JUST SEX and POETRY

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“You Have A Great Day”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

..Smile.I Will Always Love You

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#5909
Jan 30, 2013
 

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Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when there are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
with your fear and sorrow
smile and maybe tomorrow
you'll find that life is still worth while
if you just "Smile"
Light up your face with gladness
hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe ever so near
Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile,whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile
Though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when though are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
thats the time you must keep on trying
smile whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If You Just "SMILE"...:O)
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5911
Jan 30, 2013
 

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"K. K. K."

Kim Kardashian’s K unt

Lynching

Lynching us

Lynching our eyes

Lynching our minds

Why do we give her our necks

Is it because we smell it

Is it because we secretly dream of it

Is it because of our shame

Does my krummy k unt look like hers

Wait! I don’t have a k unt.

Does she?

Or is it just an empty space

Like her head

Is it all empty space

Like my eyes

Like my ears

Like my mouth

As it opens

And breathes in the lack

As I hang

I hang here

KKK looks at me

She says thank you

She thinks die.

You all hang next to me

We won’t have to forget this

It is nothing

All it is is Kim Kardashian’s K unt

Everyone has not seen it

Except the million who have f ucked it

Have I?

I might as well have.
phaines

Big Bear Lake, CA

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#5912
Jan 30, 2013
 

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http://youtu.be/QBPyYeCf95o

:P Marcy Playground-Sex And Candy Lyrics
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5913
Jan 30, 2013
 

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I’m Adrian DeVine.....The Original.

I’m a word-slinger, a truth-bringer, a pocket poet, a story spinner, and a lie lover.

I write because it allows me to play, to be hyper and hyperbolic, to dramatize the mellow and the melo-. That, for me, is the joy of words on the page........


I live in a universe of story-seas and word-forests.

Trust me to lead you across the rough waters and through the dark woods.

I'm an expert navigator and will take you to your true heart’s desire – even if you don’t yet know what that is.

~DeVine.

Recomended you read Henry Miller's "Tropic of Capricorn."

THERE ALL WILL BE REVEALED !
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5914
Jan 30, 2013
 

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darkness blankets, soothes –
less people around,

in their homes, in their beds,

best ghost time to
do the laundry,

take a late night fog walk,

or push ink with a fine point,

b-movies or metal-punk alternative

the soundtracks
of my heartbeat hope
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5915
Jan 30, 2013
 

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One day they’ll examine
the leaves of our letters,

The vangoghed margin notes
and butterflied brush strokes

That tell the canvas-lovers
we were only human too.

They’ll sit there in libraries
and beside post office boxes
and on front porch swings

Unexpectedly
lost in the light
of our laughter,

Their eyes melting to mist,
their faces growing
steadily younger.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5916
Jan 30, 2013
 

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She fell in love

with a fractured man



a boy who dreamed

of panties falling out of everywhere

but never

tugged at her blouse

never

mounted the arch of her breasts



she places her seething

anger at his feet

but her offering is rejected



leaving her dreaming

that she’s blinded



free of the tears.....

THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5917
Jan 30, 2013
 

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I trust the day like a leaping heat
hauling the hovel
of my accomplishments to ash;
a composite dwindle
free as green and bold,


bold as the solid swell
of the first cherry after blossom.
Drunk as a thin man
with a whole worry,
his bottle dry as the edge of bone,

dry as his memory, his love
a drowning, his light
caught on the inside of a bell.



Beyond This Skin
your thin breasts each a grief:
cock-plump-robbed and plucked dead
like two starved birds.


Beyond this skin
the world weeps for its swept-up beds
and its loneliness;
its hearts blown like empty stones.


Summer is full of dull rain and mourning,
old days and memory lost
in the stubborn amber of a child’s wound.


Where are the true floods?
It is only wet here.
The sun rests
but she is not drowned.


These wisps whisper as if not sad
and haunted by their sound;
as if at night
I should not wear a shroud.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5918
Jan 30, 2013
 

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Yesterday was a novice
filled with confetti and absence,

dreams ripped from the sky
and a poet ascending.

A sparrow for a cloud
fed fat with rain and weeping;

the sun blocked by silence
and black birds mourning.



A dull wound.....

not my death
nor my wedding,

yet how clear the pain
how fragrant the morning.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5919
Jan 30, 2013
 

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Torture is my middle name
you hold it tightly
on the tip of your tongue
does it hurt to say it aloud?

