100 Words

[flyguy69]

Originally Posted by Sara Crewe

The problem with loving a poet is you can never accept his words without turning them over and checking to see where they were made and whether they have someone else’s name hidden on the bottom of the message. A poet breathes words into you that whisper long after his voice has gone silent. He talks to you like the pied piper and makes you feel like a rat when you follow him into the streets to dance naked in neon light. When you wake up in the morning sleeping in the alley you can’t remember the way back home.





I am off to try to write a happy poem before someone assumes I am some kinda violent psycho -bitch

Damn I wish I could play the flute.

[Sabina_Tolchovsky]

Originally Posted by Sara Crewe

The problem with loving a poet is you can never accept his words without turning them over and checking to see where they were made and whether they have someone else’s name hidden on the bottom of the message. A poet breathes words into you that whisper long after his voice has gone silent. He talks to you like the pied piper and makes you feel like a rat when you follow him into the streets to dance naked in neon light. When you wake up in the morning sleeping in the alley you can’t remember the way back home.





I am off to try to write a happy poem before someone assumes I am some kinda violent psycho -bitch

I thought it was sexy. but I like those kinda men...

[Sara Crewe]

Originally Posted by Sabina_Tolchovsky

I thought it was sexy. but I like those kinda men...

Me too.

I was thinking about what makes someone sexy and I decided it's about a million things but mostly it's that they know things. Knowing things makes people complicated and interesting. It's like the difference between doing a puzzle with a ten pieces and a puzzle with a thousand pieces, maybe some of them have even fallen off the table. I'll take the latter every time.

Soft and snugging, the embroidered black net slides up my smoothly shaven legs and I prepare for the day. The lattice gently scrapes over the curve of my bum pleasingly when I walk, a light reminder of your touch. Daydreaming at my desk, I lightly run my fingers over the inseam pattern, thinking how your calloused finger would snag the delicate threads and deliciously scratch the fine skin there. I wonder what you would think of the split that is there as on all of my other hosiery, stretched across the muscles of my ass, inviting you to come in.

[Tathagata]

.....

[Tathagata]

.....

[flyguy69]

Originally Posted by Sara Crewe

Me too.

I was thinking about what makes someone sexy and I decided it's about a million things but mostly it's that they know things. Knowing things makes people complicated and interesting. It's like the difference between doing a puzzle with a ten pieces and a puzzle with a thousand pieces, maybe some of them have even fallen off the table. I'll take the latter every time.

My God, woman; dead people, men on the floor, jigsaw puzzles... is there anyone you won't do?

[Sara Crewe]

Originally Posted by flyguy69

My God, woman; dead people, men on the floor, jigsaw puzzles... is there anyone you won't do?

Flies are kinda yucky.

[Sara Crewe]

Originally Posted by Tathagata

i've fallen off a few tables....

Dance on the chairs from now on, Monkey man.

[Tzara]

.....

[Sara Crewe]

Caged rabbits on death row sometimes stand in water because they see the writing on the chart paper taped to the wall. I once asked a water-dish rabbit if he thought he was unclean under the weight of original sin despite being no relation to the snake. I asked him if water was a symbol of baptism and acceptance of an after–the-lab- life. I was ready to stop asking questions when he showed me his ulcerated feet and said, “Hole-y feet are lucky for rabbits and ensure we can hop around heaven instead of being a disembodied limb covered in pocket lint.”

[Tzara]

.....

[annaswirls]

Originally Posted by bogusbrig

Never fall for a woman who writes perfect prose.

you are so fucking right

[The_Fool]

I think it was the cherry of her cigarette in the darkness of the bar that caught my eye. But it was the feminine grace of her hand and contoured curves of her neck that made me look again, as she brought her cigarette to her lips. She smiled, knowing she’d caught my eye. Crushing her cigarette, she stood and casually sauntered toward me. She hesitated and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Yes, I am one incredible fuck and no, you can’t have me.” Then she walked on by. Stunned, I wondered how she had read my mind.

[The_Fool]

I’m tired of hearing that saxophone wail. Seems all they want to play is hurt-me blues. And I done hurt enough already. Salty beer makes for poor drinkin’. Beers and tears make a man thirsty all night. Never gettin’ drunk enough not to care. Never gettin’ dry enough not to cry. I have a memory of a smooth leg wrapped over mine. Silky to the touch. Strong when it wrapped round my waist and made me groan till I lost my mind. But that leg is just a memory. Her kisses and smiles are too. Somebody shoot that saxophone player.

[clutching_calliope]

.....

[champagne1982]

So much for the promised trip to buy her bicycle, it wouldn't happen now. She was going to her room until her mother whispered, "He's got a lot happening right now. Remind him about the bike."

So, she asked, "Dad? I'm sorry for bugging you about the picture. Can we go down to the store for that bike we picked out?"

He turned, rubbing his eyes and set down the photograph. "Sure, baby. Let's get in the truck." The youth smiles from the top of an APC, hand raised in salute, the last he ever made.

[Sabina_Tolchovsky]

There it is that moment I had lost, a moment wrapped up in song. Orion like a constellation on the snow at sunset when everything was pink and golden we cut patterns together like mirror images, infinity in a moment.

Come down and waste away with me...down with me...Slow how you wanted it to be...I'm over my head, out of her head she sang...and I wonder...If any thing could ever feel this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again. You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.
<sigh>

[Tzara]

.....

Originally Posted by clutching_calliope

When does the door open? Are we simply enjambments to suffer another’s enlightenment? Does talk and immersion in the constantness of women that are overly sexed leave one wanting more? How does this terra transfer itself to a personal reality? What hat do you pack when you leave for the day?

You won’t find me anywhere but here. Don’t kid yourself, you don’t exist out there either. It’s this world, these words, this one costume among many. Were you taken by surprise? Nothing said here can be translated, only edited.

(What’s said in Lit., stays in Lit. to borrow a line)

Holy cow..incredible!

Last week he collapsed on the Squash Court, irregular heartbeats it was. Cut back on the smokes, the doc said, Oh, and no more drinking.. He had nodded thinking he could but here he is, putting down his sax between numbers to take swigs out of a bottle of Grouse. We don’t offer him a glass, we mustn’t encourage him. He has the grace not to smoke in here because I asked him not to. I wonder if he’d stop drinking if I asked him to. I know, as soon as he’s out of the door he lights another unfiltered Marlboro.

[bogusbrig]

Wills was ebbing away, wired and plugged and monitored. She wasn’t falling calmly into a deep sleep. She was frantically trying to scratch her way back into the world.

“I need to see you!’ I needed life confirming. My mistake as always was burdening you with life that didn't involve you in the grind of receiving physical satisfaction. That was the day you said I was crazy, crazy, crazy!

That was the day I stop yearning for you and recognized you as the 'she devil'. You were uglier than Wills drowning in her own fluids. You were drowning in self indulgence.

[clutching_calliope]

.....

[Angeline]

I reached my arm out, nicked you with my nail. I meant to take Dan Ackroyd’s--he was on the other side of the bus with you.--Ryan O’Neal, but you--waiting for me on a huge, clean city bus. Ellington’s Take the A-Train was playing so bright and loud I could see it all polished like jewels. I couldn’t walk to that music--had to dance jazzy, but I reached my arm out and nicked you near the temple.

Opened my eyes, told you my deam and we lay snuggled up laughing. “That’s a doozy” you/Ryan said, and I still hear the Duke.

[Tathagata]

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