

the regularyou have sea-freedom, you amalgam, you paradox of sadness who weep secretly in your laughing chains, and laugh in fetters of tears―the regular
I weave myself separate, I am in the clack of the evening's spheres & I move very visibly, subtly through many trajectories. I set fire to dumb ideas, I sit & voice & quaff and there you are, sad sack, gruff with gall & lost in your many wet sermons.
I am not your brother. I don't really think about you. I think of w


noon's loomsnoon's looms string loose taut bones, and set fire to the stones in the street's roofless rooms.noon's looms
noon's looms spin nuclear & worn, and blare their bloated horns over clear, lazy fumes―
trees are opening the palms of their hands, with their lines of fate borne low with the waiting leaves' weight, & drawn on the noon-air's sand.
birds are screaming and surprise themselves with their leaps & caresses & fights; their wings are still much too bright, and the winds are collapsing shelves.
men in the road are all clear as


fire, or waterwere this blurred, we'd be submerged, stuck under the waves with warping colours & corals falling away from a certain blue surface, where white animals are climbing. hot & cold climb the same ladder into the eye and we see everything sharper:fire, or water
today there are sky-flags, halfway tattered. browns & sea-thinned greens, then reds & great flames are traditional but the starving stag, steaming in the cracked courtyard says blue is autumn's secret favourite, the colour of bruise & ozone & iris.
a leaf can fall like a cracke
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Founder of =Inked-Page | Staff for *100ThemesChallenge, *ProsePlease | Lit Critic at *devCRIT
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Take advantage of the workshop forums at =PoetryPlease and *ProsePlease for valuable feedback and critique!
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I'm going to speak some reckless words.
And I want you to listen recklessly.
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Sup cynicism.
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Jesus T. Godmoses
The T stands for 'This is how I roll'.
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