Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.
In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.
Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.
It is often said that what sets Shakespeare apart is his ability to illuminate the workings of the soul and so on, and he does that superbly, goodness knows, but what really characterizes his work - e...
History doesn’t start with a tall building
I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.
I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)
I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.
Starlight beats when heart twinklesYouthful sky beyond cloudy wrinklesMuse of glory to flame the nightVerse inscribed as written light
Poems are invisible flowers on my skin.
For every moment of suffering,Others will arriveThat will instead pierce you with joy.
If lighthouse becomes a burning candle, flickered upon ocean's insanity.Your sailing heart there anchors to handle the obsessed breeze towards sand dune's vanity.
I feel your words on my lipsand feel your mood in my hips
Ourchestra:So you haven't got a drum, just beat your belly.So I haven't got a horn-I'll play my nose.So we haven't any cymbals-We'll just slap our hands together,And though there may be orchestrasThat...
That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’.
True poetry is embarrassing.
She was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.
She was broken from moment to moment, watching her world collide she felt lost inside herself. She fell apart for a passion that flamed beneath her. She waited and died a hundred times, it dripped fro...
Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?
all people start tocome apart finallyand there it is:just empty ashtrays in a roomor wisps of hair on a combin the dissolving moonlight.
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