You need pie...<quoted text>
More stupid misplaced misuse of words.
another case of history repeating..
“New & Improved..”
Since: Oct 07
Formerly From Kenya
#5259 Dec 11, 2012
You need pie...
another case of history repeating..
Since: Apr 08
#5260 Dec 27, 2012
but for want?
but for desire.
There travels your weary under searching strain.
Since: Apr 08
#5261 Dec 27, 2012
That which to the tongue indulges the tongue.
Sweet nectar rich baked full teeming with anticipation.
Just one fork
Just one mouth opened
And the 'late for rent' notice under your door disapears.
The divorce notice...just delivered ly's a worthless spent of paper as you take in just one
one morsal to the tongue of
Since: Apr 08
#5262 Dec 27, 2012
Once a Level 5 how barely did I survive?
Such data cheers to post dears...often embellished rants
self confessions in errant.
#5263 Feb 3, 2013
Aether penetrative and non-material, the medium filled the universe as the soul of the world from
which all life of the Orphic hymns is mentioned
to exist emanates modeling of visible gravitational effects on changes of density,
the universe incinerates, to burn, to shine
to account for discrepancies between measurements
to the permanent and permeates the form of the universe.
It's related to change of place and moves in the mass of galaxies and the entire universe as the soul (related is the defensive wall that locked
Tartarus from the rest of the cosmos.) The world from which all life emanates hot, cold, wet, or dry, incapable of change with the planets, background radiation, but undetectable— granted structure formation and galaxy evolution
Aether penetrative and non-material corresponds to the permanent, and permeates the material form of the universe. It is related to change of place and moves in dark matter inferred to exist from gravitational effects on visible matter neither hot, cold, wet, or dry, incapable of change with the planets, background radiation, but undetectable— granted aether changes of density, in which the universe incinerates, to burn, to shine (related is the defensive wall that locked Tartarus from the rest of the cosmos.)
Its existence hypothesized to account for discrepancies between measurements of the mass of galaxies, clusters of galaxies and the entire universe made more dense than the medium which filled the rest of the Orphic hymns, he is mentioned as the soul of the world from
which all life emanates modeling of structure formation and galaxy evolution
Aether with no qualities as penetrative and non-material corresponds to the permanent and permeates and sustains the material form of the universe. It is related to change of place, and by its nature moves in circles.
Dark matter is matter that is inferred to exist from gravitational effects on visible matter and is neither hot, cold, wet, or dry, was incapable of change with the planets, background radiation, but is undetectable— medieval scholastic philosophers granted aether changes of density, in which the universe incinerates also intransitive to burn, to shine (related is the defensive wall that locked Tartarus from the rest of the cosmos.)
Its existence was hypothesized to account for discrepancies between measurements of the mass of galaxies, clusters of galaxies and the entire universe made through dynamical and general considered to be more dense than the medium which filled the rest of the Orphic hymns, he is mentioned as the soul of The world from which all life emanates.
Dark matter plays a central role in state-of-the-art modeling of structure formation and galaxy evolution
Since: Apr 08
#5264 Feb 5, 2013
Hickory Dickory Dock!
The levels went up my Sock.
The rose to say
"Hip hip hooray"
Only to leave me Ballywock.
“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”
Since: Mar 11
Rockin' USA ;)
#5265 Feb 5, 2013
YO, DUDE, Put down the Bong..nice and easy...NOW!!
“Living With A Grateful Heart”
Since: Jan 13
Counting Little Blessings
#5266 Feb 5, 2013
The Essence Of Me...
Deeper than the hair
on my skin..
Deeper than the skin
covering my muscles..
Deeper than the muscles
that move my body..
Deeper than the veins
that feedmy muscles..
Deeper than the nerves
that give movement to my muscles..
Deeper than the bones
of my skeleton..
Deeper than the marrow
of my bones..
Deeper than the form
in which I exist...
Lives My Soul....
