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AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
12
This an epic poem.
You thought I forgot. You thought I was slipping. Me never that.
---------------------------
lesson to complain
the physical world
I can't effect with
such loose control
alone in my cell dreaming
of ways out
the world outside could
be anything
whatever it is I know
I'll have to play along
alone
how to escape?
what is the key?
my mood swings
won't help me they just
shift the focus
each a stage and a star
pulling me to awe in audience
for freedom I must seek peace
I close my eyes
colors waiting in the corners
of my mind pulling on my attention
like some long lost mirror pond
I don't need to see my self to know
who I am
catch breath in my
proceed to lungs
let the air build up
let the air flow through
This an epic poem.
You thought I forgot. You thought I was slipping. Me never that.
---------------------------
lesson to complain
the physical world
I can't effect with
such loose control
alone in my cell dreaming
of ways out
the world outside could
be anything
whatever it is I know
I'll have to play along
alone
how to escape?
what is the key?
my mood swings
won't help me they just
shift the focus
each a stage and a star
pulling me to awe in audience
for freedom I must seek peace
I close my eyes
colors waiting in the corners
of my mind pulling on my attention
like some long lost mirror pond
I don't need to see my self to know
who I am
catch breath in my
proceed to lungs
let the air build up
let the air flow through
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-1
You can see the United Nations building from here--
if you squint against sunlight. This city was not meant
for morning, but for night. I try to cook up a little
darkness from your eyes, from the whorls of breath
and the eclipse we make upon each other as our worlds
connect, overlap, weave into a basket of arms handled
by one raised knee. Your public policy is conveyed
by ten ambassadors, so diplomatic in their whispers
brushed slowly over the skin under my sweater
then pressed, our geographies meeting and meshed.
You can see the United Nations building from here--
if you squint against sunlight. This city was not meant
for morning, but for night. I try to cook up a little
darkness from your eyes, from the whorls of breath
and the eclipse we make upon each other as our worlds
connect, overlap, weave into a basket of arms handled
by one raised knee. Your public policy is conveyed
by ten ambassadors, so diplomatic in their whispers
brushed slowly over the skin under my sweater
then pressed, our geographies meeting and meshed.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
13
This is an epic poem.
I'm tired of it. All of it.
---------------------------
change is hard
there are considerations
the current discourse has its attractions
for one its duality is known
heights and lows
in the new reality nothing can be certain
it is ruled by the idea
depending on the slant of mind
an idea can lead
moths mistake light for moons
all the parts of me want change
including the part that believes
that the good mind can only exist
at practice in the current habits
let go my fear, with faith in myself
let go my rage, with peace in myself
let go my fool, with focus in myself
I become the self I am without thought
the go to guy that is quick with a comeback
when the earth shakes I only smile
resting on the rock of me
This is an epic poem.
I'm tired of it. All of it.
---------------------------
change is hard
there are considerations
the current discourse has its attractions
for one its duality is known
heights and lows
in the new reality nothing can be certain
it is ruled by the idea
depending on the slant of mind
an idea can lead
moths mistake light for moons
all the parts of me want change
including the part that believes
that the good mind can only exist
at practice in the current habits
let go my fear, with faith in myself
let go my rage, with peace in myself
let go my fool, with focus in myself
I become the self I am without thought
the go to guy that is quick with a comeback
when the earth shakes I only smile
resting on the rock of me
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-2
A left turn without a signal is either impulse
or urgency; that is how he left. Just a well--
I need to think about other women--I mean things
that aren't women because
because it is for Art! He said this as he pulled
my panties from his pocket as if he had never
breathed them. He dropped them to the floor
with a still hand as if ditching cocaine,
eyes forward and kept on walking. Before
he turned he said, None of this is real, anyway. C'mon
you didn't think there'd be people in here, didya?
and tapped his knuckle at the glass between us.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .The smudge is still there.
A left turn without a signal is either impulse
or urgency; that is how he left. Just a well--
I need to think about other women--I mean things
that aren't women because
because it is for Art! He said this as he pulled
my panties from his pocket as if he had never
breathed them. He dropped them to the floor
with a still hand as if ditching cocaine,
eyes forward and kept on walking. Before
he turned he said, None of this is real, anyway. C'mon
you didn't think there'd be people in here, didya?
and tapped his knuckle at the glass between us.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .The smudge is still there.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
14
This is an epic poem.
