetitions
abrasive
like sand on the smooth face
of glass
marking off the grains
the new seconds
of all futility

it turned against me
now a butterfly
pinned to this spot
a slave
to gravity
and fear
that

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