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Showing posts from December, 2009

Futiletide

Yuletide gaping void of lack, Causes recollecting back. Imagination, rampage wild, Transformed into, wretched child. Tis season jolly, bright and gay, But rotten, forgery, and cliche. Seeking Ghosts, threads entwined, Hidden in corners, of the mind. Intense stillness hangs around, Suspending body, quiet sound, Stinging cold, yet inside warm, Want tomorrow, yet feeling torn, For arrival fast, is such a boon, Yet means all is dead, far too soon. Bombarded with, seasonal finesse, Overwhelm draining, to excess. Suffocating spend, gorging glee, Leaves me polar, numb, empty. Cheer tarnished, excitement dent, Expectation greater, than event. Sudden dawning, sharp like knife, Innocence lost: lachrymose life. Despite all efforts, to re-create. Gasping for air, reluctant, too late, Like a drowning soul, struggling for breath, We cling to memories & fade to death.

Merry Sianzmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me A cartridge in a sharpie. On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridge in a sharpie. On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Three sharpie pens, Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridge in a sharpie. On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Four Thora Hirds, Three sharpie pens, Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridge in a sharpie. On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Five DOODLE-INGS! Four Thora Hirds, Three Sharpie pens, Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridge in a sharpie. On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Six words a-playing, Five DOODLE-INGS! Four Thora Hirds, Three Sharpie pens, Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridge in a sharpie. On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me Seven Wainwrights singing, Six words a-playing, Five DOODLE-INGS! Four Thora Hirds, Three Sharpie pens, Two Hounds of Loves, And a cartridg

The 12 Delays of Christmas

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