all this yoga and all that jazz
culminate in symmetry.
strings attached or not,
rock bottom rock-solid.
E8? he ate wholly
with a figure 8 reclined,
no longer undefined,
save for proximity.
here's my excuse:
i'm pretty rusty from not being in-touch
with my inner voice or from being
dishonest at the tip of the pen.
this piece in particular reeks of 'prose' all over
and feels detached/alienated/empty.
please, critique me as harshly as you
can to bring me back to life.
teach me how to write right.
6 May 15
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Strong comeback, interesting imagery
*i'd like to be harsh as needed.
your poetry is either on its zenith state or your conciousnes is. you don't want this to go stale, do you?
i just had the craziest 6 month dream...
try ( gotta add an intro or isabelle will delete my crit-poem )
yoga and jazz
culminate in symmetry --
strings in symphony,
buddah and beasties.
double-nut, dopper gangs,
eat my confession.
raped my repression.
... something where you're making a song enough that you get out of prosing. then, just singing that song where ever it goes for you.