Poll: **** me?
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View poll results: **** me?
Sidewalkz [piece 1]
7 54%
Poetz [piece 2]
6 46%
Voters: 13.
haha, I wonder whose is whose they're both in styles that are very recognizable as "us".

Where the Sidewalk Ends (Copyright Circa 2006)

We've found it here, all these fuzzy wuzzies, all this goddamn love. What else could it be?
New track, new traction, same bounce, same curve, dark lights, red neon,
Outside, the wind is blowing crinkled leaves down onto the concrete
With thunderous thuds, and
Night’s coming across the Hawthorne bridge like a semi.
Hahahahahaha. “I love you man, no homo.”
Shoving our middles against College Girl asses,
So dangerous, what if she turns around?
And sees our diamond stares, all clear and lustful, our open mouths
All open, drooling and going in for the cupid.
Just the chance that she’ll see our
Eyes shaking themselves like a skydiver down to our cupping hands
And then watch them close, and let out a silent moan.
Maybe if we rub against her hard enough she’ll be
On our breath in the morning.

So how far can we push it? Till she turns, curtsies,
Hahaha, and throws us down and has her way with us.
“dude man I don’t know what to do with all this goddamn love.”
Windowless, decision-less, no need to think anyway,
Just take our time with the way we move our waists, in,
Hard, like a Boy George or a Dave Chapelle; like a pioneer.
Add in a gesture or two, match her devils horns, Pink polish
Flashing white against the heavy strobe. We take the dark and run with it,
Past Silverstein, into her body pushing back like a breath,
Out with the cold air, in with her warmth,
Pushing back, hot like a lover.

We tried to name it the morning after, went outside
On the bridge and tried to list the feeling-
Breathed each others breaths until we got odd looks-
But all we could manage to put on our pads-
Red, Orange, Yellow,
Green, Blue, Indigo,
And Violet. All we got was color.

DJ bows out,
And all we want is to get down on our knees,
Like a retired painter,
And thank her for that dance.

But we know when we’ve had enough, so we
Disconnect, smile, nod, and laugh,
Because we’ve got no idea what the fuck we’re doing.
And we walk outside to go crush leaves and make them
Explode in the childish night. Oh well, give us a couple of years
And maybe then we’ll be able to tell Where the Sidewalk Ends
And when love begins.

(subject) - a study.

Oh, Poet!
		(I intend to meditate.)
	3 cents for magazines
	oh metaphor		(oh, metaphor!)

  	 	[B]     A WRITING RULE[/B]

	   We experience

	The ethics of today are not lost
		-- give praise
			      (with calm irreverence)

		We establish a [B]PATTERN[/B]
		of verses

	[B]   STYLE[/B]
		is (not) important.

Oh, metaphor;

	I dwell in the pretense
               (of neurotic imagery)

		/I am the prince
		     of rainbows and chopsticks
		 the laughter of pillows		[size="1"]rains on your parade.[/SIZE]
		     the screaming of hot chicks/[/I]

	Oh! 	(artist, oh artist)

	     a note on a polaroid
	     a picasso explodes
	     a Poet writes novels
		[B]MADMAN[/B] of sorts!

						(seashell lines of
						  -- egoless minds)

Oh! Poet.

	Don't forget to write.
Last edited by #1 synth at Feb 23, 2008,
Except the third to last stanza, that was one of my favourite Dylan pieces.

So that's what happens when you drop what I think are pretensions.

The way the words in the second one are arranged seems pretentious and unnecessary, so number 1.
Ain't Nuthin' But a UG Thang: Generic member of the UG Hip Hop/Guitar Music Equality Illuminati

Quote by mydarkesthour

It seems like UG is full of those Caveman Metalheads

Quote by mydarkesthour
I meant caveman as in long haired....

Second one for me, because I'm such a fan.
i look down at my hands,
like they were mirrors.