Today I failed to be a teacher.
------------------
rock of me
how lesser stones crush and ground
the presence of harder stuff
the walls of my cell crumble
with only poem eyes to watch
unfold my lotus on a beach
my cell from the out side
an old Dali egg
spoiled because of absent function
further inland
the tips of temples peek from the
canopy of jungle trees
my mind is a tropical island, today
my old shell cell is already drifting into the sea
I taste just to be sure
the quality of water burns
vodka
This is an epic poem.
Today I failed to be a teacher.
------------------
rock of me
how lesser stones crush and ground
the presence of harder stuff
the walls of my cell crumble
with only poem eyes to watch
unfold my lotus on a beach
my cell from the out side
an old Dali egg
spoiled because of absent function
further inland
the tips of temples peek from the
canopy of jungle trees
my mind is a tropical island, today
my old shell cell is already drifting into the sea
I taste just to be sure
the quality of water burns
vodka
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-3
A drop of oil is isolated from itself as water shifts,
splitting into two shiny floats--
divorced companions.
We dip and ride the top, dear,
but we are grease from the same tree.
Surf the world with me.
A drop of oil is isolated from itself as water shifts,
splitting into two shiny floats--
divorced companions.
We dip and ride the top, dear,
but we are grease from the same tree.
Surf the world with me.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
15
trip sing in the sprit waves
what slanted rainbows
display as I kick my feet
drinking fire make me strong
in the back of my mind I know
that I did not escape yet
this is not the physical reality
just a bigger room
with a exit that is just as abstract
the temples in the jungle call
I owe tribute and respect
if I had any fear left it would hold me back
trip sing in the sprit waves
what slanted rainbows
display as I kick my feet
drinking fire make me strong
in the back of my mind I know
that I did not escape yet
this is not the physical reality
just a bigger room
with a exit that is just as abstract
the temples in the jungle call
I owe tribute and respect
if I had any fear left it would hold me back
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-4
My arm is numb from waving
or maybe the numbness came before
the waving. It's blurred in the traffic
of all that media
wind through my fingers
blowing your pictures from this wallet
lifted but empty
into the distant sky.
Next time I will fasten some string
so I can feel the tug when you are completely
gone.
My arm is numb from waving
or maybe the numbness came before
the waving. It's blurred in the traffic
of all that media
wind through my fingers
blowing your pictures from this wallet
lifted but empty
into the distant sky.
Next time I will fasten some string
so I can feel the tug when you are completely
gone.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
15
This is an epic poem.
Fault lies with me not heading right. So we have a bit of a modified reverb. As it is my poems are getting too tired. I still need to flex those muscles. Bear with me. HA
------------
Temple of the Bear King
Father,
watch me bleed pride
and know worth regardless
the first temple rests
on a trail of blood
maidens here have few hairs
pulled and pushed to the
alter
they are changed
chained old world magic
naked at the stove
slipping bear cubs from the
inner oven
the temple cut of rock bone
piled to make a computer
bears on each side of the altar
the icons balance balls
juggle words as disciples type
the movements are connected
failure to type the right words
cause balls drop and explode
out comes pain in bear drool
rarely catch wrath for reason
sometimes the bears awake
to skin the hide of a disciple
laughing as they keep the balls
balanced
it is the living in fear of pain
that snakes sorrow into the bone
yet sometimes in the evening the spirit
of the bear moves the people
the spirit that taught hard work
and rough love
biting and tearing
watering the eyes with carnivore's breath
it's motive is to make you better, stonger
never a victim for the world
it moves the people
with charm, jungle accent and mastery of story
diciples roll in the isles
in that moment all the blood shed seems
too little a price to pay
This is an epic poem.
