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By the unbeckoned farewell
Agonies etch
Each memory

Rent illusions
stroke the unscreamed need
Hair shirt caresses
Upon the canonized corpse

Hedonistic romance
Pregnant with flavour
Sin and corruption
Heralding ecstatic pleasures

Crosses burning
Fever pitched wails
Echo against goodbye

Taking the veil
Liberties price
Robed in vestments
To hide the bawl

Editing stage: 


I like your use of language, powerful yet not overbearing. The only line that confused me was the one beginning with "hair shirt." I was wondering what that meant but all in all I thought the idea flowed well and kept my attention. I like how it began softly and seemed to climax and then quiet down again toward the end. Very well written.

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

A good write but it did sound like a list of things that happen or things to do, just needs some badness in there and wider description of a few feelings, I had forgotten about the Hair shirt but as I don't move in religious circles it would have been shelved under not needed on voyage, lol.
This just needs a few fillers, Yours Ian.T..

PS:- For those that need to know of the shirt that I can't find anywhere, (old Joker's Saying)..
A cilice was originally a garment or undergarment made of coarse cloth or animal hair (a hair shirt) worn close to the skin.
It was used in some religious traditions to induce discomfort or pain as a sign of repentance and atonement.
Cilices were originally made from sackcloth or coarse animal hair so they would irritate the skin.
Other features were added to make cilices more uncomfortable, such as thin wires or twigs.
In modern religious circles it simply means any device worn for the same purposes.

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

face like a pixie...(a little tall for a "spinner"..but "Skinny")
hair cut like peter pans..
gold lame shirt...trousers..penny loafers
Fell in love..
Bathed in Clinique perfume
mascara large eyes..dark brows
I looked and still look like Kieth Richards
hair full of plaster dust Work boots
dress pants..Salvation Army dress shirt
and a long policemans black woolen
overcoat...Only winter clothes I had
Near xmas it was cold in our snow globe

we had one typewriter in her cramped stylized
apartment....chinese screen drywall screwed
across the large bedroom window...
tons of records...Bryan Ferry...David Bowie
Pink Floyd....we wrote..drinking Pernod and
Labatts Golden Ale..smoking cigarettes
too low light backdrop madness...
we Love/hate each we did then..
but have memories
a startling train wreck...
she was photogenic unlike I the ogre...
had tons of winter photos around abandoned

she introduced me to Sylvia Plath and bought
me Joy Division music....
we have one girl!
now mid artist
poet writer...

true story!

she was thirty and I was twenty four!

love is a terrible thing...

poetry is too stretch the mind and vocab
so much is now plastercined into social
acceptance..toe the liners...

these intellectuals I know
are not that type
sucessful yes...
she is.and haunted like I..

but she was brilliant
still is

actually she wrote better
poems then I first grooming
carefully taught me a lot...



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