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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 21:12:03 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 143705
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => This Treatise
[time] => 2008-07-05 11:30:27
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => This muttering, ranting treatise Is nothing but pure Bliss, Coherency of a cur. The words dripping with patron saints The jargon phrases: The (can’t)s and (ain’t)s, The cant studded with, “What the blazes?” Human with all-encompassing wings This shadowing human Sings A veritable talisman. The I can’t, I won’t, I shan’t, Promises swayed as shanty homes Promises with a slant, Yet to be capped off with their comfy domes. You are of your word. I tally. Of your word when stirred, Though this is an anomaly. The spitting anguish Cataclysmic and red-faced Close to a languish Yet without a having-been-traced. Keep a candle For this nightly twilight Scandal. Keep the night bright. Crank calls on the phone Begging alimony, Plots measurably phony You and a certain crony. What a ghost! You would make. To aggrandize, to boast To spook and fake. The beads of sweat From a little square, taupe -- Easy to forget So full of hope. That epitaph Would make me laugh As I rest on it with my left calf, The better half. A pyre dripping with a patron saint The mutterings under volume So faint In their ambitious tomb. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 169 [topic] => 43 [informant] => screwge [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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