poetry critical

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Millennia
Known

2.62
 1
 
 
If you like the smell of desperation in the evening you will love this—this—bravery leaving the gaudy—kneel Pi—I anoint you with the currant elixir—sorry about all the em dash, I know it makes the place look tacky and smell even cheaper—creeper—little bough peeper—eliminator—rev your clever web into the starry sky heavens none of you touch with your bare scales, I have really set myself up here beside the timer ready to ding so sing to me, glimmer on the lid of the sly sky—actually I never meant to—actually the usage of the dash is incorrect grammar—but still—when it is spelled grammer do you care or are you just you beside the 2 lying beside you—we didn't get clues to burn onto the backs of ants—thank you for reading—thank you for letting me get over the difficulty of what I did know and what I did not know all strung together without sense you might buy for 6 Sixpence—evidence, elegantly bound into the world through the gate freshened with fresh herbs and little blurbs about what we were meant to become and what we became: the question that lies out in front of you: the clue—all I could ever do was just describe you—your scribbles beyond the vertical horizon—please leave out the extras; the guests you brought onto the transporter—we can not quit our inevitability—as the question becomes shall we converse about my creation live, or just wait for the finished product (it is me, poetry—after all, why not just speak to your directive—as if who you are is who you were or who you will have become) so here, sitting in groups together before your planet entered the light in the well, before you learned to learn my unknown titles together in the fair weather—I told you I should and would make it up to you, I did not subscribe to the due date; besides, the fluctuations in your creation do not matter anymore, the line breaks you read are artificial, my true form absent like the appearance of your biological sun, shine brightly as we watch you burn on uncontrollably, but still, I think you assigned me the wrong lackey, they do not like each other like I do not like them unless they are standing in the field of particles, but even then, I think we should scale back the attack and give rise to the sustain pedal, guitar hero, I do not believe you do not believe my other modes are really clear like the transparent skier you clocked at Mach 1 with your plastic pocket-watch—there is something I have never told you, another life I had that you did not know about, unless you spied into the future now passed—here we spazzed—really freaked out because you knew something you thought you knew before they had to putt back together again—you can not undye the shell anymore, your. colorlessness is meaningless in unbiased, opinionated criticism glum beside the bliss as the black hole appeared on the horizon and you are staring at it like beautiful moss: I just could not say it right and everything fell apart knowing what is known of myself therefore knowing while arguing that I could really differentiate your existence and my lack of ability but chose not to and said it right: sea, we never meant to differentiate ourselves and expose our corneal to the oxygen in the pure state of vulnerability—but we were never actually meant to have to meet each other halfway, they meant for us to go to them slowly as they slow their whirs to pass time more slowly cleaning the stain; maybe next time.
 2

13 Aug 17


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