| As you can probably tell, I've been writing. Alot. |


it's not about me, dear.There is no truer love than mine - the catacombs of reverence divine with golden, gilded, splendid ripe anticipationit's not about me, dear.
of an adoration multiplied that clear fixation magnified - tenfold
by the beat of an unsteady heart.
That faithless, lecherous, parasitic organ. It rests within this cavity, an empty exoskeleton directed -
pulled by gravity -
towards a true-love-less abyss: that pure, angelic airlessness rotating around the son. The son of one, or two, or perhaps four. A generation score or more. &n
Skyriver

Spinning Cobwebs:Write a dragon. Put your words behind its teeth,Spinning Cobwebs:
lay them in rows across its back. Put your fire in its lungs, on its tinder-tongue.
Stack your ideas together,
and build a fortress as hard as a skull.
Scribble yourself onto pages, lie the perimeter of the room, and make-believe yourself into a corner.
Invent phrases like shiny new machines: user-friendly.
Pour out your heart and your soul, into a bowl and a jug; feed one to the chickens, and the other to the dogs.
Write a dragon.
Tell the world some


Contents of Poppa's GardenWatermelon juice runs down my fingers as I scoop out the flesh with a teaspoon, mingling with the soil that came from the earth that yielded so many rewards like carrots.Contents of Poppa's Garden
My eyes are directed far into the distance, but perhaps only seeing backwards, into my mind, to see what I have there.
| As you can probably tell, I've been writing. Alot. |


Thoughts On My UterusIn a past life, I must have been a man. A chauvinist, at that. Or perhaps just an idiot, to deserve the curse of a uterus.Thoughts On My Uterus
Endometrium spasms are actually just monthly attempts at conversation: "Hello, just dropping by to remind you that you are shedding your uterine lining so that one day, oh my dear, nine months after a few moments of brief --oh yes, very brief, all too brief-- pleasure, you will have the added joy (and isn't it magical?) of forcibly expelling a screaming, seething, none-too-happy ball of human life from your cervix." &nbs


out of Gardenwhat sea how it is welling your eyes a wet messout of Garden
what tide where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes
stewarding the land instead is why i never set sail with you
but to lay in gardens, oh
a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet and our laps full of stars
what black soil will pervert your knees there where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth to run fanatic toward cosmic space after bathing in the space among us &nbs
Birds
--
STOP!
Hamster Time!
(\__/)
(#'.'#)
(")_(") <Rawr)
WOOOOAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
was that a mistake?
if it was, make more of 'em please
(ahh oh, spaghetti-os)
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
im a fool for typographical poems
--
"My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about,--
I had money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun."
--
You know, I still find you dashing
λΩλ
--
Shoot! . . . . the cows. 'Cuz they're sick.
--
Need a name? Ask me here.
If you found this helpful, and are a member, please let =RawEm0tion know!
Many thanks to =WeavingMagic for the icon! I lurves it.
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