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Russ Crim Tribute page
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Who calls my poems poems?
My poems are not poems.
Knowing my poems are not poems,
together we can begin to speak of poems.
Ryokan
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Everything
just as it is,
as it is,
as is.
Flowers in bloom.
Nothing to add.
Nothing to reduce.
The entire world.
Hiroshima.
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Between you and me,
the words,
like mortar,
separating, holding together
those pieces of the structure ourselves.
To say them,
to cast their shadows on the page,
is the act of binding mutual passions,
is cognizance, yourself/myself,
of our sameness under skin;
it rears possible cathedrals
indicating infinity with steeply-high styli.
For when tomorrow comes it is today,
and if it is not the drop
that is eternity
glistening at the pen's point,
then the ink of our voices
surrounds like an always night,
and mortar marks the limit of our cells.
Vramin
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I Dream'd in a Dream
I dream'd in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream'd that was the new city of Friends,
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love, it led the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.
Walt Whitman
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Thought Processes of a Thermostat
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
ARRRR! The temperature is risen Cap'n! Batten down the hatches!
Fasten the yardarm! Turn on the air conditioner!
Whrrrrrr....
Ahhh.
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
I am a thermostat.
www.ryan.org
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i don't mean to be an asshole
a fool, a prick or a lout
but i am what i am
and that's all what i am
so that's the way it comes out
Assco of alt.slack
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Prayer page
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