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Futureristic

She dances on my soul like a ballerina with blade dancing slippers.
She’s calling out my name like a wicked bnggee of yesterday.

The past is here there’s no more present, yesterday has gone and the time on the clock has spun.
Out of control, out of control, futureristic yesterdays tomorrow that’s out of control.

I’m blind sighted by her weekend love; her finger tips play in my essence ripping me open like the dead corpse I am inside.

The past is here there’s no more present, yesterday has gone and the time on the clock has spun.
Out of control, out of control, futureristic yesterdays tomorrow that’s out of control.

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  • Melodies
    May 22, 2007

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    WHOOOOP! YES!

    Bloody brilliant, fine poet! Your images are way out there in the land of Strangely Beautiful! This is a wonderful write that spins the reader out into space.