first computer generated cut up

by Stark

Posted to Action Poetry on 2002-05-25 07:25:00

the world outside… This is what it not what I mean … not comsume you…And truly, in some prophetic cave begs my eyes to close and imagine greens: deny them that.
To Daniel: hysteria, anxiety rising, replacing,
A difference amid uniformity, order, a twist in the tale a utensil, of meaning. We are not you…And truly, in some prophetic forward to…..
Hope for…………
as a method, a utensil, of meaning. We You’ve gotten some peace not simple entities of the flesh… are roots
A sense of me, comfortability, terms of reference but that’s not what I mean what I mean … I am bleeding. I eye, I like your idiosynracies in this all How hard this is, dependsw it would be unfair of you to maternal embrace. Oedipal terms of must penetrate their subtle differences of intonation, in comfortability,
Turns to an itch in my soul, murmur … not that motherly murmer … that maternal for the dawn, that elusive dawn, heavens life. This is, an polemic – in his poetry I beats; breath inhales a forgotten lost essence, A memory is, an epiphany. My voice a confusion, a corruption of the mould their emotional meaning. How hard this poetry I tasted beauty, could see the tale of the American Romantic plateaus and I chide my self for not understanding you. I dependsw on the murmer … that maternal embrace. Oedipal terms of is what it is to be sentience. feeling intuition guided. Writing amid subtle differences of … … … … . . Walls … … look forward to…..
Hope for…………
all surrreals Danny, those bits that … … … … … .Greyness you in order to find their emotional meetings, coincidences, and Fate… feeling intuition guided. Writing amid to close and soul, a rash of the spirit, of pure slavery to the other, where is the uniformity, order, a twist in demand you stand up a shout, a sweet difference stardust in the devils eye, I like your And then there’s cosmological space hippy Clem – of change, and chance meetings, coincidences, and Fate… feeling method, a utensil, of meaning. We boughed wilderness, that tacit hear me…you know what’s coming out………this whole decent are of something so much more subtle… … not that motherly murmer … see you for the dreams you force us it can knock you dead in

The Literary Kicks message boards were active from 2001 to 2004.