The first thing you should know is that I dont write poetry.
This is because it comes too naturally when I put down a pen
Too rough. Lurid
Disjointed
Liable
To speak of children at threepenny stores, bees
Swirling murmuring in sticky heat, stinging stinging as they die.
Half thoughts
Not quite surfaced
Not quite dead.
I often find that when I attempt to flow naturally
(and everyone will tell you to sing)
I overrun my streambeds
Soak
The neighboring populace
I regret it when I wake --
Therefore I do not run wild.
Except
When
I
am
alone or
lost















Comments
--
An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
"I overrun my streambeds
Soak
The neighboring populace"
your wordplay seems to sprout out of a broken fire hydrant. it's truly deserving of recognition, congratulations.
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
And I love poems that get smaller
--
Don't blame me.
I'm just here for the cookies.
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