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Lovin' General

This is a piece I wrote at this one poetry forum where there was a sub-forum called ‘Love in General’. Thought it would be kinda funny to debut over there with a poem called Lovin’ General. Geddit? No?

The bars are downstairs for your receptions,
if there seem those you believe love you more than I.
Go now, if you absolutely must speak to them.
Leave me here, alone, with my real devotees.

Otherwise all communication devices with the outside world must be forfeit, please.

Let us then start with a simple laugh to dispel
aforementioned, premeditated or plainly postured
unpleasantries, from the guts themselves.
Imagine we are all on vacations in gondolas.

Then, we easily slip into a tropical forest hike, just you and me, only us, alone in dense wet jungle.

Now we come across the pyramids, under curious ochre.
Do you remember us kissing, before them, in the future?
All of you was sweating from the intensity;
I had to carefully brush down the beads as I tasted.

Ok, we stop smoochin’ now and it is time for spacesuit fantasy in warp speed. Are we ready Sulu?

All of this has been practiced for millenia, it seems,
and now, up to us to practise unto infinity.
Unto infinity, my Love … oh, whoops … it’s ok, it’s ok,
you just forgot to attach my fastener there, but it’s ok.

I’m slipping away now, from You. Just remember loving unto infinity, like we’ve practiced, it’ll be fine.

runningvein
"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so.

Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't."

The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

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  • My Morning Story

    To Infinity and BEYOND!

    THey put on space suits, ( unto infinity ) I can’t help but think buzz lightyear got married to buzz lightgirl!

    But awesome poem! I love reading them!

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