deepundergroundpoetry.com
[ On Poetry ] The Fault In Your Poetry
lies in your spewing of stars
up into heavens as if curse words
without rhyme or reason
providing mariners in their journeys
with nothing greater than themselves
to navigate by and look forward to
other than the I of your maelstrom
What a fucking albatross
it becomes around their necks
up into heavens as if curse words
without rhyme or reason
providing mariners in their journeys
with nothing greater than themselves
to navigate by and look forward to
other than the I of your maelstrom
What a fucking albatross
it becomes around their necks
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