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these dumb hands won’t let me write today, I flail them into the discontent air; as foreign soil and withered dreams unite in my demise mannequin eyes watch from store windows, laughing at legless spiders---I’m not much use anymore, clever yes, but not much use. 9-11 fleshed out on park benches staring at weeping birds as they fly over the syndromed society as the bombs hit targets of destination, I am strife, given name and address, I walk around the block a few times, then take it inside for something cool to drink. |
I liked it thins one, very good, i happen to like your writing style..i mean its unique its very genuine. Good write though, proves a point and still abstract...very good..keep writing and keep happy... -Anya | Posted on 2006-07-03 00:00:00 | by FarawayFeelings | [ Reply to This ] | I liked how the poem started, the title and stuff, but as I read further and further, I got very confused of what the purpose of your poem was. I think maybe you might have had a brain freeze or something and just wrote down some words to sound like poetry. Overall, I think that your poem was just O.K. | | Posted on 2006-07-03 00:00:00 | by Caotic_Disaster | [ Reply to This ] | I really liked your poem, the wordplay was amazing. I do not understand parts of it but that is why i liked it so. This is going on my favs:) | -Creep | Posted on 2006-07-03 00:00:00 | by Mr. Creep | [ Reply to This ] | |