Poems are rated on a scale from one to five, one being lousy and five being astronomically mind-blowingly ass-slappingly sensational. |
An apostle of literature sleeps
eyes closed; dreaming of water ways...
Echos of rambling outsiders
arms wide open; a hush of...
Her skirt to short; Her hair flung from one side
to the...
Everyone has a story,
Like a perfect murder...
I'm hiding within this cascading oppression.
your breath carries me away...
I'm hiding within this cascading oppression.
your breath carries me away...
Everyone has a story,
Like a perfect murder...
"Speak to me of the sea grandfather."...
And he said, "enchanting."...
I walked miles in the darkness
black like ravens...
Like a Claret Cup Cactus hangs its head and wilts
Beneath the reaper's killing sickle...
O amor é cego, eu finalmente figurei-me que para fora quando casei meu marido. |
Fortunately art is a community effort --a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.------Allen Ginsberg |
Once you leave home, home will never be home again. |