Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Sunday, August 22, 2010


Write, do we say when: we have no one to speak to and nothing to say.

Write, do we say when: the irons strike runs hot and the cool breeze of wisdom flies at a loss.

Write, so that the world may gain a heart, a love so strong, its own metaphors grow envious.

Write, and the shall that shall be I , by no other name be mentioned last after a lot of heavy avoidance.

Write next to say pass the time. When will you stay , next, to pass the time. What is your name.

Write, when the slippery names of substance
 Lie in their pools of quality reflecting lost opportunities, time lines not taken.

Write, tonight like it’s your last night on, staying awake tomorrow you shall sleep with the reunion choir and sing sweet sheets to four winds.

Write, left out of thought, wind on the outside of the pain of glass against your window the living room illuminated, I bumb my head. Leaving seeking the garden path out.


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