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orangecat bluebandanna Poems
Time Is Man Made
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Dinosaurs Are Dead
Dinosaurs are dead. Pretend to believe in dinosaurs Like triceratops with three horns Jutting out of his armor forehead
Late afternoon, glistening table tops of the café outside patio, view from a window blinded by the lambent daggers of the sun, sloth-like stratus engulfing; dancing opaque of smoke, oozing to the universe’s gravitational pulls
Sit ............... I was sitting
orbiting around another like planets
Shapes And Ships
bring me to your island before you go missing in the forest across the ocean
Halifax, South End
the harbor is right down the street i can watch giant ships float by, the city buildings are just small enough to see the sky, big enough to make you feel really small, the people are so sincere,
Love Is How You Use A Pencil
love is how you use a pencil there was a giant sky scrapper, on the outside of the building leading up the front were two outdoor elevators parallel to one another. with no entrance to the building from the sidewalk, the only way in was through one of the elevators. You were there, along with us a group of our friends. The ambience was dynamic as we all packed into one of the elevators, and road up. Once we were on, all of you around me became opulent and cordial. My feel wasn’t as warm, it was more of an apathetic tentativeness of anticipation for something, who knows. when we arrived to the top, I found myself alone, I have been riding the other elevator. I watched the rest of you get off, walk into black, with a resonance from laughter and conversation as the rest of you vanished through the shadows of the hall. “Well I’ll just catch up with them.” I said to myself.
Morass, swamp, your effervescing landscape An ideal place to start excavating From top, to down, Into your lavishing abyss,
I Miss That Cat,
the sweater is old somber with coffee
Yawn Then Drill
Lay In The Flo Or Bed
I want to bring you back home. L a y in the f l oo r be d Watch the p u r p le house In the wi n do w
hollow.... who pretended to listen to me? who really never listen to me? who thought it where jokes of what matter to me.
Sole Of My Shoe, No Soul Of My Body
with gravity filling, holding space to the surface of our skins, each pore it seeps in, through our blood cells and organs, all pulling our sub-conscience towards the moons and other planets to the stars, controlling every breath and thought rev elated to someone, in here or
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Time Is Man Made
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Invidious opaque of windows in castles, furtive feudalistic kings
adequately fettering and stigmatizing masses to their liking.
to suit the hegemony’s thrones and crowns.
Balustrades still hold
omnipotent edifices together,
from the exhausted, over worked, turned into glue, who refuse or are to old or cost to much, who can’t keep up with
left to fend for themselves in a ...