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was there
hours drawn
in hot morality
an electric shunt
in mortal stunt
sheen of thigh
to knee brunt
of pressure
not a brush
laid slow
like a torque
the gentle pace
to a pulsing

caught eye
the sliver
through a dirty lens
like window thrust
astride the empty
clay lucidity
of the fall
autumn borne
crept impresario
down skin raised
like mesmers
magic a
skit of static

Editing stage: 


this could be a good example how science and literature are bound to each other in one way or another.
I can't claim I got the message, but wanted to know you've been read anyways.


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

Follow me

after the first morning fire up...
i re read these and dont know what it means..
i will have to write a meaning to this when i make them..
had something to do with something important..
but that was what..weeks..anypast a week and two and a half
days i get blanks..

just shuffling words..


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