poetry critical

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Open sores from sea-salt rocks.

Nothing's never going to be the same;
Nothing has been molested by music.
But didn't music save the Queen?
When she hushed it into mischief,
We all knew, we all knew.
(A truth is left to be desired by the liars,
and the truth is that when you do it all the time,
It just isn't fun anymore.
Or so one would thing.  That's all.)
My words meant to defent this poor Nothing
Have led me to deplete my oxygen tank.
So I use freezing hairspray to finish my speech,
then lie back to enjoy an air-conditioned breeze.

19 Aug 06

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Please excuse me, I had thought that poetry was meant to communicate.
 — Storytime

oh gosh, you're still around here? awesome! i saw your comment on my poem up there, and i was like "hmm, that username sounds familiar."
did you ever leave New Iberia?

i really like the last two lines of this poem.
 — rosemary

No, I'm in Hawaii now.  xDD

I'm surprised that you actually remembered me.
 — Aziel

 — rosemary

Yes.  Hawaii.  xD

Long story.
 — Aziel

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