Poetry

I ought to know: fraught thoughts grow taut, chemically unsorted.

Maybe I should go;  leave, cleave the corded excess of murdered words from the sordid mess of crippled phrases that crazy out my brain stem.  But t… what clichès.

Perhaps if I

Arrange, and cook a sentence,

In tiny ways,

So the gaze falls on just,

A

Few, choice words,

A shiny maze,

The moist curds,

Between the warm turds,

This pretention,

Might disguise the lack of invention?

Thought not.

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~ by Sixto on June 3, 2009.

6 Responses to “Poetry”

  1. i likey!

  2. This is wizard – clever and funny and tight. ‘Moist curds’. That sounds so dirty.

  3. This is great. Yes, wizardry. You show a real awareness of, and respect for, the reader. Thankyou.

  4. Thanks my lovelies. I’m performing a Tim Henman fist-pump in response to your kind comments. [not in a dirty way]

  5. hmm, expressive. reminds me of the crazed state of mind i was in few moons ago. wrote this:

    http://purplecarnations.wordpress.com/2009/01/08/its-happening/

    “This pretention”. 🙂

  6. LOL. so rad.

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