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w a s t e d

gloomy perception
is running like rain
licking the heat
between loins

sated like tame lions

that terrible propensity
for the pulse shuttle
in the jerk of the vein

sink hot mettalic
lust
the phallic plunger
run in dirty fingers

these dart days we
throw against
the shadow wall
like knife shark
bites in drywall

catatonic
abbreviation

shuffle on terazzio
the dry lip heat
of radiator run
a sweeping blue
beneath the terrible
truth of the secret
sun

I scald visions
whilst the sound
of rain weeps
against a smudge
world glass

this jerk
distant
need

we pull
close

while the
clouds
predict

slip down
our worlds
unclasp our
ghosts

we shiver

Editing stage: 

Comments

stasis

the gentle space
of tired rooms
and foil hot lancer
tracers

her eyes bent
dedicated to her work
the frothy dreams

all this
is

gone......

author comment

‘that terrible propensity
for the pulse shuttle
in the jerk of the vein
…. sink hot mettalic
lust
the phallic plunger
run in dirty fingers’
- very powerful

typo – I believe metallic has only one ‘t’

great title
as usual with your writes esker, i have nothing worthwhile to offer

love judy
xxx

'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)

never injected nor watched anyone
inject everyone was polite

but ive had my stays
crashs visits
with pills and alcohol

I know what the alcohol does
or its delusion for me
I can just imagine why people
would want to use the heavier
narcotics to escapement or
amusement for something

whom wants to face such
business
alone

alcohol went with me would
hold my hand in the beginning
and then throw me and everyone
down the rabbit hole

like consumption

narcotics so powerful

more then lust
passion love
for some
for me

But I know injectors
their love their secret sacred
groves and glades
where their poison takes
them to the lost and damned
and away from the monsters
and lairs

away away

I write to get myself away
through fictions tale
the wind and steady
deathly quiet that gives
me chills

Thank You Judy Anne
for the typo correction too

author comment

Before I read the comments I felt a terrible dread that you had fallen to the needle.

It is personally horrible to me and my dead.

Brother, if I may still call you that, you are still truly the most talented poet here.

Now I feel like saying something trite like "let this be a lesson to others", but you don't descend to that. I've seen people write words that try to be about drugs, as effective as their soul-less grief for dead rats.

And you have the grand arrogance to make it beautiful.

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

Good god Weird but you have nailed me to a "T"

well "Brother" and you may call me that!
Ive met the hardbittten survivors
still soft around the remains
that lives

the dead scoundrels and scouts
gone tits up with too pure a ride
the quiet ones grew loud
with talents who blew away
the pain inside their head
with long rifles

or ended up floaters in our
creeks and lakes
mystery endings
mystery beginnings

"soul-less greif for dead rats"

Do you know that your latest
poem the last lines I admired
greatly!!

and this comment in itself is
sharp and pointed stern and
unwavering like a paper critique
that i absorb over Expresso Con Panna
Elf's column

Your writing is getting to be exquisite reads
,my brother of late The focus is there

a Hello and a Nod to you sir!

author comment

thank you at every level.
I have felt soul dead for nearly two years, just scraping by on commitment and experience.
for the first time in a long time I feel I could go back to my old signature
"The nature of Jess is irrepressible!"

cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry

I ran in my younger days
not with asthma but with
people
places things

I remember people screaming
at me training me
most would have quit and walked
away but there was not much place
to go when life is lived at the edge
and beyond So I dug in and picked
it up

terrified and lost in the whole
chaotic beauty of the madness
of it

sunsets rainstorms and hot sqaulor
mornings in black tinted rides while
trance rock thundered
Hey bros! thanks for the ride!

Hey Sweetie I hope your daughter
gets well and thank you for taking
me through a rough territory to my
home grown landcapes

hitchiking through life aint no limo ride
and going off the grid was another
dimension

before that I had never left my little town
and only visited cities as a tourist
spoiled and at thirty hit the road running
and never looked back never ran
even now

if I slow down to think Ive been done wrong
I'll get run down for sure

gotta keep moving
keep fit
keep as lean as possible

and keep my hard core friends
that know close

Thank You for the comments
writing is about the window
that many would rather not look
into

let alone live

just glad to cheer along the writers
and poets here that I find kinship
with coming in from the trail
be they old or young
we have a voice
a meaning

Thank You

author comment
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