Aardvark hattip.
Scramble it in the weeds and grab the hashpop.
It’s summertime!
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every moment,
every private thought
every fantasy left unspoken,
every public utterance from
the first moment of speech
until now, everything . . .
all the dreams remembered and those forgotten,
every word and line and sketch trapped
on paper
on canvas
on wood
on stone
on cement
on sand
on asphalt
in pencil
in pen
in paint
in excrement
in extremis
in bullets
all of it which has survived
all of it which has disappeared
all
of
it
is the world’s
use it wisely
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we spent six weeks
ironing the tide
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all my yesterdays are long
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They say music heals
Go head, cauterize your heartbreak with decibels
You’ll never be deaf to your sorrows
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all day all day all day
when the badgers come home from play
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fleekingslay!
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Continuing the discussion from Fuck Today:
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in the liminal state of twilight,
all awake but also dreaming
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https://bbs.boingboing.net/t/yahoo-secretly-built-a-tool-to-scan-all-email-in-realtime-for-us-spies/86775/13
Poeticalbot is working from a portion of the Enron Spam Corpus, for a while.
This one, produced this afternoon, seemed apropos to the thread in question.
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elinore i dreamed a dream inside seams
—our grey dog walks along the cock shore there—
a young world has heroes and bright new gold gleams
they dance in a jig of anxious despair
stand up on a proud castle carved ‘justice’
they tilt toward a wind-cold and somber day
would name virtue law and all cry ‘trust us’
but our hair is less brown and more the grey
with our older world give death to kindness
mercy—whose name is twenty and sixteen—
and with all my heart I pray you find less
struggle with the tide and furrows on scene
and you—not my twin but my other face—
some day find comfort in some other place
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The night is coming fast; I fear its fall,
Each second ticks a mote of light away.
For fear of darkness, some might build a wall:
To hide behind and wait the light of day.
A barrier keeps out cold and wind and rain,
Creates a place that one can call their own,
A place to rest and heal the bitter pain,
And stand their ground when winds of change are blown.
Without, the teeming masses gather 'round,
And seek admittance to the gated realm.
They carry truth and falsehoods, trite, profound,
And threaten, crying, “Change,” to overwhelm.
No wall blocks darkness, but they can block light:
Beware the urge to wall away the night.
I love sonnets.
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Real quick, I’ll read these
In the morning, which it is.
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