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like a fender crushed
an impact
shook off

lift the volume
inhale a drone
a dearth of muse
bequeath the pallid
stickiness of a sickness
up the bones
like a lightning
strike far off
and distance
lit diffused
like a hot sucked
caught on
the ledge of a sneer
dangerous and
and travelled
the colour
of gravel
in hair slept
on leather

a mascara
like a found
the formulations
of fuel
for revolutionary
and rejection
from cannon
and horsehair

the dusk
the violent
a broken

and the shattered
hills lay to the
born moon
past midnight
the frequencies
of all the seekers
the redemption
and seers

Editing stage: 


This piece has been in the desert for a few weeks now.
Your first words, Bent existentialism, I was looking for a philosophy starting out as an object of human feeling and expanding into the unknown.
Your piece sent the unknown far too quickly, this has to be read time and time again to ring the objectivity into the minds eye.
I had to smile as I use a piece of cane in one of the drawers in the sitting room to scratch any itch I cannot reach and your title seemed to fit the bill, S K R A T C H S T I X but the search engine brought up:-
· T r e m o r S p l i t t e r · Pocket Orgasm.
Oh well I have read and reported back I wish others would read more and learn to comment mine seem so vague most times.
Yours Ian.T

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

you should have mentioned the desert wind
that's me Ian


perhaps too faint....I shall keep writing
more simplistic works with more oompa
to them......I value your comments
Ian they are insight and perspection
today I am able to read through them
..I will return to this again in future..

Thank You!

author comment

your poetry
be it a feeling of the things you perceive
or a way that others cannot see
It only matters that you know of those things
There you have to be true to your own self
No simplification of your words
as they drift on the dreams of time
To talk to you young Wolf
I have to drift off to part of your world
that is shown to me.
The Elders bless their hearts
Have awful trouble making me see all things
Yet I still ask them to show me
There in the dim light of a sun
Shines their wisdom
It transposes worlds and ways.
I have touched the Dream think
of the Aboriginal way
Then others that are hidden
deep in others ways.
You seem to be on the border,
where the light is diffused
Hanging as the northern lights in curtains
Interwoven at the will of energy
There on the Earth is that lone wolf
that can reach to the heart of stars
Yet once again held in the arms of Gaia.
I am glad that you can see some of my ways
One day or just at eventide
When the Chinook wind
drifts across the face of the land.
There you will see me, as we really are.
A spirit held in a frail form
Destined to struggle momentarily
Still held with the beauty of for ever.
Eternities held too long where spirits meet.
What else can I say to you out there.
I spoke to you when you were having coffee
The window of the cafe was a little misted
Your eyes could only see a short distance
If only you had looked inward young Wolf.
This will give you more of an insight
To the things I feel as I move
Now Gaia is holding me fast
as I must rest for a while..
Yours as always, Ian.T

Might be certified one day LOL

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

If I was asked to describe your poetry I would say it is a masterpiece of abstract work! You have so many wonderful phrases and vivid imagery!

I find with your poetry I have to step back and see it from different perspectives. ( It's the kind of poetry that needs to be read more than once ). All the colours and shapes blend into a work of art.

Love your creativity.

Love Mand xxxx

I read you
just because I feel
I have to


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