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Games (Free verse) by fevriere
Bodies grow new blood while flowers bloom blooms and shells echo Cold air needles prick skin for films of lace, for tapestries where toy soldiers slump against dolls, where the Ballerina longs for the touch of tin on tutu (and she might if you want and do you? You don't do what you're told. You don't want to do what you want to do.) but this game is not Tag - Mostly we all just lose until we win, and then we lose some more. The rules: 1. Pick me out (must you say my name? do it in a tiny smile and i'll return it) 2. Then we play 3. Then fight 4. Then it's over.

Down the ladder: My Swarthy Bane

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Arithmetic Mean: 4.5
Weighted score: 4.9403987
Overall Rank: 9118
Posted: January 23, 2004 4:52 AM PST; Last modified: January 23, 2004 4:52 AM PST
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Comments:
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 131.111.212.215 | 23-Jan-04/8:32 AM | Reply
A colossal exploration of a trapped guff.
[n/a] Christof @ 217.44.71.71 | 23-Jan-04/9:15 AM | Reply
What are the first four lines about? They give me a headache.
[5] horus8 @ 24.126.116.54 | 23-Jan-04/10:29 AM | Reply
Christ-off is right, the beginning of this poem is an upended seagull into the bow at 40 knotts.
[n/a] INTRANSIT @ 204.110.225.254 > horus8 | 23-Jan-04/1:43 PM | Reply
save that seagull would you? I can use it to replace my face I lost in an ealier boom-squelching incident. thanks.
[n/a] fevriere @ 62.254.128.6 > horus8 | 24-Jan-04/2:03 AM | Reply
Thank-you. I am disappointed. But I am beginning to see how tangled it is.
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