| Carefully crafted Romantic balder-dash |


Passing OnGOD I hope I live longPassing On
enough to pass.
Dying sounds
so terrible. So unpleasant to drown
in a river. To be stabbed
by a switchbacked
blade held in my own hands
or any other.
I'd much rather
sift pleasantly into sleep.
An obituary
listing me seventy would be plenty.
To dim, glaucoma
dripping in an octogenarian's
eyes. Yes,
I'd like that and I think that would be fine.


MarriageWhile my birthsign tells me to marry an ox my zodiac wouldMarriage
have me propose to another Aquarian (my first girlfriend being a Taurus, which of course
was a bad signal for us). My
lawyer advises me not to marry
young, as do my parents and
my friends. My mother, specifically,
wanted me to wait for the right one and my father says I should never
marry another deadbeat painter. Me? Well now you know who
I wanted to be with, but you didn't like that very much
did you?


Fruit TreeIf I could sell my soul I would, ifFruit Tree
asked to dip the knife into my blood.
If I could will a reckoning I would, if forced to grip the tightened, Cronus' glove.
If I could call my body forth, wooden broken frame, ask how it stood, I'm sure that it could tell
me how it fell.


Theory of MindWikipedia wants me to believe in stubbing my toe which, for them, is the only properTheory of Mind
definition for pain Furthermore, it is thoroughly
interested in Rene Descartes' now disproven concept
of "pain pathways."
Unrelated in that same article
appears a rough-hewn
portrait of the man, proponing it seems, his dual
contention that our fluids contract
via animal spirits, and that the beasts feel this not,
being lesser.


there’s a drawing room...there’s a drawing room hidden inside my right pinky. I go there sometimes when I can’t sleep. I have found all I have to do is bring some peaches and imagine I have a red hat on and it will let me in. I realize that this is where I keep my poetry, and where I kept that poem I wrote in my dream, which I thought I had lost. It turns out it was bad, anyway, but it was dripping with honey so I licked it and stored it away under my left middle toe. that is my storage closet.there’s a drawing room...
my soul is located in the back of my right knee. I visit when I can and talk to it through high freque


A Poet's PrerogativeI hate poets that rhyme for the sake of rhyme. As if, to think up better prose, would take them too much time; and if they can't think of words that will complete their line, they'll just write down anything. Red 'No Entry' Sign.A Poet's Prerogative
They should respect the poets of the nation and include some variation; use a bit more imagination, instead of rhyming so badly. Paddington Train Station.
Their creative minds are coated with rust, and keep to the pattern, they simply must. They think they've got this writing thing sussed, but they really havn't. Now I shall self-combust.
| I joined DA in 2005. I don't like most of the changes that the site has made. I write prose, fiction and biography, as well as poetry. |
Artists who do not want to be criticized need not make art - for what is art but the artists' criticism of others?
--
Harmonize your inward and your outward life, and you soul will know no bounds of joy.
It undermines any praise.
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Harmonize your inward and your outward life, and you soul will know no bounds of joy.
I'm bored.
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one half of *ZombiesAteUs
--
Harmonize your inward and your outward life, and you soul will know no bounds of joy.
--
Founder of #Inked-Page | Staff for #LITplease
Literature Judge: I am NOT for Sale
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Harmonize your inward and your outward life, and you soul will know no bounds of joy.
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