may 2006 anno domini |
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> version # one [ curtains and mind ]work in progress |
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of magical incandescence
inside the belly of a moon of her with the endlessness of predetermination all around reckless, wasted rich man privileged man wild bird
that crushed moment
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power |
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Poetry is not subject matter. It is a medium. As color to a painter, as stone to a sculptor. Camera to a photographer, utensils for handymen, money for businessmen, an academic degree to an academic. Poetry is vehicle of expression for certain ideas, usually arcane, not an end product. It is an expression of movement, chance and continuity. Details of structure. The big picture. Signs. Mindprints. A language of life.
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Predator, prey or mate? The difference is so amazingly subtle. The outcome of engagement so utterly different. For you as an individual.
alone i write
to the world, the end result is the same the world is always right you are just a moving piece of material destined at some point in time and space to stop moving
from inertia thru movement to inertia |
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thru kyhber space we rode |
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celebrating the void our clouded nuclear presence |
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when a breaking smile seeps thru our mutual atmosphere |
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war is murder |
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variations |
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it is the mightiest river |
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the lid has come off deep green door in the woodsmemory recalling mon amour the clear blue water of lake gungsweega reflecting a sky with no end burning epitaph your eyes tell me to live |
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its all in your head |
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sand carpet |
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i carry time body and water pieces of sun |
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time is in my head i am a painter |
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heaven surface crucified spirit can’t feel the rain |
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syracusa the sea is calm wasted tyme heaven |
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It was a blazing summers morn. The sweltering silence of midair, in time echoing into apostolic virgin remnant shadows, was awoken by the swishing of wings, as a lone black swan leapt into flight, taking off from the watery mirror of Lake Gungsweega, making a sharp U turn over the top of a giant palm tree and disappearing into the blue of southern sky, contemptuous of our minute priorities. Welcome to the fourth dimension |
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Scrap mountain your shadows stumble across waste and secretion sapiens when will you realize we are all one when poverty is ur only companion friend smiling passionate |
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daze with kirsten compared to thee cynical love lines here |
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Cézanne |
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temple of molten light over the water |
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art |
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Jessica 2005 intelligent Darwinism as in the words Father Jessica 2004 her wild flesh is honey ivory ghost i crush my berries on your white satin horse thunder along a highway bleeding morrison angelic motherload erotic snarl |
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galapagos << version # two << [ galapagos ] |
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copyright © tetriano 2007
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