(indulge me)

my soul is like acid
burning away the soft
milk white dew of your own
yet you still want to mingle

(fulfill me)

ten times in ten I could maim you
regardless you return for redemption
masochist is your middle name
I am readily your sadist

(forgive me)

and...

she’s a twisted
dark-minded, brooding
bitch
but you love her
because you
say
she takes your breath away
you poor
soul
you don’t even know
what you’re in
for
warped perception
is the same as
deception
and you lie
like a guilty
child
just so
you can
hold
onto the dream
you think you’ve
caught
no, no
it’s not
so
hook, line and sinker
you’re soul’s been
bought
she doles out the bills
with a temptress
grin

maladjusted, dysregulatory
sin, sin
sin
she puts her chips
on you and
spins
no matter what

the end she
wins
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5920
Jan 30, 2013
 

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I am your Russian roulette
and you are readily mine
once ravaged by the chasm of solitude
the realization of another is divine
you shake me, you quake me
and with my perfected transgressions
allow me to unravel you and unwind
come here and take me
so I can take you away to a place lost in rhymes

guide you up the ladder
with myself close behind
and on a feast of our gross imperfections
we shall dine
’tis such succulent satisfaction
I will lick your lips and mine

~DeVine.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5921
Jan 30, 2013
 

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Princess Hey wrote:
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when there are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
with your fear and sorrow
smile and maybe tomorrow
you'll find that life is still worth while
if you just "Smile"
Light up your face with gladness
hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe ever so near
Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile,whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile
Though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
when though are clouds in the sky
you'll get by if you smile
thats the time you must keep on trying
smile whats the use of crying
you'll find that life is still worth while
If You Just "SMILE"...:O)
Hey, once you were the pale princess

but now you're grown into the hag:

while your waist thickens

and your beard springs,

old hag-heart bristles and burns.

The ape and the spinster chatter and dance

as if to pull the story both ways

while time’s brittle finger crooks your limbs

and ivy binds the root

of your poisonous tongue.



The old hag Speaks out of time


What is she now but a thing forgot,

marking time in the sanitised aisles?

Where is the throb and hum of the crowd,

and the wheels that crack and wind?

Once, for her kind, things were simple enough:

to sink, to swim, or to fly:

a silver spool, the road unwound

and the trees held out their bare arms.



These days, though, there are seldom trees;

no scrap of blue poplin hangs above;

and this clumsy cart will not be steered,

but goes crab-like, grumbles and groans.

There was more plain sense in the old way of things:

in the water, the green-wood, and the stones,

How sharp and clear shone that last, bright route

and its sweet culmination of thorns.



Here come the night birds,

as thick as thieves,

and all of a cluster together

to fill up the skies

with their feather and flap,

the raucous, squawking

demons of the dark.

Though they circle at noon

and wheel in the sun,

with the dusk they come

croaking and cawing

when, sober as mourners,

with muted tongues,

they will neither crow nor sing.

They are sullen then;

and they roost their wings

where the jostling eaves

tell their numbers.

As the night leans in

and a hush descends,

not a heartbeat

is blown on the wind.

THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5922
Jan 30, 2013
 

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"Inappropriate…” the ceiling fan whispers again, barely audible,
sounding softer than the skin on the wrist near an altar boy’s pulse,
meaning clearer than the whistle from a distant train.

“Follow the cycle of the crescent,” it says.

Drawn to the blade by the promise of the blade,
pulled higher on the breeze like the loose end
of a half-freed gossamer scarf, woven to be twisted
and twisted, pulled, spiraling, whirling, and dancing on toe,


I mince around the center of that dark satisfaction,
until dangling by brainstem, I watch the others
spinning past and past and gone.
“Time to stretch now!”
Pulled like a weed with too much root, too much anchor,
too much need to just turn loose and spin free in the wind.



At a critical point, the spiral ceases to expand. No reverse.
So I travel the same territory over and around.
Not enough lift, not enough drag, not enough heart. Not enough.
Sounds smooth, you say?
“Yes, but only till the sockets start to give.”



No fanfare, please, and no party colored banner printed out one night
in soft staccato stops and starts with all its tentatively connected parts
less meaningful than dandelion seeds lined up head to toe
along some specially selected crack of a dry July sidewalk.



“The only still point is the center.” Invisible,
unless they cross-section to see if my seeds form a star.
But once you make that slice, you break forever
the silver-green membrane around each gentle potential.
And what kind of tree would a half-seed grow?



All the murals pick up speed until they move outside
the need to be specific. One tree, one leaf, one green…
like a dry grass brush was dragged along the whole wet mess of eternity.
Clouds and shoulders. Leaves and toes. All together now!
One red dot, one last line, fine red stripe.

“One last time?”
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5924
Jan 30, 2013
 

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He held a sword of gazes

in his hands.

He swung it

as he would a sparkler,

waiting for the lights to go out.

For the blood to spill like ink.

For the moments to hold themselves

tightly enough to glow.

Blood on a Path

She raised a hammer of moments,

glittering in the sun.

A flower or a metal

glinting without shame

in the chilled morning.

She paused with a whisper

of bitter flames on her lips,

wishing the thoughts would scatter

or fly or burn away to the four corners.

To the places her heart can’t follow.