Fault lies with me not heading right. So we have a bit of a modified reverb. As it is my poems are getting too tired. I still need to flex those muscles. Bear with me. HA
------------
Temple of the Bear King
Father,
watch me bleed pride
and know worth regardless
the first temple rests
on a trail of blood
maidens here have few hairs
pulled and pushed to the
alter
they are changed
chained old world magic
naked at the stove
slipping bear cubs from the
inner oven
the temple cut of rock bone
piled to make a computer
bears on each side of the altar
the icons balance balls
juggle words as disciples type
the movements are connected
failure to type the right words
cause balls drop and explode
out comes pain in bear drool
rarely catch wrath for reason
sometimes the bears awake
to skin the hide of a disciple
laughing as they keep the balls
balanced
it is the living in fear of pain
that snakes sorrow into the bone
yet sometimes in the evening the spirit
of the bear moves the people
the spirit that taught hard work
and rough love
biting and tearing
watering the eyes with carnivore's breath
it's motive is to make you better, stonger
never a victim for the world
it moves the people
with charm, jungle accent and mastery of story
diciples roll in the isles
in that moment all the blood shed seems
too little a price to pay
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-4 Safe Landings
A truck driver yelled
something about a plane
from the gridlock.
I thought about safe landings
and precautionary provisions
and geese. Every journey
is hemmed with coins
tossing in our sleep.
I shop flight fares anyway
because too much of me
is stretched fingers through
a net.
A truck driver yelled
something about a plane
from the gridlock.
I thought about safe landings
and precautionary provisions
and geese. Every journey
is hemmed with coins
tossing in our sleep.
I shop flight fares anyway
because too much of me
is stretched fingers through
a net.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
16
This is an epic poem.
No pen, no breakfast.
---------------------------
oft from the mooson region
of the Bear King's Temple
is the Temple of the Tree Goddess
this Temple is mother
it grows were no tree would
out of rock, in the snow
the leaves suck up the little sun
and splay the light a million times
back into the world
the fruit is well and nourishing
but every piece you take
axes the trunk
and turns a branch grey
put your ear to it
and hear the childhood games
the youth that died in the
sapling transition
a tree is truth
the sorrow is she choose a bear
because it was in the family way
here I pick up scars
knowing that my origin is profit of an ill union
having no clear love example
This is an epic poem.
No pen, no breakfast.
---------------------------
oft from the mooson region
of the Bear King's Temple
is the Temple of the Tree Goddess
this Temple is mother
it grows were no tree would
out of rock, in the snow
the leaves suck up the little sun
and splay the light a million times
back into the world
the fruit is well and nourishing
but every piece you take
axes the trunk
and turns a branch grey
put your ear to it
and hear the childhood games
the youth that died in the
sapling transition
a tree is truth
the sorrow is she choose a bear
because it was in the family way
here I pick up scars
knowing that my origin is profit of an ill union
having no clear love example
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-5
Five is a tin star, a female body, a beginning
held in raised hands. At five the known
world is a glass globe blown
from mother's lips.
Count by fives then, between us,
in a closet full of dresses rattle white, dark,
blue coathanger shadows.
Five is a cartoon family, a trump hand, Authority
splaying her legs over some man's chest
until he sleeps.
Five is a tin star, a female body, a beginning
held in raised hands. At five the known
world is a glass globe blown
from mother's lips.
Count by fives then, between us,
in a closet full of dresses rattle white, dark,
blue coathanger shadows.
Five is a cartoon family, a trump hand, Authority
splaying her legs over some man's chest
until he sleeps.
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-6
Six is a shooter, barrel spinning silver
glints, struck flint and boom!
Spanned arms and legs point to the corners
of the universe as the two heads war
pulling you sideways: a crab with two directions
that walks too far from the sea, baking
on pavement that still smells like the fishblood
washed from the store front at sunset.
Six is Da Vinci's man spread like the anticipation
of a clap. Six is your low-rise jeans and fur
on your belly, innocent but for its arrowshaft
pointing to opposite crowns.
Six is a shooter, barrel spinning silver
glints, struck flint and boom!
Spanned arms and legs point to the corners
of the universe as the two heads war
pulling you sideways: a crab with two directions
that walks too far from the sea, baking
on pavement that still smells like the fishblood
washed from the store front at sunset.
