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of eggs and death.
Floating temptation cracks
the egg, makes the boot taller than
the claw that wears it.
Blindly, the death game
waits.
Inside-out hamburger,
condiments all fallen to
a vulgar cause.
Eternal nationalism
fits in the palm of my hand!
The death game
waits,
the egg is warm but bro-
Ken. Grass grows rudely
in front of a blind spectator.
My bowl pours itself empty while
the light brites up every
fiber, until a halfling eats
the light, becomes a
whole.
'But all is not dark':
a sun becomes, inspires the dirt.
Reflections, mad dancing:
drunken eternity.
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Comment by: kylaci - 2006-11-14 14:11
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| This is actually from an exercise translating Egyptian heiroglyphics. Seeing as I don't speak heiroglyphics, or even have a dictionary of terms, this is a literal, pictorial translation. I don't know what the hell it means either. |
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| this hit me like kerouac, fractured impressonistic beauty. cool. |
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Comment by: - 2006-11-08 14:56
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Again, I think I understand your message, and I think it's really well written - straight to the point. Well, really cryptic, but brilliantly so when you (think you) know what the subject matter is.
I love your crypticism, Kyla. |
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| Again I dont really understand the message your sending. But I'll keep reading your stuff, maybe one day i'll figure it out. |
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