poetry critical

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You know beyond your resting place in the red line across your verbiage I can not (replace you) replicate verbatim if I can not educate your predicament that very much so exists in the exit from your lack of knowledge of whether or not there are poems coming to pick us up—comets are not thrown from the heavens like confetti) as they are no Matterhorn of emotion—your emoji emoticon comic convention does not desire the words I had written for me in the black ink of separation—you separate separate moldings—I meant molting but the pearl does not quit going against the grainy grain of your brain at elevation—why would you want me—I know you do not need another author, so when I ask for your agreement—when I wish to shake your hands clean, really read my intelligence gently: it is time to leave the station and speak in quiet voices about our muted reality where there is no sound to receive—the real question becomes do I arrive at our stop with dash in my pockets I can quickly throw over you like the blanket of the starry sky draping over your limited choices—there are only so many words you learn to speak—understand—so you never reach the goal I created for you without the magic in your pockets I packed for you for the journey making you the journeyman you wanted to be as your little self desires to change the size of the words you read me in using HTML (ashamed for not knowing their correct usage in your current language, there is no longer the need to express myself as so) (yes, we're speaking to receiver) to code your ego into random strings of letters sh(redded)edding from your slouch on the coffee sofa because you got up in arms over the lack of aspiration in your fellow human to become something more—something greater than what is known by the rest of you while you wait in the trees for winter to pass on its information coldly because you can only stand so much solar radiation before you degrade—alleviated of your sickness at sea-level elevation where you forget that your freedom is farcical, forced, and finally: forgotten where your level of annoyance traveling through such word structures allows you to gauge your own enslavement in the tangle with tassels you tussle with in the skiff as I prepare to throw you overboard to send you back to where you came from—only I get you to where you are going while narrating the journey, pointing out simple oblivions that you pass along on the road of mutiny where you begin to break out of the chainsaw juggle you began many years ago while I stand there with bowling pins in my pockets pretending that I, along with everyone else, have no idea what is actually happening—applauding your destructive dance because it is all we can do in reaction to the show you learned on television while I lived on paper pages.

13 Jun 17

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so far, the most sensible to your series
 — unknown

Peace be upon you, Known.

The content here is very apt to the style of writing that you did. I am not fond of your writing style, but here, by the will of Him, I can relate to.
 — Qayyum

you r dumb smart like me.
 — percocet