When standing in a garden of profundity
everything loses it's meaning...
and when stopping
to smell the
chromatic wisdoms
you are lost in the
overwhelming field
of academic poppies
causing you drift to sleep.
Alone and snoring.
Caught in the overflow of
delusions and allusions
and exclusions and illusions.
Transfusions of the bloodless
inability to translate what is gone.
Words elude you.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
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Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
Poets United Contributor
You are a garden of profundity.
ReplyDeleteThree cheers for Noam Chomsky!
lol, jk...
aw, I'm Noam Chomsky!?! ;)
ReplyDelete