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pANORAMA--orient--atE

Sliver under ilness
and ugly prettiless
a penny
loathing

ruin of fingerprints
on discarded funn
a house with wax
witch wonderlens

we baked our yore
voristic need
a bulb flickering
the chimes
tingling

a cardboard world
sagging
with memories
curling

delving trickle madness
lit up alight
spoons
heat
boiling
sate

the dream dribble
on satin
paint

dont say you
hate

smeared
like a dream
the shifting
world
tearing
paper walls
lurid

flicker
lash

silk in seasons

there
is
new
reason

..

Editing stage: 

Comments

Usually I get a strong sense of your poetry but not o much with this one. Nonetheless your words are gems.
I hope you like the reading
https://soundcloud.com/jess-tapper/panorama-orient-ate-by-esker

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

like before its some kind of thing im just working away at.
i realize i was an artist...that i conceptualize like many here
...experimental work in progress....i have too....im doing this
in life and my poetry..my art here relfects this for sure..

im sounding out words like musicians who can play intuitively
feel the sound of notes..an ideal formed and searched worked..
if i knew music by book or art by book it would be different
the years it would have taken to get here would have been
shortened....but then the flavour of it..the bizarreness of
them lately would have been lost...because i would have
lost this surrealness that keeps me out there .and strangely
grounded...its like a blindness so i cant see that im making
something incorreclty...kind of like drawing a picture without
looking at the paper...im not great mind..i just stubbornly
keep at this....

thank you

author comment

and it works, my friend, it works.

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

i use it for my smartphone to listen to music on the seven kilometer walk across our city..
a nice walk..our topography here in winter has many roads..rail and trails that people
keep open...but the long cord designed for a tower app instead of draped over my
neck...caught on everthing slowly fallng apart or deconstructing like my form here
until it stops and i have to extend money and purpose and obtain a new form ..a new
head set with microphone....i can solder it..but i dont have the electric gun ..yet..
dilemna there...the typewriter is working...enough..jumps on return a touch..needs
a newer ribbon but just works...the headhphones same...my xbox in hock..my shoes
fallen apart..my aviator rugged worn like a fifty mission scene...im writing like im
battled and beaten weary too..keys hit wrong at night ..my one eye only works
for reading now..like an old truck with one tricky light...i still got one.. still good for
distance....and thus this poem..tired..looking through my attic and basement
psyche space mumbling..talking aloud like some street visionary or doomspeak
tour guide broadcasting open mic on the stroll.....got nice place...will i make it
on return to land...politics and all.....even a poet i gotta have some grace...
bukowski.s return letter to his job as postman is classic redemption plea
to the magistrate of the man......which ive been to a few times....

glad you liked it! Weirdelf!

author comment
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