Her trail of crumbs.

Her entrails in mauled pieces.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5925
Jan 30, 2013
 

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She does it with her mouth:
the talking or the not talking,
the smiling.

She seems to say more than she does
and of course you
fall for it......

the hunter is the game,
she takes from me
and from all the
other girls
when she whips you
into her fantasy,
declares it good,
you don’t argue,
somehow
you
manage
to manage
your
guilt.

She’s just an archetype
you say to yourself
as she’s busy sucking,
squealing, fussing,
two pigs—flesh conjoined....

and you wonder
how many women
have lived and died
this way
since the very beginning?

She declares it good.

You don’t argue.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5926
Jan 30, 2013
 

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"His hands in my hair, he finds it at the back of my neck,
(what my grandma called a kitchen)—fist-sized tangle
woven and inter—, strands wound round each other.

This is not play fucking, this is him, pulling the parts
of me together, hard, until I’m so raveled/unraveled
that I can’t remember which is me and which is me.

He’s a man good with ropes—boy scout, sailor—
can untangle a kite string greased with sweat and swears.
I wait to see if he can unloop this knot of memory:

My mother’s been gone six weeks—a bruise so ink-blue
my father can’t rub it off, not even with
his thumb and spit and press.

Not even with his girlfriend, blonde. Fingernails tipped
to clear, she tries to clean me, wear me back down
to pink like a new eraser. My eyes blue buttons

too big for her button-holes. She’d like to snip them, I feel
it in the way she tugs my hair, my father’s black comb
from the bathroom cupboard,

sharp teeth at the back of my neck, that secret place
where I store my fears, sneaker-laced, looped and
bunnied into hearts and squares.

So many ways to untie/untangle the strands of what
I’ve been and what lengths I might go to, but the silver
sheen of her scissors only made ends and ends.

To the boy with his hands in my hair now, I offer my kitchen
to his fingers, hoping he will not fumble, hoping he will find
the ends that hold me piecemeal/together, tug me loose."
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5927
Jan 30, 2013
 

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Water runs between the cracks of marble ruins,
acts as the filler whenever we rest our strangely
cacophonous voices. We talk with the admirable intent
of breaking each other. The tea reflects
expressionless faces, dull to the point of
boring, though with every parting of lips
we add more cracks to pillars and deface more reliefs.
You tell me it was strange to meet each other here,
in the ruins of what we were. I tell you it’s appropriate.
We observe the cracks, noting every sign of weariness.
I said it was our amateur
way of sculpting things, we were never
masters of the craft, after all.
Only those who’ve been gifted can mold marble,
the rest of us must live with letting our hands
crumble everything into scrap and waste.
You tell me it was the water
in the background
that eroded the marble,
not us.
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5928
Jan 30, 2013
 

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I whisper her name
emerging from my dream and
it sounds like something
foreign
like something forgotten
suddenly
returning to the light and
I have no idea
what time it is and
I’m frightened by the shadows
crawling along the walls
I whisper her name
with my eyes
closed against the light and
it’s springtime again
in the valley of death
the ghost of her kiss
still
haunting my lips and
my tongue yearning for the taste
the relentless beat of my heart
and I don’t know how long
I’ve been in this room
THE MAMMOTH DENTIST

Brisbane, Australia

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#5929
Jan 30, 2013
 

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It’s dawn and you’re lying at the edge of the sea, body
flat and timeless, painted with water stains

On your belly I imagine houses, little villages, my family’s
old trailer park, with its moldy peaches and low voices

Where you could look across and see women
peeling potatoes under dim light.

You sprinkle sand across my face and our world
pixelates. neat squares are built, then smeared,

With liquid moonstones. the sand cakes you, a gray-
blue clay. the sun’s leaking pink, gold. a confetti

Of moths pool onto the sea, elegant and white. from
far up they would look accidental, a bag of spilled rice.

There are sea anemones out there, you know. I say, afraid. you
stick out your tongue. don’t worry, my taste buds are little pools

Of them. you are soft, a basket of fresh breads.
you kiss me and it’s a box of matches. I taste

A husk of childhood, it spins off then dissolves in
the waves, the foam on your waist. how do I get

My bones to forget themselves? you ask. I say that
I’ll push you and you’ll be salt and gone…

You laugh and swallow, covering your face. your heart
runs thin, you say. I tell you that my heart is conducive

To wild mushrooms, and very little else.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

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#5930
Jan 31, 2013
 

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THE MAMMOTH DENTIST wrote:
Observe the world around you,
the fat mother scolding her child,
water running down the street like a river,
the shop girls standing bored and clueless,
the crocuses broken and bent on the soil.
Sadness flows from these sources,
flows through your life,
dives underground when you are happy
but emerges later into the light.
The river of sadness drives the great mill
where the artists labour.
Very nicely put.

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