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i am a titan of introspection

the word is
   somewhere below
beyond the wall
   beyond the all
encompassing eloquent
   end of it
when the wither begins, the first of the huckster
in the shell room and crack of it from fingers split seam
reaching out    from it
not rose, not last, a man made from eggshell
not glass nor shade, just egg and maybe the hint of petal.
i wasn't me when 10 years from poem, or a century blown over
i wasn't pointing, jagged,
thorn shaped not blood slaked
old and imbibed
just a body of blonde encounters, a girl
soaking my thoughts, pulse; electricity.
from her to tempo,
white from having a slack fist
i knew i should have beat
myself more. more studiously or tempestuously.
never give the boy a man to chew, just let him cut his
throat. spurt out
listen for the bit where love cracks and leaks out  
her to a him,
countered by the time it takes to wind the clock back
set it to the beat of that mistake.
truly the time for a keepsake,
poem like fucksake
begin again

1 Jun 18

Rated 8.3 (8.3) by 3 users.
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cannot wait good fortune
 — unknown

I will be waiting
 — percocet

my navel button has picked up fluff from my clothes
 — unknown

did you say, 'tight anne' or 'tight-in'? thoughtful piece.
 — cadmium

i think i did the trick, im a pony.
 — DeformedLion

^ maybe a better title
 — DeformedLion

forget if this is what happened, the old one, the uncertainty slid inside your predikshun and blood is bourdeaux, and me then blacked out. First comes the change, then the liars talk story, snug under the ice, about her heat.
 — cadmium

I don't need her,  not in the real. But she is easy to conjure and cinch. I can button up my poem with a quick flash into desolation
 — DeformedLion