| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
| POETRYrepairs v08.01:005 |
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| JANUARY 5 [only the oak] he said getting an e-mail from me could be sipped like cognac. To him, elusive as the words, he can make what he wants out of. I'm his, molten, liquid, ready to take shape in his arms or a knife in some others 2. the men who don't know me are the ones who adore me. They are sure I am what they are reading, elusive but leaving enough clues to let them shape me as they wish: I'm clay and air, their own secret confession 3. only the oak leaves still hanging on. Brutal, these sunless days. A lie, it's your words, their pallor, their knives. If any light is staying longer, I'd never know it copyright LYN LIFSHin |
| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
| poetryREpairs v08.01:005 |
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| BLUE SATURDAY I write "get attention" for "get permissions." I try to soak up the sun as the cat does, try to let it thaw the blues but they are stubborn as she is choosing her litter box to be anywhere in the house. And like these dark cobalt stones, these blues seem too heavy to move, leave a mess Self Hypnosis mp3 | Audio download program | Hypnotherapy Treatment - Self Hypnosis MP3 download Audio enhancement programs - Free Self learning Hypnosis Script | Download | Audio | Mp3 | Tape | DVD | CD |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
| poetryrePAIRs v08.01:005 |
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| SCARS He says he has new ones he says surgery was canceled days before. He says no implant no anything. I think of him jogging as magnolias spilled. He said the doctors said they can't do anything. A lost year, spun around he says no Hong Kong, says disability, only a new cat, didn't think he was ready, never is for love 2. before the scars photographs of him launching a table dancing career before the scars, round faced forming a pre- punk band with his sister. I see him years later near his dying cat, the stray, one thing he loved 3. He writes. When he told me he rescued a diabetic stray, I didn't believe him. If he could care, let something so deep into his life. " A hunk," friends said. Electricity on the brown velvet couch the night we didn't. I'd taken my books from his rooms, a sign I'm sure he felt meant I wasn't ready. He writes he is spun around, as I'd been. The magnolias, the marguerites. He's adopted a new cat after the black beauty died, "didn't think was ready, never am for love" -copyright LYN LIFSHin |
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