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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: the revolving airdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: blackbird
    ASL Info:    31/male/reykjavik iceland
    Elite Ratio:    2.35 - 194/328/300
    Words: 236
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 711
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1336



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsthe revolving airdots
    -------------------------------------------


    gravediggers apportion their labors to greet me. a vast supply of holy water whose eight pints turn to wine in my veins, a ghost in splendid flower, the fuchsine of the vine blending into fatal position, shining a light on the moon. this was nothing a blue sky could do. and filth & pigeons to climb my way home.
    this story has a certainty like supper. if you're going to sleep-in through the rain, ask the fingers that feed you for long arms. dogs have no human response to weeds that grow out of your head but don't fall off. their point is to swallow. or how one might imagine a conversation like a clockwork orange without the violins.
    in the magic self it seems everything has meaning, but it's not long before the chronic of logic & time disproves this theory. today there's no disaster, just lovers vomiting blank stares that drop the temperature in the room. making good nasty love signals the end of this mood. afterwards, we get back in our clothes, go buy some paint, punk, and studded with jewels.
    this is a poem about potting soil. one of those sunsets that looks like the stuff that comes out of a genie lamp after you make it shine. I feel like a spiny caterpillar on a playground and it's beautiful inside. some of the tiniest maps contain every minute of our lives.




    Submitted on 2007-04-29 12:07:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    1: >_<
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    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      "WOW" Thats all i can say. Oh, and i'm addin' it to my favs.
    | Posted on 2007-05-25 00:00:00 | by Silenced poet | [ Reply to This ]
      "feel like a spiny caterpillar on a playground and it's beautiful inside. " we kill ourself to be unnoticed and we find center stage at our worste they wont admit out best . can we fight for the "just lovers vomiting blank stares that drop the temperature in the room. making good nasty love signals the end of this mood. afterwards, we get back in our clothes, go buy some paint, punk, and studded with jewels." how sick how sad how true. making in my heartless heart bleed. when you love out of habbit to lazy to move. "eight pints turn to wine in my veins, a ghost in splendid flower, the fuchsine of the vine blending into fatal position, " like vamperic undead living. we go through the motions. make the motion. move the body. before we die for real this time

    tragities live on forever
    how sad

    sHadow
    | Posted on 2007-04-30 00:00:00 | by in shadow | [ Reply to This ]


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