The unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies. La langue qui claque by Lady Luck (manga ebook reader .TXT) 📖
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lawn
when is it that we squat on the front porch
and sing along with nightingales til dawn?
I have not heard promises before,
I have not heard promises earlier
I have denied them a mere encore
I have tied them to the border
some I used to work on all day and night
some that you used to stand no matter what
some I used to polish every brick of
It's no bridge, my love, it's no bridge it's a wall
Repetition is the only way out
I have no more shout, the fountain is dried
SURROUNDED BY SOUNDS
It's been a while I don't know why
the eardrums got blown by the street's sounds
It has been gone and yet it's back
though I thought I was dry, it was done
I get hopeless, get in a sack
and yet it's there, I have unpacked
the souvenirs, the broken dreams
the get aways, the alley ways
the lies I tell the ones I hide
the times when confessing feels just fine
I am a wreck, my body aches
my mind claims getting back to the game
how could you bother to make screams louder
the silent ones have more power
the fuzzy feeling of fever
tingle in my unresting fingers
why tonight then? and not ever?
I can wonder over and over, and
will not manage to get an answer
Probably I need to start clumsily
awkwardly oddly strangely bizzarely
to have the fountain again squirting inside
irrigating desertic plains of nothing
but in betweens, and make it grow
shyly, bashfully, gently, quietly
i got headache. i could buzzes of fridges
in my brain. the thing cant stop
the thing is creeping behind, rampant like ivy
i am an old house. i am a new born.
i am an urban planned mazed full of despise and scorn
melted with poison
melted with boldness
how will I grow in this old house of emptiness
will i get cancer for chainsmoking
for chimneys and nuclear centrals?
will i cross the street, and fly on its noise
for ever, will I overcome this?
Will I dream again?
will I miss pete? colin? greg? you? him? them?
i can't feel anything, except this,
this now.
this no.
right now.
its pretty shit i know. i"ve been better.
venom fathom cryptic wisdom.
Imprint
when is it that we squat on the front porch
and sing along with nightingales til dawn?
I have not heard promises before,
I have not heard promises earlier
I have denied them a mere encore
I have tied them to the border
some I used to work on all day and night
some that you used to stand no matter what
some I used to polish every brick of
It's no bridge, my love, it's no bridge it's a wall
Repetition is the only way out
I have no more shout, the fountain is dried
SURROUNDED BY SOUNDS
It's been a while I don't know why
the eardrums got blown by the street's sounds
It has been gone and yet it's back
though I thought I was dry, it was done
I get hopeless, get in a sack
and yet it's there, I have unpacked
the souvenirs, the broken dreams
the get aways, the alley ways
the lies I tell the ones I hide
the times when confessing feels just fine
I am a wreck, my body aches
my mind claims getting back to the game
how could you bother to make screams louder
the silent ones have more power
the fuzzy feeling of fever
tingle in my unresting fingers
why tonight then? and not ever?
I can wonder over and over, and
will not manage to get an answer
Probably I need to start clumsily
awkwardly oddly strangely bizzarely
to have the fountain again squirting inside
irrigating desertic plains of nothing
but in betweens, and make it grow
shyly, bashfully, gently, quietly
i got headache. i could buzzes of fridges
in my brain. the thing cant stop
the thing is creeping behind, rampant like ivy
i am an old house. i am a new born.
i am an urban planned mazed full of despise and scorn
melted with poison
melted with boldness
how will I grow in this old house of emptiness
will i get cancer for chainsmoking
for chimneys and nuclear centrals?
will i cross the street, and fly on its noise
for ever, will I overcome this?
Will I dream again?
will I miss pete? colin? greg? you? him? them?
i can't feel anything, except this,
this now.
this no.
right now.
its pretty shit i know. i"ve been better.
venom fathom cryptic wisdom.
Imprint
Publication Date: 01-19-2010
All Rights Reserved
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