February 12, 2010
I.
Keep walking
You’re bound to find something
Along the road.
II.
Shut down my senses
Send me up to the air
And spin me slow
Let me drop easy.
Resting in the water
Feels like smooth silk
The soft pillows surround
Safety in the cushion.
III.
Through it all
She was not there.
Miles away
She doesn’t know.
IV.
The winter air
Is chilled
I still can breathe
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
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| UNTITLED RAIN POEM | 0 | 09/21/2012 |
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| Checkout Counter Girl | 1 | 04/07/2010 |
| March 24, 2010 | 2 | 03/24/2010 |
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| If it was real, make me stay (in collobaration with hippiegirl) | 3 | 03/15/2010 |
| March 12, 2010 | 1 | 03/12/2010 |
| February 19, 2010 | 1 | 02/19/2010 |
| February 12, 2010 | 0 | 02/12/2010 |
| July 3, 2009 | 1 | 07/03/2009 |
| June 25, 2009 | 0 | 06/25/2009 |
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| June 19, 2009 | 1 | 06/19/2009 |
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| June 11, 2009 (Circle Blockade) | 1 | 06/13/2009 |
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| May 3, 2009 | 1 | 06/07/2009 |
| June 3, 2009 | 0 | 06/07/2009 |
| June 4, 2009 (Dancers) | 1 | 06/07/2009 |
| June 5, 2009 | 0 | 06/07/2009 |
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