Six is Da Vinci's man spread like the anticipation
of a clap. Six is your low-rise jeans and fur
on your belly, innocent but for its arrowshaft
pointing to opposite crowns.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
--------
the motor is running but no one is home
afraid
what if it has too many typos
still high from the epidural
the birth took place in the electronic sea
had the illustrated lover cover
wet nurse
finger scared from the cutting up the
sections in the mirror C?
in the end it's done
"For Lack of Better Words" birthed
please excuse
the after smell and help me keep
those sea gulls at bay
lulu.com/content/2054173
the motor is running but no one is home
afraid
what if it has too many typos
still high from the epidural
the birth took place in the electronic sea
had the illustrated lover cover
wet nurse
finger scared from the cutting up the
sections in the mirror C?
in the end it's done
"For Lack of Better Words" birthed
please excuse
the after smell and help me keep
those sea gulls at bay
lulu.com/content/2054173
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-7 Tongue Byte
The drawn curtain frames us even though
we aren't standing close together. Even though
we don't stare too long or touch
after greeting. We wait to seek
the other ear, to whisper
excited confessions, our breaths
soft over our teeth,
then faster, almost whistling
the names we chose until they speed
to light. Even now
as I shut my eyelid to hold
the vision of us in one frame,
The columns become styrofoam again
and I am just a woman with a desk
full of envelopes and too few stamps
but what remains is the thrum
of palm on drum. The drum is my belly
and your palm falls there still,
like fruit to earth.
The drawn curtain frames us even though
we aren't standing close together. Even though
we don't stare too long or touch
after greeting. We wait to seek
the other ear, to whisper
excited confessions, our breaths
soft over our teeth,
then faster, almost whistling
the names we chose until they speed
to light. Even now
as I shut my eyelid to hold
the vision of us in one frame,
The columns become styrofoam again
and I am just a woman with a desk
full of envelopes and too few stamps
but what remains is the thrum
of palm on drum. The drum is my belly
and your palm falls there still,
like fruit to earth.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
17
This is an epic poem.
Back to fucking business. Which is completely different than the business of fucking.
--------
How do I destroy the temples of my makers?
Do I need to?
if I leave them standing
I will always have to pay tribute
subscribe to every law in their holy books
I let go of fear so I'm not afraid to spill blood
but I let go of rage so there goes my
Samson option
draw a circle in the dirt
around each holy place
make an icarus back pack
of bear fur and tree leaves
flight has always scared me in dreams
I can't remember how I made it into the sky
but once there
it's easy as the breeze
whistling through a dead log
the tools borrowed from the temples failed
after the first foot high
up and up til the sun could
make a trophy of the skin
pop out my eyes
set them on top of the circles
sun, eyes, temple in circles
a space man could view
alingnment from other stars
before the burn
the temples smoke at first
then sweat ash like pop corn
At the bear temple
the maidens and sibling disciples
flee aflame
the temple sat on a gas line
that ran through a fault
a decade worth of fire works
it would be a movie
cept there's no slo-mo
The tree on the other hand
burns just enough to melt
the snow wilts with the water
then oozes cause its a rubber tree
on the ground I cool the rock
from the bear temple
the hardest imperitive
I collect easter Island totems
tie them with the melted tree
the flexibal spirit that will never be lost
the brand new temple of me
floats just behind my head
it will only ever have one worshipper.
This is an epic poem.
Back to fucking business. Which is completely different than the business of fucking.
--------
How do I destroy the temples of my makers?
Do I need to?
if I leave them standing
I will always have to pay tribute
subscribe to every law in their holy books
I let go of fear so I'm not afraid to spill blood
but I let go of rage so there goes my
Samson option
draw a circle in the dirt
around each holy place
make an icarus back pack
of bear fur and tree leaves
flight has always scared me in dreams
I can't remember how I made it into the sky
but once there
it's easy as the breeze
whistling through a dead log
the tools borrowed from the temples failed
after the first foot high
up and up til the sun could
make a trophy of the skin
pop out my eyes
set them on top of the circles
sun, eyes, temple in circles
a space man could view
alingnment from other stars
before the burn
the temples smoke at first
then sweat ash like pop corn
At the bear temple
the maidens and sibling disciples
flee aflame
the temple sat on a gas line
that ran through a fault
a decade worth of fire works
it would be a movie
cept there's no slo-mo
The tree on the other hand
burns just enough to melt
the snow wilts with the water
then oozes cause its a rubber tree
on the ground I cool the rock
from the bear temple
the hardest imperitive
I collect easter Island totems
tie them with the melted tree
the flexibal spirit that will never be lost
the brand new temple of me
floats just behind my head
it will only ever have one worshipper.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
18
This is an epic poem.
