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Poetry Please start one thread for your own poetry and just add to it! |
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#10 |
Member
How Do You Identify?:
honeysuckle venom Preferred Pronoun?:
a pistol and a sugar cane Relationship Status:
I promise to aid and abet Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: in between poems where ceilings are floors and joe ghost floats achromatic toward day
Posts: 514
Thanks: 229
Thanked 735 Times in 228 Posts
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Forgive me, I’m no good at this. I can’t write back. I never read your letter.
I can’t say I got your note. I haven’t had the strength to open the envelope. The mail stacks up by the door. Your hand’s illegible. Your postcards were defaced. Wash your wet hair? Any document you meant to send has yet to reach me. The untied parcel service never delivered. I regret to say I’m unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. I didn’t get the book you sent. By the way, my computer was stolen. Now I’m unable to process words. I suffer from aphasia. I’ve just returned from Kenya and Korea. Didn’t you get a card from me yet? What can I tell you? I forgot what I was going to say. I still can’t find a pen that works and then I broke my pencil. You know how scarce paper is these days. I admit I haven’t been recycling. I never have time to read the Times. I’m out of shopping bags to put the old news in. I didn’t get to the market. I meant to clip the coupons. I haven’t read the mail yet. I can’t get out the door to work, so I called in sick. I went to bed with writer’s cramp. If I couldn’t get back to writing, I thought I’d catch up on my reading. Then Oprah came on with a fabulous author plugging her best selling book.
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Class, race, sexuality, gender and all other categories by which we categorize and dismiss each other need to be excavated from the inside. - Dorothy Allison
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