some folks are just birthed cursed
brains born busy
tossin' thoughts
across
the circumference of
the earth
the nights
eat up their
lives
like they're
just desserts
that one-third
fraction spent
questioning
the other two-thirds'
worth
and what
dreams can work
and which
mean to hurt
seem to get
reversed
we get lost
between god
and the dirt
worship
at the church
of frantic
'til inert
the last
a large part
of the first














Comments
brains born busy
tossin' thoughts
across
the circumference of
the earth
god damn, your diction is spot-on.
fantastic.
--
If you like it, suggest it for a Daily Deviation!
dA is for the literary arts, too.
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
eat up their
lives
like they're
just desserts
Contender for Pun of the Year? I'll nominate you!
A great poem, Shane.
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
of the properly placed
pun (especially since puns
are always out of fashion),
so I accept your nomination
with great pride.
thanks, alec!
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
--
why do writers write? because it isn't there.
thomas berger
no honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: he may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing.
ts eliot
probably the best response you could have given.
touche, sir.
--
If you like it, suggest it for a Daily Deviation!
dA is for the literary arts, too.
at the church
of frantic
'til inert"
pow!!! right there.
--
The world is an eraser for these words
- Jack Kerouac
we must destroy that which contains us
of that congregation.
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
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