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Showing posts from February, 2011

Wet streaks DAMP

I once went underground sleeping. through      tunneled mud lanes       of   broken castles there were armies marching to the kitchen store and beauties waiting for the enrolled whore. yellow shade       came thru velvet strings of day light GLOW                                          sun-tan baths                                 over                        flew kites and birds of narrowed beauties soaked up spicy in              open air breaths of wanton ecstasy. clouds were blue and rains               silver              ;;;;;;;;;;              pouring              down               the   THATCH STRAW                                   b                                  e                                  a                                  d                                  s                                    of tightlipped gasps. rubbing skins and woolen cots rained sparkles of f   a      l                          

Nymph nodes

Nymph nodes I   Childhood has an attributed nostalgia like ventilators that sustain life. It’s like your wish to return to the cellar towers Where you watch, the green of weeded walls. The damp air The dusk and the rusty care taker fill your breast, While you watch your shadow curve in the lantern shade. II   I was a girl of eleven with a cot of my own, When fingers, thick and dark spread on to my skin. I lay bare, by the window cot watching afternoon leaves flutter shades and breeze. It was a nameless tree, next to my broken fence, marked as my floristic guardian angel in the annals of my birth star logics. Climbed on it, every other day my pores bled, To paste its pulp in-between slices chiseled. It stood straight, with a thousand limbs stretching. I must have hugged and kissed its belly red. For I feel, I am cuddled within.