

the empty medallionswordless grasses above a silent sea of night-entangled time a poem has grown wordless where a love of stone, old and mute climbs ledges above a silent doorway palpable as a maple moon an empty sea leaves a mind motionless in history and a winter of lights releases globed memory-silent and dumb and sleeve-worn casements equal time for true leaves should light the empty medallions and two old trees be as a doorwaythe empty medallions


MorningIts strange she said to think of her now getting older. I think of her then nineteen, and it so cold out.Morning
Time flies, said the boy in the yellow shirt looking up and we can only fly with it.
He went back to reading and she looked out a window.
I wonder if shes changed, she thought and how.


She Was Always WaitingThe heat was oppressive, even in January. At night I'd wander aimlessly around the house, stripped to my underclothes. The fans were always on, the incessant whirring a familiar background noise. It was cooler outside, of course, but inside it was like the house had been drinking the heat all day, sucking it up as if it stopped, even for a moment, the wood would crumble into dust. It was a Sylvia Plath heat, the hell fire of our discontent.She Was Always Waiting
I remember being attracted to her even then. The heat only seemed to intensify emotions. Lazily I drifted through the days, pulling my consciousness through curtains of humidity and all the wh
Sometimes the Skies Crack
Devious Comments
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everyone needs a bit of lincoln-on-lincoln action every now and again
Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
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Do What You Love.
Love What You Do.
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When people tell me "plz" just because it's shorter than "please", I feel perfectly justified to answer "no" because it's shorter than "yes".
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I'd Do me.
YOU wanna do me? [link]
thanks for adding my pic as a fave
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