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Retirement (Free verse) by Jeremi B. Handrinos

Stumps with a barreness as far as the eyes could see High pitched whine followed by bloody curdling screams Not a hint of green, or life, or love, or daylight The Saw mill stands alone on a grey slate precipice No more men or bad jokes over black coffee & timecards The ghost of development now's automated by depravation The roof's covered by wingless sleeping birds, preening And ahead lies a suburbia fashioned from worker's flesh Water tower reads "Forest of Modernization", Hatesville Winnebagos Pontoons Jetskys Watercrafts Swimmingpools And filthy bird baths Audaciously uncentered between the mailbox & inevitability.

poetandknowit 4-Aug-03/2:51 PM
Sure thing, Brad. No, it simply explains the mind boggling fact that despite your will, your ego (hahahahaha) and your ability to scribble words while high, and your endless capacity to convince yourself that you are a true talent, your work suffers. And you cannot take criticism worth a shit. You automatically go into defense mode and hide behind your plethora of characters at the drop of a word.. Your work suffers. And the fact is you are a joke of a writer. No matter how much you want to talk the talk, no matter how much you berate what you consider lesser talent (which is quite funny, actually), no matter how many times we get to see Intransit slobber over you, the fact remains is that your writing is all over the place and in need of a good edit. But you cannot see that. And your defenses make you sound foolish. You are Image challenged. Laughable.




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