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Mary X Poems
There was this Barbie-doll girl I knew who grew into a Barbie-doll woman.
There are times when you simply cannot do anything. You lay there in Medusa’s
Fishing for wood on the edge of my mattress
A Love Letter.
I sit in the dark niches Alone. Even darkness reminds me Of you. Your sweet fingers Brushing against my neck and
A Realization at the Perfect Moment.
Every night when I’m sitting between my walls, writing my poetry,
I open up my book of thoughts And memories, and get struck With a whispery clatter of voices and a blowing force:
Dipsy Blonde with Glasses.
The dipsy blonde with glasses Is bending over again, Trying to re-arrange her
He Once Knew an Angel.
When you hurdle into your pit-painting gargling with salt-water,
Please just kindly slip under the mat and disappear. Don’t come near me,
Culture Of iThey/i.
they told me that walking to the shop was best done using a pair of old trainers. that way I’d be able to walk with
Gut through your old torn and dog-eared books of thoughts and philosophies,
Where do the Oceans go.
And where do the birds go when Winter settles its spiralling hands? And where do the worms go
Art of Picture Hanging.
true emotions don’t come easily. not when trying to express
No Critical Understanding.
did. did. the words.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
There was this
Barbie-doll girl I knew
into a Barbie-doll woman.
She battled some
and cocks dressed
in suits, until
it got too much.
She tried gassing
herself in her
car – hose-pipe in
the window affair –
but realized her
car was made
from plastic. Not
to mention that
much in the first place.
I guess plastic