i saw it as something like a cave, or some enclosed space, not necessarily underground but lacking any obvious source of light, everything shrouded in darkness, its dimensions hidden in the darkness, and people and objects would appear from out of it, suddenly perfectly light and visible, but not lit from above, or within, with no glow of light about them, but just a solid, steady light, a bluish light spread evenly across their surface with no apparent source, not flicking on or slowly brightening, but rather, they were lit simply as though they had always been lit and visible, though perhaps not to me; and from this point they faded in a manner that was imperceptible, in that if i thought of them then they appeared to me brightly, even if not as brightly as at first, but nevertheless they were bright, but from then on slowly faded into a sort of transparency and eventually folded themselves back into the no-cornered darkness, that darkness which sometimes i could not see, such as when i was in a house or a room and i could see only the walls and even landscapes, sun, or rain, streets or fields outside through any windows in the room, but i always knew that outside, regardless of what i could see through the windows, there was the darkness stretching out, so dense, and often i wanted to reach out into it, to reach out and close my hand around the darkness, but i did not, out of fear of what i might feel
It was a spring day, a day for a lay, when the air Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown; Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.
I glanced as I advanced. The clean white T-shirt outlined A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged Much. I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind, I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.
Our eyes met. I felt sick. My knees turned weak. I couldn't move. I didn't know what to say. In a blur I heard words, myself like a stranger speak "Will you come to my room?" Then a husky voice, "O.K."
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
not to be a poet
i mean in general
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
a cave, or some enclosed space,
not necessarily underground
but lacking any obvious source
of light, everything shrouded
in darkness, its dimensions
hidden in the darkness,
and people and objects would appear
from out of it, suddenly perfectly light
and visible, but not lit
from above, or within,
with no glow of light about them,
but just a solid, steady light,
a bluish light
spread evenly across their surface
with no apparent source,
not flicking on or slowly
brightening, but rather, they were lit
simply as though they had always been lit
and visible, though perhaps not to me;
and from this point
they faded in a manner
that was imperceptible,
in that if i thought of them
then they appeared to me brightly,
even if not as brightly as at first,
but nevertheless they were bright,
but from then on slowly faded
into a sort of transparency
and eventually folded themselves
back into the no-cornered darkness,
that darkness which sometimes i could not see,
such as when i was in a house or a room
and i could see only the walls
and even landscapes,
sun, or rain, streets or fields outside
through any windows in the room,
but i always knew that outside,
regardless of what i could see through the windows,
there was the darkness
stretching out, so dense, and often
i wanted to reach out into it,
to reach out and close my hand
around the darkness,
but i did not, out of fear
of what i might feel
words 2 live by
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Weave the sails from light and color,
Just enough to catch a salmon's eye.
Then dive, below the flotsam of the waves.
Catch the gleaming bits of truth,
Escapees of the derelict below:
Veracity, cut deep below the waves,
Treasures stolen by the faithless sea.
Arise and pin them to the vivid sails,
And set forth. The fish will trail behind,
Enthralled by the sight before their eyes.
That is how the sailor writes.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
my eyes are blue
my hair is blond
1488 hitler is gr8 and u r 2
maximum lol
Dover Beach has no fucking chill
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
W. H. Auden
It was a spring day, a day for a lay, when the air
Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown;
Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there
On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.
I glanced as I advanced. The clean white T-shirt outlined
A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged
Much. I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind,
I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.
Our eyes met. I felt sick. My knees turned weak.
I couldn't move. I didn't know what to say.
In a blur I heard words, myself like a stranger speak
"Will you come to my room?" Then a husky voice, "O.K."
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead