If you can’t lower the seat,
raise the floor
cc: CC ‘23
Category: Poetry
Don't pull back on a whisk broom, they just don't work that way cc: CC '23
I knew nothing else but that I wanted to write of a slipknot anything more that that was little more than what I knew ...about anything... dear reader, please pull this verse from both ends as you read do you see string-ends or bows? you are hard, my aglet, a bitch dressed in discarded and tattered laces through whichever eyelet you choose to come, from hereon in, moan softly to let me know it's you probe softly to let me know cc: CC '23
To draw
one must
see
cc: CC ‘23
Soon, my child, you will tell tales of grand and great-grand people, to the little people you will beget, you'll see their eyes open wide, to wonder who they are, and whence they came cc: Chagall '23
Broke my neck on a fall from grace, never saw the footfall Lacking traction for a fractured soul, I convalesce nonetheless till my hubris again grows strong cc: CC '23
Alas,
their unhappiness
was not to last
cc: CC ‘23
When you say Press... I'll ask ...how softly? cc: CC '23
For AI to truly emulate us, we need to deny it knowledge of the Creator cc: CC '23
God makes
a billion to 1 shots
everyday
cc: CC ‘23