Almost home but the lights look strange in the dark.
-------------------------
"On a man made lake there's a sheet of thin ice
where unskilled skaters couldn't figure eight twice."
- The Genius
Across my mind
looking for a way out
a frozen lake, sandwich
mist and lonely bird song
it seems solid enough but
my first step draws cracks
and splits the body
the cool blood comes up
licking at me threatening to
love away heat
in the short sights of the curling moisture
a figure, I know it at once as the blue
thing from the cell
the vessel for bad memories
the engine of tears
fear sees me and turns to fish
a school disappearing in the deep
can't leave without it
with fear comes caution
with caution comes the instinct to dodge
without logic
can't let fear over ride logic
but simply listen to it quicken the heart
pay attention when adrenalin cowboys
ride blood vessels
how do I catch a school of fear?
fish have pressure sensitive bodies
practiced in the swift shift direction
every step I take toward them
moves them leagues away
This is an epic poem.
Almost home but the lights look strange in the dark.
-------------------------
"On a man made lake there's a sheet of thin ice
where unskilled skaters couldn't figure eight twice."
- The Genius
Across my mind
looking for a way out
a frozen lake, sandwich
mist and lonely bird song
it seems solid enough but
my first step draws cracks
and splits the body
the cool blood comes up
licking at me threatening to
love away heat
in the short sights of the curling moisture
a figure, I know it at once as the blue
thing from the cell
the vessel for bad memories
the engine of tears
fear sees me and turns to fish
a school disappearing in the deep
can't leave without it
with fear comes caution
with caution comes the instinct to dodge
without logic
can't let fear over ride logic
but simply listen to it quicken the heart
pay attention when adrenalin cowboys
ride blood vessels
how do I catch a school of fear?
fish have pressure sensitive bodies
practiced in the swift shift direction
every step I take toward them
moves them leagues away
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-8 small poem on liberation
The quest for equality contains within it the assuption
that everyone wants to sit at the table of privilege,
knees tucked under white table cloths.
Liberation is not equality. It is the right to strike
one's own notes in the song
of this nation's history.
The quest for equality contains within it the assuption
that everyone wants to sit at the table of privilege,
knees tucked under white table cloths.
Liberation is not equality. It is the right to strike
one's own notes in the song
of this nation's history.
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-9
No I wasn't born yet for LBJ but I could
commiserate over how Carter got a bum rap
and how kids these days
forget the imaginings once thought inherent
to childhood. But today the city was jubilant,
strangers laughing and flirting and all invention
of personal grace or public policy seemed
only a glove space away.
Still the dead of Iraq do not sleep. Still
there is work ahead, but yes,
let's exchange emails.
No I wasn't born yet for LBJ but I could
commiserate over how Carter got a bum rap
and how kids these days
forget the imaginings once thought inherent
to childhood. But today the city was jubilant,
strangers laughing and flirting and all invention
of personal grace or public policy seemed
only a glove space away.
Still the dead of Iraq do not sleep. Still
there is work ahead, but yes,
let's exchange emails.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
19
This is an epic poem.
One day in the rear view it will be just another blot of ink.
