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The first thing you should know is that I don’t 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
©2009 ~Sraiya
:iconsraiya:

Author's Comments

entry for =Scarlettletters Magical Muse Contest.

Comments


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:iconscarlettletters:
Thanks for a great entry!

--
An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
:iconthetaoofchaos:
this is fantastic. it really blew me to oblivion and back.

"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
:iconsraiya:
thank you and glad you like it! those lines are my favorites, too :)
:iconblueskye27:
You've been featured here. Congratulations on the contest! :heart:
:iconotherwise-duck:
fantastic. i really love this.
:iconsraiya:
thanks so much!
:iconjane-d0e:
The flow so broken it's brilliant.
And I love poems that get smaller :)
:iconeatingmyownfears:
congrats! Lovely poem :love:

--
Don't blame me.

I'm just here for the cookies.

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May 19
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