Your poetry seems to get worse every week.
>Imagine finding those darkened places,
>where we can shed our everyday skins,
>peeling off habitual layers of commonness,
>for the sake of indulgences; those tastings
>of uncloaked liberties, surrendering
>those barbarisms, of sameness, that signify
>an all too common sort of savaged humanity
>and that commonness, in the manner of weapons,
>then left outside those doors
>to keep our wild abandon safe within
>so we might play our roles in larger myths
>amongst the shades of our dark fantasies
>far from the stranglehold of all the same.
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>090804B
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>I find a smothering of same,
>given of the same amorphous mass that detonates
>leaving a ground zero of nothing,
>nothing but the same, in the same way,
>until I have become too many kinds of hunger
>the words on my tongue becoming droplets of molten wax
>dripping from the remains of my melted down candle
>representing all the unspeakable wishes
>that she said she would answer, though she never did,
>answer to anything that was so different
>from a smothering of the same,
>given of the same amorphous mass that detonates
>leaving a ground zero of nothing,
>nothing but the same, in the same way.
>
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>090804C
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>Bottle it up.
>Put a lid on it.
>Put a cork in it.
>Keep it to yourself.
>Clam up.
>Shut up.
>That subject is closed.
>Pack it in.
>Drop it.
>Piss off.
>Chill out.
>
>What's wrong with you ?
>Did you expect something more ?
>
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>090804D
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>There is the chancing of a chance meeting,
>secretly knowing the gambler is always playing
>in the back alleys of the subconscious,
>spinning it, to see if it will land lucky, this time around,
>hoping for a lucky card, playing to ace it, and win,
>only finding she is not there, this time around, folding,
>betting again on that unknown quantity, that indeterminate,
>trying to guess the odds of a chance meeting,
>and we all consciously come and go as convincing pretensions
>of anything other than a mention of chanced meetings
>with the unknown, chanced on someone who is not there,
>kept in the absolute of conscious denials
>that that is what a lot of everything is really about.
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>Robert
>Morpheal
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- Konrad -
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