Poem a Day No.3
Onset,subjective realities are all well and void. Everything, TRUE EVERYTHING out of focus, unavoidably so...that whole cyberpunk thing is really happening, I've got some of the merchandise. Hair colour, no colours, overdriven, switches, there is plugs there is sockets, plug + socket, plugsocket, pluocket, plocket, no plugs, no sockets, there was plugs there was sockets. Something just disappeared, I am here in it's place.
There's a life lesson in here somewhere. No matter how many times a feeling is felt, it will be forgotten, or its remembrance will be but a chore to be sustained and swallowed and survived and died by and with and passed on and born and lived by and died by and built upon till its final state of 'completeness' represents everything its birth was in direct opposition to
They are what they are which is condensations of me dripped down to you to BE related with and enjoyed, shared to points of further blossom...likened to biological needs just now right there...implantation.. contortions of beautiful girls smiling over drain pipes, none of this is meant to be anything but consummation, consummation is the entirety of my function
That tree shadow has changed at least six times now.
The bottom most corner of the bottom most corner of the bottom most corner off the bottom most corner of the realisation that MAYBE......
A laptop screen once was someone's hard to come by paper
I will die right over there.
Here, in my hand, lies what she means to me.
I am self-tolerant.
I am bloated at present.
I found my day to day life in my wallet just now...smell, 'out' jeans left on carpet, money, wrappers, not leather...
Peeling a mandarin I became acutely aware of a feverish young cannibal and the layers upon layers that lay before him in unravelance...I too may enjoy
My mind should stop working.
Tea/beer/drug's flavour has been corrupted by social aspects.
NOTE(S) TO SELF(S)
(IF EVER MATTERING IN SOMEWHERE LIKE THE 'MOUTH FEEL' DEPARTMENT WING OF SOME FOOD SCIENCE THING)
MR. KIPLING'S FRENCH FANCIES ARE THE HOLY GRAIL!!!!
How dog of me....drooling
Cut sentences for those we are accustomed to and (WE)assume (IT)follows from there that they are waiting, sterile and expectant. (They're not)
"get milk, what time you home?"
I listen to music "too" loud.
Having something to write about is exciting. *
- The above is something, that I maybe , ignore too readily and in actuality am steadily purchasing a life-long unsubscription for...funnyhowlifeis.
Our garden has charm, and only we will ever know.
I said we.
There, is a car crashed, in our fucking garden.
Did that at any point cause alarm?
When we were kids we changed
How it would look forever,
By painting it, shaping it,
Losing bits and pieces
Between its 'mod
Cons' and features.
There, is a car crashed, in our fucking garden.
amazing.
Poetry by Richard Cloon
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2009-11-26 at 15:46
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