Since: Dec 12
#5267 Feb 10, 2013
Touch me softly
Touch me tenderly
Touch me delicately
Touch me affectionately
Touch me gently
Touch me reverently
Touch me devotedly
Touch me fondly
Touch me yearningly
Touch me passionately
Touch me fervently
Touch me ardently
Touch me endearingly
Touch me enrapturedly
Touch me impassionedly
Touch me warmly
Touch me earnestly
Touch me now
“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”
Since: Mar 11
Rockin' USA ;)
#5268 Feb 10, 2013
Hmmmm, if there was an imbalance in the universe, say in our Solar System... Would ya think that the planets WOULD collide into each other??
#5269 Feb 10, 2013
I swear that I'm alive,
My spirit, stretching, strives.
When I recall
The wretched fall
My pulse pounces and dives.
I feel the bitten lips,
The wanton fingertips,
Before my eyes
The lovers' lies
Lie soft around my hips.
Until I'm dead and gone
My spirit hungers on
For tender touch,
A love too much.
To never feel alone.
I tell you, my heart beats.
My ribcage parts and meets.
Sometimes I hate
The living state,
But love the living heat.
#5270 Feb 10, 2013
Alphabets are heartbroken;
and are never ending
Before giving a meaningful shape;
a final touch
Initially sentences trembled
Finally, twisted and fragmented
Before it could carry to its womb
The paragraphs were not stable;
Words were squeezed out of gaps
And in between the paragraphs
The Pages became mutilated
Chapters were partial; not whole
Unable to close up or down
My book exposed probably nothing;
Nothing at all…..
Words flew away out of my mind
recklessly in the wind, so unkind
I stopped seeking lost meanings of
Words, sentences, Paragraph’s,
Pages, chapters and books in my own life.....
(Dedicated to Lauren)
#5271 Feb 11, 2013
Seven hrs and fifteen minutes we spend together a week
Yes. I've calculated it.
And every second of every minute is occupied
by the way your smile
Lights up your entire face
Like a flick of a light switch
"Oh there you are"
And By your self doubt
Which you somehow play off
by the way your eyes have
a slight hint of grey
All to knowing and a little uncertain
And the way that they seem to look right into me
Like an optical illusion
Little flecks of red, blue, green, hell grey
Shoot right through me
Cascading a dream on the wall
In the dream I can touch you
I can touch your hand
Your more mature
I'm less goofy
And we can handle "us"
We say that out loud
Like feathers floating to the ground
It wasn't rushed
It was kind
And full of fun
Everyday was like the last day before summer vacation
Bursting through the school house doors
Sprinting to freedom
I blush deep red
Or maybe I wouldn't
Because it would be okay to stand this close to you
It would be okay to tell you that I love you
And I have for months
It would be okay
to say each others names
in the dark
And mean it.
It would be ok to stand in front of you
Filled to the brim with flaws
Bubbling over like a well oil machine
And embrace you.
Because time for me stops when his skin is near mine
Minutes freeze mid air when he enters the room
Or maybe that's just my heart
Freezing the next beat
Freezing like a deer in headlights
Right before impact
Pounding in and out
And in and out
And you've seen me on my worst day
disorganised, crude sometimes and way to much attitude
But you know how to navigate around me
Like a sailors compass
You always know which way takes me home.
Because you are warm fires
You are kisses on the forehead
You are the sunshine through the dark clouds
You are kept promises
You are sweet gestures
You are rainy Sunday mornings
You make it easy to love you
And you make it easy to understand why you aren't mine.
