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A Poet's Rifle (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer
Blood dribbles from the quill, the feather dyed sepia. A poet's tears dampen the paper as he flaps his wings and sings his soul into the snow of the artic blizzard. His voice lights the way for his mind to fly free. His verses warm the fingers that continue to move despite stiffness, to worship words. He was found dead, wearing a t-shirt that said: "You can take my pen, after you pry it from my cold dead fingers."

Up the ladder: Blind Sight
Down the ladder: Robe Lowe, Me and Icecream

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Arithmetic Mean: 4.6
Weighted score: 4.9523187
Overall Rank: 8896
Posted: August 22, 2003 11:49 PM PDT; Last modified: August 22, 2003 11:49 PM PDT
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Comments:
[n/a] SupremeDreamer @ 204.31.163.145 | 22-Aug-03/11:56 PM | Reply
This is a remake of Deranged Sailor: Sea Sickness..
[n/a] Fear of Garbage @ 64.56.114.21 | 23-Aug-03/11:47 AM | Reply
must you always begin your poems this way?
it's arresting
[n/a] SupremeDreamer @ 66.81.150.193 > Fear of Garbage | 23-Aug-03/12:28 PM | Reply
what the fuck are you mumbling about? eh? start them in WHAT WAY? aye? how do you propose i start them hrmm??? eh??

if your going to gripe, dont make some goddamn worthless comment like that without explaining your bullshit. ok?
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