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f u l f i l m e n d

dark as starlings
lean tiny against
the giant days
the gaunt bed
with its night remains
the television dream

copulations of stars
like grams fired
the water rising
in a gurgling world
overflowing capacities
crawling like silver
flesh in the shaded
contours of carpet
the waxed nicotine
yawl of time
scratched like a trapped
menthols from the
sunshades pack

a valve closed
the water hollow
in fears breath
cold and barren
the drips like
shinning like
wayward stars

you clung to me
walking heel less
i was helpless
and the yearning
fell like years
kisses like drips
in the mundane

Editing stage: 


some things are just perfect here like

''the television dream''
''crawling like silver''
''menthols from the
sunshades pack''
''shinning like
wayward stars''

and this of course

''you clung to me
walking heel less
i was helpless
and the yearning
fell like years
kisses like drips
in the mundane

sorry for taking only pieces
I like the whole poem
though these verses
are just perfect

I rarely want to change poems that are not mine
I just take them the way they are
just like this one

Maybe it's better to stay completely within
as fire hides in metal
as water hides in rock.

overflowing bath...the water crawling...happened a few times..
but in this case its a metaphor...tub is representative of the
grief...the outpouring of feelings continous..but a stoppage..
the overwhelming diverse in its manifestations...

sunshade....i mean a car in this one..sunvisor..was what
i meant to write ..but i write different...that came out..
but it could also just be...a hat band...awning like a porch
like some tall people do..or standing in a doorway against
the heat of sun.or rain..or just to be out of the way..
not in the open...

wayward stars...i wanted to write falling..but thats easiest
an simple....wayward is what i am feeling these days..
my head and heart caught up in so many places and
i feel the depression and sadness...more then a blues
feeling..more real then my usual...which is good..

in writing this to you ..i think i understand something..
"i wanted to write falling" and im very tired right and i took trip on trails..played in woods
all was great! keeps us in shape and our
mind off the ordinary troubles like everybody has..
maybe i wanted to write.."feeling"
stars...they are the bright muse to look up at
or ponder at in the morning.....delight to see
a falling or shooting star..wonder for me still..
another month here we have the meteor
shower....summer is going fast...but its good.

wayward feelings like a railroad siding
must go slower...must wait...
wayward road...a slower..more difficult

almost like waylaid..oh dear!

"you clung to me walking heel less.
I was helpless.."

removal of formal dress...less formal
more intimate..comfortable
helpless...feeling that intimacy
wanting that closeness far as the stars

"kisses like drips
in the mundane atmosphere"

the sigh..the heaviness. density
like a shower....a bathroom
a ready room for passing..
the familiarity of formality
always there..but never
the moment
and when it comes

its as abstract
as the prepared kisses
in the mirror for lipstick
or the false kiss
on napkin
or mirror ...
a visual cue that lasts
something more mythology

its also mundane...

like..oh there it is...
and the atmosphere
is thus...charged
full of density like winter air..
sated with mists sometimes..

i have never really written in
an intimate manner...
but i do feel helpless sometimes
or most...

i tend to care for a lot of people..
selfishly..but i do contribute
much to the cause....

maybe thats the wayward
an intimacy without the
intamacy and the poetry
becomes the mythology

i suppose if i wasnt a poet
i could be a proper romantic
but then i would not be here..

thank you

author comment

I agree with Emina, this poem needs no changes. It's perfect. Regards Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

writing in an abstract enough manner
and personal manner to the reader that they
may own the poem without the poets
persona all over the wording...

personally i think im just maturing as a writer
and in real life.....much humility lately..
and fighting all of it all the way...

maybe this is the cost what im writing..
by not backing down or stepping forward

i live instead like a dream in the poem
and share it here...

thank you

author comment

In your stream of consciousness writings...outpourings even....there is a perfection in language that humbles me.

I read your pieces often. I search them out. I cling to their abstract scenes like a drowning wordsmith.

I'm fucking envious as hell...

You are the most 'romantic' of poets.


Ells x

watched fellini..but i didnt grow up with it..was not my culture..
eighties music...and late fifties books set..encyclopedia..
crips photos and layouts of the cruise america
which is in limbo somewhere...was old when i was a kid
but state of the art then....fairytales of near and far...and
the tons of the little flip books that had artwork.....portions
like that about facts that tie up today with u tube search..

the story books went mia long ago...beautiful watercolor
plates and illustrations......the poems in there were
fantastic too.....

when i knew i was going to have no math..when i knew
i had very much trouble in comprehension about the
simplistic gestures of questions...

roughly speaking it would be like finding out
you are color blind and wanting to be an
air traffic controller..
this actually happened to a chap i knew..

or a young girl who wanted to be a running
team member and found out she had addisons
a liability and something to be mindful of
and that was the end of her desire

everyone found other things..
but i knew the most important things
were missing...

strangely enough i got my intelligence
tested...i wanted to know if i was stupid
and for comprehension and something
else..visual anyway....
i was off the charts....

intuition i guess

so what does that leave me
not many options
ideals rather then joining

hardcore jobs..hardcore girls
smart girls though
and i loved their stories
like my sisters and mothers
voice..telling stories..

and i was the weird
out there dreamer
crashing systems
to make thing move
or halt.

love the manchester sound
so much stalls out
the crowd that can corner
and think faster
moved on..

like the pied piper
the lame are always
close to home
adapting and finding
a position

poetry was it..
to create these stories
like the ones i read
i wanted that..

Thank You

author comment
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