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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 18:14:32 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 25380
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Bed
[time] => 2003-10-20 12:00:18
[hometext] => A poem about everything that happens in a bed.
[bodytext] => Now I lay me down in the blood-warm bed and wrap the uterine sheets around my naked body. I enter a state of perfect contention, not particularly happy, certainly not sad, absorbing the peace that radiates from the darkness and my lazy heart. It’s funny that I so freely return to the place where instinct’s forceful hand leads me every night, or early morning. It’s funny that I have preserved my sacred fidelity only for this, and not my wife, my family, my god, or my brotherhood. It’s funny that I love the intangible like a mother, or a lover, or a one-night friend, but only as long as I can recover the next day and go on with my unstable, hurried duties. Why is there so much happiness in unlife, but so much sadness in death? [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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