>> sob <<
Since: Dec 12
#5272 Feb 12, 2013
Wrapped in the fluidity of prose
Answering one another
Speaking in rhythm
Responding in anticipation
Words and Phrases
Taking one to the apex of feelings and emotions
Neither one knowing
Who is the apprentice
Who is the teacher
Yet moving with ardor
Towards the lesson
What have we learned in our Seven hours and fifteen minutes
That we spend each week together
Let us write it upon the blackboard
In permanent marker
#5274 Feb 12, 2013
I would make my world from blood and stone
a place where hungry gods find solace
in granite, in basalt, in marble
that looks like rosy flesh frozen in time
I would make my world from uncertain words
words that know that they do not suffice
to speak of the color of thunder
to name the shape of a smile or to count the stars
I would make my world from ropes
long and intersecting, winding
around a shared core; I would make the ropes to walk on
but include slippery parts at intervals
I would make my world from bone and ivory
cut it clear in white and pearly nova sheen
so that all who live there became blind
ruling that place without the illusion of sight
I would make my world for the fit of your palm
a thing to be carried like a dream, close to your heart
and to this dream I would whisper a name
so that it might hatch in a flurry of wings and take you away
#5275 Feb 12, 2013
Who shall be certain of certainty? Surely he or she
Who shapes with tools the common stuff of earth,
The patient craftsman holding in his hand
What his considered mastery has made,
Who has brought pattern to a finite end
And, gathering up perfection, can deny
The infinite chaos of a mutable world.
He trespasses upon the air and shapes
An ordered beauty, while confused wings
Beat at his steadfast walls, his mould of clay.
What need has he of Time, who, aeons since
In his dark cave scooped out an earthern jar
And limned the bison on a smooth rock wall,
Content to work from dawn to dusk alone?
What need has he of sound? He, in the vast
And sandy silence of an antique land
Hewed out the voiceless image of the sphinx
Which keeps its secret wisdom still, in stone.
What need of changeful beauty? He expressed
Beauty forever in a single plinth
Where yet the temple marks the ruin of Time
Serene against the blue Athenian sky.
What need he know of fear? The soaring vaults
Like frozen fountains still to heaven aspire
Where in the church he carved an angel out
And, of its beauty, made a lasting prayer.
These wings are folded into stone
Shut petals of an evening flower,
Curved like a quiet candle flame
As though the air had cleaved and closed
To hold their mutability.
These lovely hands with fluent grace
Are motion pent, are eloquence,
Are impulse stayed upon the air
And liquid lines of folded cloth
Are still, arrested waterfalls.
You, sculptor, you who carved this stone
What Timeless silence you have known.
#5276 Feb 14, 2013
"Torso of an Unknown Soldier."
Those in their headless, historical poses, some without sex or dedications, stood white, eclipsed from flash photography. And the teenage boys smelling of deodorant walked through them and the boys’ mothers with tortoise-rimmed glasses walked closer.
A statue is disheveled by its context, or an unknown date of origin. Context: the extent to which things become personalized. Its marbled sternum, her lotioned arms, an hour glimpse of the century before the first century.
I must admit I cannot escape dreams where I am driving. I know I’ve written this a hundred times, but it’s the potential for the car stopping in the middle of the intersection that keeps me from waking.
I’ve lost hope for immortality: when the bits of windshield hail into my eyes time does not stop.
My torso belted into this landscape, a tide of navy blue ribbon stealing the focus of the dream, pulled taut.
A chiseled body is the merciless body, a representation of a rower without his oar sitting with his fishlined back. The first time the rower broke his body he was no longer a child. A child failing to drink milk from a bottle in a rocking canoe.
The reality is that the dream-body is out-of-proportion with the moving-body because the moving-body is more accurate in its imitation of the dreaming-body. Today mail was delivered, but no letters from you and I still had to go out to receive it. When I stretch my body to shred the grocery fliers walls from the waking-world pull my limbs to four corners like the face of a compass in transit. Consciousness: both bodies as the opus of one body.
I try to imagine a landscape for a funeral of your younger moving-body, but there are only cirrus-shaped faces hiding from a camera. Women wrapped in scarves on a summer day, the pathos of tattooing a red heart onto the surface of the chest. The camera automatically enters sleep mode and stops operating if not used in approximately three minutes.
Now it is the camera dreaming beside me and not your sleeping body.
The torso, so frequently sculpted, holds the implied heart. The soldier’s torso covers my torso like the flaps of a vest. If I wish to suffer in your body as I am wearing your torso I must stand on a short pedestal to level our heights.
