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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 18:10:10 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 36991
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Puddle On The Floor
[time] => 2004-03-01 23:30:43
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Sitting next to you it is very hard to paint my cauliflour with the intense buzzing of your brain interrupting. "WILL YOU BE QUIET?!" You look at me, your face a picture of grotesque philanthropy. I can hear the algebra reverberating. Aquamarine and cyan drip from perplexingly lumpy vegetables to the starched white tablecloth with last week's spaghetti sauce. Your benevolent smile, engaging in polite erotica with your ears, is trying to hug my face. I jump up suddenly, repulsed. Paint and lunch fly everywhere. I stop and stare. It seems you do not realize I have knocked my orange soda into your lap. I am disbelief and incredulous You smile. "It fizzes." ...my cauliflour falls from your hair... ...to the puddle on the floor... [comments] => 2 [counter] => 232 [topic] => 64 [informant] => SensitiveSoAbused [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
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