poetry critical

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Millennia
Known

2.75
 1
 
 
Not that it reallllllllly, reallllllllly matters, but, your mind isa game of Boggle unopened on the hull ofa heckuva ship—I do not know yet if we are writing on the same length of surfboard on the wave—don't worry: that’s another way of saying when we are writing on the same wavelength we use the same or similar words to talk under the stars—it's so dark out there somewhere—the words to your favorite song jumble under the magnitude of the song stuck in your head’s disruption—what was once a horrible way to write a sentence becomes justa different way of structuring your communication at the station we returned to your repetitive signal asking you again and again to explain its repetition—raise your eyes from the surface of your face you will see so free your binds from the lemon Rhine’s hurting glow let it go foul fowl—feel free to write me all you want wearing your watery pout welcoming the reeds wilted bya word wearinga the letter w in the stack outback—words with certain letters were more detrimental to my acquired spire—another idea fora (graded) question would be to inquire if what is being said really needs to be said (correctly) or do yourself justice and follow the frozen lawn getting grated by the sun’s cheese-grater crater—how can you all just stand to watch this happen to another person—you were so offended I had to grasp my defensive posture lever break—there was one—a meaning that can be heard nowhere else because you do not understand the associative compartments—this whole process processes itself ata rate to take alarm at ata natural pace add-inan empty space then make a case and cement yourself in time as another equal—there is no sequel, no sequin, no bedpan of oil—mix inan encircled tire pile andan Andes mint wrapper on top ofa mountain you step back from the pile of garbage you found me in, rinse me in basic turpitude undera pixelated waterfall only you could hang me out to dry under unnecessarily as I do not live in water; you live on water but that's about your spritzer, as you plead to spit your heart out onto me, I watch froma safe distance as dessert slides across the counter with coffee, like a friend taking the seat to your right, the opposite side you left me like a spirit of turpentine that only you and the termites could've concocted—conceal me—never again will you have to ask what I do because of what was done—this is not it, this is not the final preparation of my life; life, like love, lingers on the fabric beneath your stitchery—when I lived at home in the mind, the kindness seeps out from the shielded reservations, it oozes like magma under the core of the earth flan dish, I bet you think that the flan should have been your favorite claim to fame, what's worse is that I could just brag about the animal side of our nature that wishes to move every time you communicate I hear the garbage disposal running and run after it—never quit having been legit oven mit—you could throw the magma at the comet but space, being cold, would cool it and it would shatter into 9,876,123 pieces of spice jars—I can just imagine you saying nothing because you can't say anything back to me after I arrive, if you wanted you could speak to the author about their poem, but in the end the talking just disrupts the process of writing and taking part in your creation—when you said goodbye I said hello—o no—I can sense you didn't expect this but this isn't the news, and neither are you anymore—you are all equal size, more or less—your need to film is quite ironic because that is what you look like at this distance—never ever ever quit stay legit and put out the newspaper paper bag of looks on the porch of your irony—if you were from here you'd know how near impossible it would be to see the color out to sea—the multiple choice questionnaires heightening off in the background over Bach—your beloved string pluckers drape angel wings onto their shoulders and watch them fly away in patterns terrorizing to the eye of the hurricane that was bearing for your space—and please excuse me for my disbelief here, but technology can do anything we make it do, I can see you saying ‘controlling hurricanes isn't in the cards’, (I do not exist without an argument, like a garnet garment) under the slight guise of the sunrise, but the new day was dawning behind the awning and we knew what we had to do to keep each other safe and protected, I meant something else surely, after all of this you should know we don't read everything that’s written, surely you can not cana bee on Sirius B, see, they did it again, they put they're advertising over the object in the mind and just forget to rewind the wind—speaking of the weather, I don't see the need for casual anything anymore, why not make everything fancy and watch our problems ride shotgun—one thing I promised to never do was take away what you said to me, regardless of who else has read or will read it again and again, anchored alone in the sea—keep reading Melville—perhaps at the bottom of all those letters will be the one written for you, floating calmly in the ocean.
 2

15 Oct 17


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