

Pirate MusicShouting into the rain " unfortunately for all you screaming fansPirate Music
there is no such thing as the young Tom Waits, he was dispersed in Avignon with embarassingly no world war to masculinly claim his life and write him- one more pretty engraved name - into history. It was instead a drunken driveby near miss the sound of which rang in his ears for hours leaving him deaf and destitute until by the side of the road lamenting failed underwear entries he ceased and untied his existence letting it blow- wind rushing by the ear of
a pretty girl trudging ha


Rett Mich Meinem ZwiebelnRett Mich Meinem ZwiebelnRett Mich Meinem Zwiebeln
I cut my hair with the hopes that it will fall between ridiculous and hardcore, drive screaming the obsenity of this gas guzzling grid, sleep in rooms
where a multitude come and go daring each to call me for a fake. I lay lies like bricks fill the chinks with sex or weakness, a persona that I dare not (fearnot) publish. Driftwood saying so hard I am
the sea. I cry foam at night, shake at every splinter. Alternate like current on malignant god head switch from philospohy as pure as LSD 25 tearing


root for the home teamroot for the home teamroot for the home team
swinganda miss swinganda miss swinganda !CRACK!
the crowd goes wild while we\'re circling the bases count them one two
three f- wait this is sex not baseball better drop this metaphor before
shit it\'s the seventh inning stretch she\'s sore or bored and yawning.


Slippery SoapSlippery SoapSlippery Soap
Come pletely avail able body deed mis take two joints joining? in the bath tub bub elles running over head rattle tight fisted fucked n sucked dried parched worn away the toys falling loudly down stairs running up
heaven and
escalator steps down from the podium 70 MPH runs through
him like an 86 chevy cava leer, ing
out the window dog slobber disolving through the table
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When you keep getting pelted with shitballs, you gotta get youself a shit-bat.
How's things going? And yeah I'll drop by to check your works soonly.
Groovz
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Father of ^inennui, Drunken uncle of ~jesusbite, Grampa of *xomatose, gusto's ! gustoboy and son of a ^ ndifference
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[link]
I wondered if I might have that problem with my screenshots someday. it happens, I suppose...
you're right though, I don't think there's a whole lot about American capitalism in RYMOWS. I generally try to observe the form rather than get into messy specifics of anything remotely political.
I'm certain those are quite heavy habits to drop. I'm very pleased to know that my poetry is not a completely useless distraction but, of course, some would say neither is morphine.
in all seriousness, though, you're very welcome to whatever I can offer and I wish you luck at staying 'clean' because I'm sure you'll be infinitely happier as a result.
--
love of clean fur is warmer than twenty dogs in an igloo
I would get carried away,
many worms would turn.
Thanks for your advice... I'll might let some slack from fivesevenfive, but the restraint of that scheme is usually plenty enough for my pointlessness.
regarding "Raped Your Mouth Out With Soap," I am quite confident that those perspectives/concepts were in the poem and were clear in the poem, if you read carefully enough. my intention was so subtle, however, that I had to make it explicit in the poem's description, for you know as well as I that hardly every member of deviantart is sharp like you and me (the ones able to grasp the numerous conceptual implications of a work of art). therefore, the purpose of my explicit description was to provide courtesy for my less intellectual readers. (sometimes you need to give someone a shove before he or she can jump for his or her self.) also, if you noticed, my courtesy was not a free throw-away--instead of just telling them the answers, I solicited responses by asking my readers to apply. it may be "like" a disclaimer to do so but, if you are thorough enough, you realize that it simply is not a disclaimer. I hardly prefaced my poem with "it's not really that good" or "I'm still working on it," nor will I ever. I totally agree with you that poetry by definition should stand alone as words and readers' interpretations but, I remind you that very few among us actually consistently live up to that standard. it is often necessary to lend a hand.
bottom line, your helping me to examine my motives is very generous and I thank you for spending so much time reading, rereading, and commenting. I only hope that I offer a similar assistance to you.
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love of clean fur is warmer than twenty dogs in an igloo
first, regarding my piece "Kiss Off," to answer your question: yes, for people who question the use of telling in a poem's description because they cannot pull it off/do not yet understand how to do so/etc., it is ridiculous, and reasonably so. I suggest, as a solution to this trivial discrepancy of perspective, paying attention to specific situations more than complete obedience to general principles like "show don't tell" for a change. also, you are correct, I did go too far with the one-word lines but, once again, you are not paying close enough attention to purpose. utility is the name of the game.
secondly, regarding my piece "Raped Your Mouth Out With Soap": to put your mind at ease, the truth is that both my poetry and I am smart. nonetheless, with comments prefaced by such beside-the-point speculation, I suppose you really have restored the liveliness to my readers' feedback. further, considering the irrelevant premise of the comment you left on this piece, I'm not even going to bother rebutting the fallacious mess with which you conclude the same comment.
if you'll please excuse my eye for an eye...
you have a bad attitude and you ramble off subject but I love you. thank you for commenting and keep it coming!
--
love of clean fur is warmer than twenty dogs in an igloo
--
[link]
"Smelled scavengers out the woodwork" - it's when the scavengers come crawling out of the woodwork (to turn a phrase appropriatly) - they're 'smelled' out, as in to say they're tracking a scent. It's a bit of a leap, but I liked how it sounded too much to have it any other way.
syllables gurgle out like
drained eustachian tubes.
There are other ways to write haiku? I thought that was it...
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