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Mar 12, 2004
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Ars Poetica (Or as close as I get)

Emotions that trickle through my veins

out the pen

and stain the page


The world I dream to insurmountable beauty

or will to destruction

it’s mine to decide


Cool flowing water here to quench

the freezing inferno

tears could not extinguish


Little stick men frozen in time

victims of genocide

if they should offend


Trees rooted in my heart

reaching their slender branches

up to my dreams


Fall in Tacoma

 

Sharp eyes can hear the taste,

red mud splatters

Blue clouds kiss,

The sky is lonely.

Soft rocks bite,

Frogs find cool salvation


Leather shoes bruise Tacoma,

Each one makes a wavering cry,

Bushes hug the scene,

Leaves curve to the music.

Cut at the throat,

The grass will not say.


Hot slag ruins all,

Important dogs roam in surprise,

The feel is tough.

The orchards swing,

All are shorn and lost,

But the Tamarack.


llLrig Ssalg Gnikool

Day by day you sit and stare

At yourself in the mirror

Of public opinions


How large your waist should be

Fitting clothes you can’t afford

Filing away in social divisions


Selling you shorter

You can’t fill the order

Of flawless perfection to get you affection

Always hoping that you’re voted

For cheer team or prom queen

Looking glass girl


Pretty girl in the looking glass

Why do you buy their songs

Cause I know that you’d be all right

If you knew that they’re all wrong


So you sit and eat their slogans

Buying their products

You’re so devoted

Fashion models idolized

All selling lies

So candy coated


Trying to imitate imitations

Always the real you

Lost in the shuffle

Ancient games of expectations

Always the loser

Looking glass girl


 

Idle thoughts while sitting on the counter 11:02 pm Monday

Of greatest importance

Useful in dire need

Aren’t really phrases

Applied to me.

Peanut butter and Jelly

Would have no home.

And the toaster

Lonely everyday.

I hold a balance

But get no thanks

To be discarded,

With little thought.

I’m the bread clip

Mightiest of Creatures!

Well not really

I pretend.

Sometimes I’m lost,

Under the cutting board.

But, no one cares

They tie the bag.

Love Song to wallpaper paste

You cover a multitude of my indiscrepancy

sins committed while building up this house around me

A house with hard candy windows and gingerbread trimmings

and then you, tasting not so sweet, completing the scene

You, holding up canvas after canvas

of animals playing, or stars, or peered avocado

you knit the beautiful skins to the bare wall

Like sinew to bone

I spread you on the bone dry wall


 


Posted at 12:18 am by azulojos
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