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Launched from the silo of the womb,
Controlled by initial guidance, everyone's
Abandoned to fly ballistic - we assume
A calculus of fate with course corrections.
Since every worldly force evolves a form,
A parabola describes our invariant
Resultant path, compulsion to perform
The Now as the asymptote at a moment -
Our trajectory approaching infinity.
Engorgéd youth, ascend in expectation –
Collapse in age, secrete a meager droplet.
Buffeted by chance and choice, the gravity
Of death, despite intense determination,
Again will kill our hopes to rise to orbit.
StratigraphyA layered section through the tell of the mind,
To sort the strata of a buried past.
The broken walls of old defenses bind
Us in a dungcairn we will not outlast.
Unearth the psychic potsherds, sleepless nights
Of votive offerings in the caves of fleece.
The glowing rubble of futile dreams, insights
From artifacts that promise endless peace.
Tell us about the man who left the palace
And its smoky light, who sought the way
To learn about himself, impetuous
To regain his vanished past without delay.
The cryptic sequences inscribed in ruins
Portend what he must learn to read as runes.
FoolscapThe page once folded, remains - never to be
Unblemished, the paper's grain never to regain
The purity the print conveyed to me.
The written word creates a permanent stain
Upon the brain, a pewter palimpsest
Conceals the tangled history of the mind.
The name below the title echoes the quest
Of those forever mute who are unsigned.
The flash and gaudiness of cyberspace -
Computer words can be as often scrap
As the untrodden route to inner space,
So little time for patient nibs on foolscap.
Our virtual poems inscribed in minuscule
Can reconstruct the world in majuscule.
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More