“... poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.” --Audre Lorde
Friday, August 28, 2009
fluted lyrics a day in rain flickering as if. as if announced, invited, or the entertainment swallows any serious discussion of rain or the correct calibration of. the correct calibration of nonsense, humor, desperation having intended to continue in an affair long awaited and yet, ever so gently. ever so gently a brush, silence the wandering or wayward ever on to something more poignant or flattering what could never be this or otherwise. this or otherwise he tried to articulate without agreeing to drink first, so clever or unannounced, a generic unfulfilled wish or constant repeating car tires through rain at street level, one last hope. one last hope negotiated over mundane sci-fi and casual brushing, after each syllable placed or replaced with personal expression, the sound of your eyelashes, fluttering, intoxicated.
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