When I encircle the torso of a soldier, the crowds circle us like half-crumbled ruins and I know we will never share the same suffering. Walking is a prayer in favor of the body
#5277 Feb 14, 2013
Night pools in the courtyard. This is the light
by which things can go wrong. Look at the blue
beading up along the awning, the branches,
anything still upright. With what
can we arm ourselves? A little knife of silver
night light, fireflies, head lamp, a swinging
lantern choked out in a tunnel’s throat? The clock strikes
the hour implicated by history, by fairy tale,
by pumpkin versus chariot, and now by default
we are threatened. We stay where we are. You are
caught in the crossbeam of the projector, grains
of plot stipple your cheekbones, rain over
your mouth; tell us what happens next. Foreshadowing
is a washboard rumble as the braid passes through
grommet, delivering the rigging directly
to the thundercloud. Is there a version with less sky,
more limit, more corners of cannot and a specific height
toward which we hoist our flag? No safety
in proximity. Here we are, hem to hem, and still
any element will outdo us. Can you hear the water
undo the grout out in our courtyard, the wind ripping
the insignia from the face of the flag? Even face
to face we cannot see what’s coming. Let the animal sleep
coiled in the dark, the fuse spur toward flame.
#5278 Feb 14, 2013
here is a rock
or a line through a name
here is glass
or a curtain of dust
here is July
an altered object
the letter X
is amplified sound
or a page on a screen
a speaker recorded
a message here
here is tobacco
the exchange of signs
perhaps causing pain
here is a word we cannot
and here is the furnace
where we feel rich
the landfall the plant
here is July
here is laughter
the match the lighter
the fluid an army
the blink of an eye
still looking for noon
in other people’s tents
here is smoke
what we meant by alms
here is the bonfire
here it’s redder than
#5279 Feb 14, 2013
It was the day after the stories had been told.
Impossible details scattered on the shore.
Inscribed turtle shell. The inner-ears’ bones.
Nets abandoned in the foam. A green crown
The sun dropped on the horizon the sun’s
Abdicated throne. A ringing in the air:
A wooden stick circling a bronze bowl’s rim.
Did the planets still work above the haze?
Sitting on a stone a man tonelessly spoke
Rumors. The air is stamped with the form
Of articulated speech. I listened.
Who am I to judge? I asked myself aloud.
The camel’s head broken off at the neck
Brayed soundlessly. Only the glaze bled.
Only the gaze bled. Green lines tracing paths
The animals wandered among the stones.
Nothing could be lost. The salt in my mouth
The same salt in the air a kind of stress
Crystallizing into song. The stripped bride
Stood a body wholly body her feet in foam.
The ionic disruption of the veil. Lightning
Occurred in everyone’s face. I watched.
A bird carried a shingle in her mouth.
A lantern buried in sand gives shadow
Given the illuminating gas.
I remembered without wanting memory.
Birds that nested in hollows the waterfall
Carved a falling veil in stone as it fell.
A tendril in the labyrinth. The thistle
Amazed the arbor. Thinnest green
Vine enmeshed in burr an intimate
Script illegible. Little riddles in the ruins.
What do you carry that you never held?
The foam still foam on her feet she stood
Gazing at plastic bags caught in branches.
Thank You stamped in cursive on a sphere
Full with wind. Another globe green
With algae the water suspended overhead.
Worlds with worlds inside. I held her to me.
Beneath her navel her vulva’s pronounced
Lips. Thumbs rubbed away her nipples.
The old goddess on her back in the sand.
The eye’s habit convinces the mind that fog
Is imprecise. To open and to see. Wakefulness
Was that other life. Cricket in the desert
Spoken from cloud. Cricket in the desert
In a child’s voice. When I opened my mouth
I tasted the cloud. So I’ve learned I live here too.
My mouth was another scrap in the fog.
Now let me praise the keeper and his thought.
If I could calm myself down to my animal life.
If dust on old hymns. If weather as song.
Rumor prefaced history. The son stole
The crown. Hooves in blueshift. Infantry.
An ear listening for a tremor in the ground.
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