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You and I, my love,
Awed by the enormity of distance
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A fountain of dreams
Was carried on soft sighs
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There were times when we sang songs / Full of sadness that haunted the stars / And made them twitter in the night sky, / And claps from audiences of silver clouds / Glided their golden wings over our heads / Li
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I am yet another reflection of myself, / a recursive self reference of an image / caught in tow parallel, plane mirrors / facings each othe
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A man defined by his possessions is not defined; / for his possessions are not his to be possessed. / They live long after he leaves them / to be possessed by someone who is not his self. / My money will get p
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The old songs have a habit of recalling the old thoughts
When I listened to the old songs when they were new
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We seldom stand for what we love or can, Though we burn with anguish and desire.
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imitation is suicide: death of oneself by one's own hand, to resurrect the self above all imitations
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Distant and cool in its borrowed light, And an abeyance of a deeper darkness.
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A layer of languor lingers Like hookah smoke that turns the pipe Into a kitten dazed and gazing
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the lonely smile that rounds your lips thrusts a stone of trust in my chest: o the weight of integrity i couldn't keep,
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The whole house is an empire of silence Pregnant with invinsible sadness --
by manoguru
56 lines, 3 comments,
on Jan 10 3:58 AM 2007. In Sad
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One can even make out the sound the wind sculpts
And smell the hills' colors, carelessly
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The most honorable, dignified people Having exhausted their rhetoric of hate,
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But you and I are not these parts anymore
Than the space I occupy is you.
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We listen to the potraits of nothing
When all voices are hung over silence.
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silence is an apt medicine
for those whose tongues are like daggers
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Our torn eyes sniff the malice of their shape
And the memories fo genitals burnt by crackling voltage.
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Now that the stormy silence has ceased
In a quiet uproar and all that is
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we are a loop
of death and we have died
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The reticent arms rest the rocks
Of thoughts on sinewy thighs --
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i threw my pearls to the swines and a species of voice
arose from the tripes of thunder -- terse and tense,
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soon the handful of houses and trees will also be gone;
for sleep is not a dream where you confront your realities,
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and we give ourselves whole --- to the eternity
pronounced by the flames of perfume and austerity of
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An accordion from the carnival
kept playing a faint, fine tune
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the consternation of broken rings of time
beat madly soft to allure a decent meal
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A thin fingered tendril of mist
Exerts its slow footed
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I drink the suspense of luxurious silence
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Some of the days will be gone, washed by the raven's blood
Just as the empty handed grumble breaks the song
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Nobody told us who we were
Inside the blue bottles, travelling
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in the cup of our hands we hold infinity and emptiness,
solid like a lump of stone that bleeds with our hopes, pale
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You scent your green hair, sweeping the dark feathers
From an Angel's wings, dipped and lathered
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a girl with a king of a conch pressed against her ear listening
her thin dark eyebrows like a swelling wave rise
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The bark of a dog stole my shadow.
The sound took a bite on my ears
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Let me be an animal--
A shapeless amoeba floating in air--
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