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Voters: 4.
Love? of Bathsheeba

daughter of the oath;
to grab and to gloat
(you)riah foot first in some
foreign dirt and I'm moving my
stuff in to his old place, just to tear
and touch what i don't own; a sea sunk
quite like a death of a Hittite.
It's a morning at a northern cottage,
been left a bit cold, turned and looked and laughed
as she hiked her skirt up past her calves
saw a new bruise on her inner thigh and I--
kept asking which of those guys felt her up
on the steps of M.I.A.D. Still in a hurry I touched
her breasts, because it was probably them
young girls in those American Apparel dresses
half coasting on a full bottle of Grey Goose that
coaxed this lovely gal into using some dicks as
dental floss. Up in Mil. University I've got a midwest
state of mind and it's been a long time since I've
been able to tell if I like being King David from the bible.
Young Dumb Jew verse one, line one,
"I begot I, in a fable of storied hands and how they
felt after touching one another."


The Architect

Good morning, my country
from the scattered remnants
of the death strip-
please, my intensions were of good.
The black mirror that disguises
our woven desires
till nothing ever comes of it.
Our evaporated nation
so morbid, we were left searching.
Only the wooden door was left behind
from the storm, and we scattered
to the interminable soil:
and I couldn’t proceed to close my eyes.

The spirits of the ornament
told me to gather, and gather well.
It told me to stand still
and not to say anything.
And I saw the crowds gather around the stairs,
beneath the drifting cemetery.
A hallelujah from the illiterate crowd
calling my name.
The sprawling children
and the communication;
singing praises, singing elegies
to conceal their vices.
But I do not understand
the longing voice
from the fellow craftsmen-
full of swagger and indecisions,
their breaths still.

You people, you just don’t know
which side you are on-
there’s no chance of survival.
But one has to be so careful;
the strange men have never learned
to tame their master.
Their tears were foaming
on beds of nails;
an ode to freedom.
Let us go then
with a frightened mind
beside the tunnel.
A year without light:
it was cold
and we were withering!

Courage yet, my brothers and sisters,
I know the tension that you speak of;
the native observation of timeless dreams.
I take the back road
to the viaducts where I hide
all of my insecurities, yes
there were plenty of complacency.
The meeting at the window sill
with the half-cut woman.
She reminds me, to stay out of trouble;
to stay out of fear:
“The fall isn’t coming here,
not today.”
Last edited by Something_Vague at Dec 24, 2009,
This is close. Red for me, only because blue reminded me of some Pericles shit I was force fed in my lit class a couple weeks ago. I enjoyed both.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black