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Skuld Resurrected (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer

The quiet hum of words fade into each other, stuttered-stumbling, confused, voice tight, amped by vapored lungs-- a yearning satisfied an itch scratched, a fist held in defiance. It could be nothing, sure, but that don't mean poetry's dead. (you motherfucker.) Melded minds entwine in collaboration, at ease, taking in the twisted lines-- (blurred by bad articulation.) everything taken half-heartedly, a grain of salt; simple, salty bitterness making it all the more sweet. Theres no need to change a damned thing; we can't, it's hopeless, it's futile. It's the thing fools do again and again and again in retardation-- (but it works.) without sense in isolated drug space expressing dead stirrings-- (pounding.) on a wall of words turned to thoughts thoughts to feelings. (assumptions into sweet nothings.) Poetry's not dead, not old, it's young, ruthless-- a gang of hoodlums amounting to nothing, screaming "go fuck yourself motherfucker, goddamn cunt-bitch-WHORE." beating this hopeless rebellion (but we ain't dead.) into your fucking skull: We amount to something; something savage, violent, frenzied-- a tempest deepening.

god'swife 22-Jun-04/1:20 PM
The last four stanza I love.

In the first stanza you write

The quiet hum of the words
seem to fade into
each other in ...

Yuo can't say that, 'The quiet hum...seem to...', you see you continuing the sentence as if the subject was 'words' but it's not, it's 'hum'. 'words' is the subject of the preposition.


The quiet hum of words fading
into each other.

Or something like that.




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