The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
For view there are the houses opposite
Cutting the sky with one long line of wall
Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch
Monotony of surface & of form
Without a break to hang a guess upon.
No bird can make a shadow as it flies,
For all is shadow, as in ways o'erhung
By thickest canvass, where the golden rays
Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering
......
They did not recognize me in the shadows
That suck away my color in this Passport
And to them my wound was an exhibit
For a tourist Who loves to collect photographs
They did not recognize me,
Ah... Don't leave
The palm of my hand without the sun
Because the trees recognize me
Don't leave me pale like the moon!
......
Millions of babies watching the skies
Bellies swollen, with big round eyes
On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts
Noplace to shit but sand channel ruts
Millions of fathers in rain
Millions of mothers in pain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of sisters nowhere to go
......
Iseult stands at Tintagel
on the mid stairs between
light and dark symbolism
Does she stand for phonic
human overtone for outlaw
love the dread pull lothly
for weariness actual brute
predestined fact for phobic
falling no one talking too
Tintagel ruin of philosophy
......
All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
......
It’s not even about missing you.
It’s about having to remember
how fast and sudden you switched up,
and how horrible it made me feel.
One day you flipped,
you were sad and miserable,
you didn’t even want to be around me.
I don’t know what I did because you never told me.
You left me so confused and alone
......
I cannot be alone,
And I cannot be bored.
Does that mean I like people's company?
Or am I just good at faking a smile,
And getting things done?
People say I have the best smile,
But is it real?
Am I really happy?
Or do I just lie to everyone?
......
In the quiet quest of self, a name unfolds,
Christen Kuikoua, a story yet to be told.
Not just a random soul or a fleeting dream,
But a being with purpose, a soul in the stream.
Through days and nights, in life's winding thread,
In the valley's shadow, where mysteries are bred.
Asking, "Who am I, and how did I come to be?"
A pondering heart, longing for clarity.
......
There once was a man
His skin was made of milk-white wax
Though his flesh was still made of tissue and
Blood
Now, being such a peculiar
Person
He was, understandably, shunned by
The people
So, to prove his worth
......
!
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