-------------
chase fear across the lake
jumping from berg to berg
a false move on the ice
arms windmill trying to prevent the
head long dive to no avail
I know the water is cold
but it burns
feel extremities shutting down
blood vessels get "go no" signs
carrying needles of ice back to the heart
the last sleep is coming
my body curls but
eyes fight the closing of the curtain
the temple of me comes close
scratches my skin with lessons of the bear
I grow white fur, my nose stretches
and my nails take a deadly length
father's beatings gift me thick skin
swimming is clumsy with blubber
swipes at fear fish bloom bubbles
biting at my prey springs jaw
forcing nod
the only answer for frustration is to relax
float backward looking up a the sky
wonder if the sun still exists in this mist
hit my head on a sharp ice rock
curse the word as I rub with closed eyes
when I open them a lonely fish is right
in front of my face,
Of course, I'd been fishing with out bait
at the bottom of the lake
there is a spring, this is the well of pain
every bubble that comes forth is printed with a memory
the fish swarm my head
pleading "stay away from that badness"
paying no attention I sit on the lake floor
watching movies that fuel nightmares
I take a claw and cut my belly open
just bellow the heart
it's slow work but the claws are long enough
old woe and new blood mix in the deep
lovers on a dance floor
the fish can't resist such a meal
they chew into my stomach
I close the flappy smile
looping claws to make sitches
the fish panic exploding in every direction
sucking lips threaten every organ
as long as my heart keeps
I tell it to beat hot,
I tell it to beat the drums of making love
of racing to victory
cold water fish crystalize in the furnace
a tinkling minajury
sings and burns the ventricles ever time a shed a tear
This is an epic poem.
One day in the rear view it will be just another blot of ink.
-------------
chase fear across the lake
jumping from berg to berg
a false move on the ice
arms windmill trying to prevent the
head long dive to no avail
I know the water is cold
but it burns
feel extremities shutting down
blood vessels get "go no" signs
carrying needles of ice back to the heart
the last sleep is coming
my body curls but
eyes fight the closing of the curtain
the temple of me comes close
scratches my skin with lessons of the bear
I grow white fur, my nose stretches
and my nails take a deadly length
father's beatings gift me thick skin
swimming is clumsy with blubber
swipes at fear fish bloom bubbles
biting at my prey springs jaw
forcing nod
the only answer for frustration is to relax
float backward looking up a the sky
wonder if the sun still exists in this mist
hit my head on a sharp ice rock
curse the word as I rub with closed eyes
when I open them a lonely fish is right
in front of my face,
Of course, I'd been fishing with out bait
at the bottom of the lake
there is a spring, this is the well of pain
every bubble that comes forth is printed with a memory
the fish swarm my head
pleading "stay away from that badness"
paying no attention I sit on the lake floor
watching movies that fuel nightmares
I take a claw and cut my belly open
just bellow the heart
it's slow work but the claws are long enough
old woe and new blood mix in the deep
lovers on a dance floor
the fish can't resist such a meal
they chew into my stomach
I close the flappy smile
looping claws to make sitches
the fish panic exploding in every direction
sucking lips threaten every organ
as long as my heart keeps
I tell it to beat hot,
I tell it to beat the drums of making love
of racing to victory
cold water fish crystalize in the furnace
a tinkling minajury
sings and burns the ventricles ever time a shed a tear
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
3-10
I've known plenty of fish
none of them wearing glasses
and let me tell you
they are tired
of sushi.
The fish I know want equity--
consideration for their trials.
I've known plenty of fish
none of them wearing glasses
and let me tell you
they are tired
of sushi.
The fish I know want equity--
consideration for their trials.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
20
This is an epic poem.
My brother call women fish. He's gay.
-----------------
wake on a different shore
the sea of fear behind me
the beach
black sand
volcanic rocks
looking closer broken things
charred to coal
late dinner smashed against the wall
a kicked cactus
clocks of all standards
friends, lovers, saints
good jobs lots to spitting on the boss
enemies and opportunity
everything comes here to die
to burn in the in the light of something
true, I'll need that waste to continue
in the distance the mountain is still blooming
I realizing drifting down on me is ash
the soul of the world
feet point toward destruction and the mont
This is an epic poem.
My brother call women fish. He's gay.
-----------------
wake on a different shore
the sea of fear behind me
the beach
black sand
volcanic rocks
looking closer broken things
charred to coal
late dinner smashed against the wall
a kicked cactus
clocks of all standards
friends, lovers, saints
good jobs lots to spitting on the boss
enemies and opportunity
everything comes here to die
to burn in the in the light of something
true, I'll need that waste to continue
in the distance the mountain is still blooming
I realizing drifting down on me is ash
the soul of the world
feet point toward destruction and the mont
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