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#1
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Sitting with you, drawing with you,
Playing with you from second through sixth: You were our class genius and painted horses wet with rain, Before you had breasts, in their pastures without fences; In the pastures they owned. Your mother pitied herself for abandoned By the mural painter who stayed a few months In that small gossip of a town, Leaving a daughter with new translucent skin And eyes that chased after Perspective like butterflies from birth, And hated you.
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Then I came back from where I'd been. My room, it looked the same - but there was nothing left between The Nameless and the name. - Leonard Cohen. Last edited by Sunstone; 06-08-2006 at 06:49 AM. |
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#2
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nice one.
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To tell the Beauty would decrease To state the Spell demean - There is a syllable-less Sea Of which it is the sign - |
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#3
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Then I came back from where I'd been. My room, it looked the same - but there was nothing left between The Nameless and the name. - Leonard Cohen. |
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#4
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#5
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I hate to ask a favor that might inflict more of my poetry on you, especially this early in the morning, but if you wish could you take a look at Throw Your Rockets Far and let me know if my use of metaphor in that poem is any better? Of course, if you don't feel like it, that's certianly OK.
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Then I came back from where I'd been. My room, it looked the same - but there was nothing left between The Nameless and the name. - Leonard Cohen. Last edited by Sunstone; 06-08-2006 at 07:23 AM. |
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#6
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structure-wise, it was great - good rhythm. i think only you can say if it could say what you wanted to say better. boring answer, i guess.
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To tell the Beauty would decrease To state the Spell demean - There is a syllable-less Sea Of which it is the sign - |
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#7
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Quote:
__________________
Then I came back from where I'd been. My room, it looked the same - but there was nothing left between The Nameless and the name. - Leonard Cohen. |
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#8
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