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* l u d a c i o u s *

curve into depth delve
cup run sliver trap
a clever waisted
hip machine
from chrome stud
rivets on shallow
prudish pockets

plucked bow eyes
a sweet summer
haze
and a shimmer glaze
of down upon the
goosebump dervish
swirl of candy brown
hair adressed
attested
from the clubshoppe
dubstep motorhome
city clones

on her heels the lift
bounce jittery jam
that gyrates on
jiggle limbed
tone death on geriatric
jones

cause keeping it up
is a precious biz
when its strut glam
jiz

and the soft ray lava
light blows from a mercurys
shimmering brake light
chrome

for in the morning
on an arm forgotten
waking up
with her make up
the hot sun throne
crowns her mantle
sheen

breath deep the
severance morn
a savage dark
shall tender love
like hearts and stars
on autumn bark

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Comments

you go into mother nature and how beauty is there
I guess I am blind when I'm compared with the naturalists.

I especially liked
in the morning
on an arm forgotten
waking up
with her make up
the hot sun throne
crowns her mantle
sheen

❤❤❤❤❤❤

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

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the romantics...,under the trees the old feudal villagers gather..their mandolins their voices
the daily impromptu of it...like neo is....for me its a rest.....of all i see and exchange or ache for
or occur here in my life...naturalists just study the forest....like stricter versions of those that
just see green...this plant smells when you break it here.this one has thorns that will sting.
this one is pleasant when its leaves are crushed.the smell..the textures of them in passing
with the dog.....i had a book given to me and i couldnt concentrate.....but afterwhile i could
find these plants...there are years of teaching for this kind of thing for those gifted and those
gifted who can follow properly...sadly im not good at anything...

not even love...most of these are fiction...but they are as realistic as hopeful fiction
i would rather live in this fiction anyway.....

arm forgotten meaning i the poet is forgotten

dazzle....repetition....hypnotic..

cyclic
pattern recognition
homelands
songs
ritual

delay

over and over to keep repeating
be it hopesoutcome
wars outcome
anything

like snowflakes.
only a short time the human eye can
focus on this landing
blustery its hard..
but i love them
stand there transfixed
wlalking the dog at night
coming home from work
or meeting .chore run to
stores in cold..
long distances..streets
not a compact village
town city in spots..
stretched out..
tons of streetlights
its like a police state
because its a hub here
anyway...

watch the snowflakes fall
never ever tire of this..
like one song..labrynth ear navy light....
for some reason i got hooked to it...
her voice...the echo...

maybe they all just wanted to reach me
somehow..
they all said i was lost
in some way or another
the edge kare kare keeps saying

maybe i dont care

maybe there is more....
ifeel there is...

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