"David and Jonathan's poetic hunting trip: Part 1"A Poem by Shmoke-Sifted Heftlandera poetry collaboration with my good friend Dukovan http://www.writerscafe.org/dukovan He should be posting part 2 momentarily and feel free to show him some love on his fantastic other writingpart 1 I have a poem in my head that started forming as i walked downstairs and into the kitchen: my poem will no longer show her face in this town; she is not a liar, a thief or a w***e; She cracked the wrong tiny, fragile eggshell mind and the wrong colored yolk spilled out into the wrong pan...we thought we heard the snicker of god buried in the subharmonic underbelly of the sizzling. I've always felt like I had a Jim Morrison side to me but never tapped into it. I wonder how a back and forth dialogue would go? Lets start out collaborating with writing. But still keeping it prose-like. We can call the endeavor "the feast of friends" or "awkward instant"...*ding* time to flip. just off the top of my head Instantly I felt my hands in the pulp, three years to the date since I last sailed the ship. Every breakfast since, I've been living with it. We flip the switches from studio days of haves and have-nots strobing the pupils and whites. And Ireland is in your eyes. Eating away the emerald city with time. But my vinyl is speaking in silence, telling me what to do, wake me when its over, for now the sounds say to not move. God damn, I'm tired of f*****g around. Start finding some friends between the cement and the clouds, How to live with it, how to get high, this space between the ground and the sky. Me too. © 2013 Shmoke-Sifted HeftlanderAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on July 19, 2013 Last Updated on July 19, 2013 AuthorShmoke-Sifted HeftlanderMillville, NJAboutThey call me a poet, or a bongo player; I'm something like a renaissance schizophrenic wearing a tutu around his neck cause I got my head up a ballerina's butt; I'm nobody, really; I dream of a happie.. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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