Lucid-Gold of something yet to be Discovered

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Phoenix Poetry

Submitted: February 18, 2017

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Submitted: February 18, 2017



I will fall to the drunken recital of Rimbaud
(Anew to start! Deja Vu!) 
Realisations are to be birthed into a vucuum
As I rely on nothing, there is no black space.

Stars are live in their imperial intensity—
Please leave, there is nothing to read.
I will give you a molten obscurity from eternity—
Still he bellows.

I have an infestication to be swift towards such verse: 
crustations are infectious in their love of kisses
-Texts of dirty, unreliable gin-
I can mean anything.

Honestly, this is futile and i am achromic
to the directors that are an illusion.
I put punctation to be them.

Please, there's a violent petal of violent beneath the hidden garden
within the hidden school; stand by me as the bird burns and cries out painfully; 
luck, look! there's a sad thorn and nettle.
My olympian, you have stung yourself.

Shall we dance into nonsense? 
I sneeze onto your breasts, bold in goosebumps.

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