tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22513460449357541422024-12-18T23:31:10.882-04:00No bells, no whistles. This is me—no strings attached.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-65519983695826233362012-08-05T19:56:00.001-03:002012-08-05T19:56:53.411-03:00"It is the responsibility of the poet to distinguish catharsis from art."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-71948770734620986642011-12-18T15:15:00.000-04:002011-12-18T15:15:59.371-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">a day in summer<br /> rain in the morning&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the sun breaks free, transient&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;rain has come again<br /> a warm and calming tempest&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;vital, feverish&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;but blossoms now are fleeting<br /> wind, a subtle chill&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;it presses down, life and death&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cold is on the march<br /> pity the man who fights it.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-27931978248178154782011-12-18T15:01:00.000-04:002011-12-18T15:01:26.547-04:00<p>"I decided that I didn't really want to be a writer anymore. I'm much happier tearing down the work of other writers, who are not as talented as I am, but also not as paralyzed. Any artistic frustration I have now, I just take out on them." &ndash; Josh, <u>Kissing Jessica Stein</u></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-26450780984345988192011-12-18T05:14:00.000-04:002011-12-18T05:14:27.144-04:00<p>These are the things, then,<br /> which we self-endowed gods must prize</p> <p>above our own creations:<br /> Jealousy, Obsequity, Betrayal, Sin<br /> of any sort that suits our affected moods.</p> <p>My bile is thicker than your blood.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-83773414160893114122011-12-18T05:10:00.000-04:002011-12-18T05:10:07.203-04:00<p>buoyed in the street&mdash;<br /> monochrome chrysanthemums<br /> bound in a bushel</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-87977307172179368852011-12-18T05:04:00.000-04:002011-12-18T05:04:21.868-04:00<p>sidestepping broken bottles,<br /> she trudges homeward&mdash;<br /> high-heels in one hand,<br /> halo in the other.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2251346044935754142.post-72469762722675633492011-12-18T04:36:00.000-04:002011-12-18T04:36:21.457-04:00<p>"Poetry is the language of a state of crisis." &ndash; Ardath Whynacht</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08443641708928841968noreply@blogger.com0