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*.....>N i m B<....*

slim shake getter
the purple morning
is a room beneath your

the moon swallows
the dreams
against the width
of oval ovid true

immense this hue
the laugh a whisper
the lavendar theory
held broken in pockets

listerine and Tina

greyhound ghosts

curb the crisp helio lisp
while sun ignites your
crepuscular smile
we walked the magic mile
losing wavelengths
on magnetic tape

all those songs you
said you've come to hate

like love stained beds
and torn shirts

the quiet static
of forgotten mirth

(I lied I want you back!!)

Editing stage: 


The title kind of threw me off but the poem itself is spectacular with its rising and falling lines, swelling and ebbing, like the bosom filled with wanting, heaving with desire. The last parenthetical line sums it up quite decidedly, confirming what was building up, line after line, until its culminating & splendid line (or at least, I surmise) -- "the quiet static
of forgotten mirth"

Now I am wondering why this hasn't received a single response for a month.

'write on! let these words free.'

some flowers are not meant to pick
but to ponder and wander....

Like Jimsom Weed!!

thank You

author comment

not to be picked and yet they get picked on still,
some by malice filled critics who pontificate
and soak in the power that resided mainly in their imagination
and of course in the people of a brainwashed following.
Oh, but for the joy of gandering... off we wander, into a field of unpickable bloom!

'write on! let these words free.'

have not felt such a power
seen such a view in a long long time


I shall stay about longer...

If I doubted my works
I no longer shall!!

thank You!

author comment
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