poetry critical

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The breeze. The breeze!

I don't see, I hear what is heard
as said, and all truth
is truth vanquished with every unfurled
word. Tongue flapping out.
The breeze. The breeze!
You have said to me a sorry,
I have caught it in my headlights, swerved.
Drunk a glass of wine,
and thought I was on fire.
And roughly, soundly, smoothly
I have brought to you my lips
and uttered nothing.
Severed us from truth, us;
now like tongues tasting
sweet freedom.

31 Mar 08

Rated 10 (10) by 2 users.
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grazing on the grass of glorious poetry.
 — unknown

Ah Mr. Shifter, perhaps it is true that where you once had a heart is now but a globular mass.
for sure, for sure.

goodnight my good tinman.

 — unknown

I guess you guys are even more limp than my perpetually limp dick.
 — friedMnoodle

Yep, i guessed right.
 — friedMnoodle

...and the wind cries mary...
...joseph...and jesus freaks...

tasty severe truth savored...
togue-to-toungue never
wanting to be severed...
: )
 — fractalcore

 — fried2noodle

 — unknown