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I’ve carried love like a grudge before,
when I said I’ll bury it, I’ll let it go. It grew
unwatered in the pits of me.
I can’t look at him straight in my memories
without forgetmenots blooming
under my eyes. At some point this love
outgrew me like ivy, and nettles.
I am an abandoned house,
and he still echoes in me in the shape
of greens.

I'm here, I'm queer, I'm mostly over the full creative block over the summer and ready to get back to work even though my insomnia is still lingering. Let's do some poetry.

Here’s your Monday morning shot of espresso. Rollerball on card.

No patreon poems for July, I am in severe draught and I simply just feel bad charging people money for pieces I am not happy with.

Will return in August with patreon, billing has been suspended for August 1st, if you're one of my patrons and you're charged then let me know and I'll refund.

No patreon poems for July, I am in severe draught and I simply just feel bad charging people money for pieces I am not happy with.

Will return in August with patreon, billing has been suspended for August 1st, if you're one of my patrons and you're charged then let me know and I'll refund.

I think my God is a woman on her knees,
empty bottles thrown on the floor,
crawling towards something that will make her a vessel.
I think my God is bleeding,
laughing,
full of rage and love and pure,
unbridled,
longing for a girl.
What else would she be?
What else is there?

this shared moment of society, the colour yellow
made me joyful. I straightened my back
did the laundry and walked back home.
That night when I shook apart on the bathroom floor
I thought of a pair of yellow pants shining on the blue machine top, like a bit of light
and a bit of laughter.
I wonder how long they lasted,
it’s been six years and I don’t own any knickers
from that time anymore.
But I hope whoever that woman was
she still wears the sun of London on her ass.
#corvusrobotica

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London Sun

Remember the laundromat in London where I lived with Owl?
in the bedsit where I sat in bed and he sat watching me
get better. And once or twice I took the suitcase of clothes
down to the laundromat alone.
Someone had left their sun yellow knickers on top of the dryer
and was busy loading the new ones in.
It was like the clouds parted for just a second,
she looked back embarrassed and I didn’t know how
to tell this woman her underpants -

this shared moment of society, the colour yellow
made me joyful. I straightened my back
did the laundry and walked back home.
That night when I shook apart on the bathroom floor
I thought of a pair of yellow pants shining on the blue machine top, like a bit of light
and a bit of laughter.
I wonder how long they lasted,
it’s been six years and I don’t own any knickers
from that time anymore.
But I hope whoever that woman was
she still wears the sun of London on her ass.
#corvusrobotica

Show thread

London Sun

Remember the laundromat in London where I lived with Owl?
in the bedsit where I sat in bed and he sat watching me
get better. And once or twice I took the suitcase of clothes
down to the laundromat alone.
Someone had left their sun yellow knickers on top of the dryer
and was busy loading the new ones in.
It was like the clouds parted for just a second,
she looked back embarrassed and I didn’t know how
to tell this woman her underpants -

I have been in the woods, and I have written. Patreon poem should be up tomorrow. finally a trickle of words.

I’m not human anymore and that
should comfort me. It does, it does,
it’s bittersweet I tried for so long to have something other
than molten hurt running in my veins.
I am a broken clock
a faulty radio. Unreliable, nonsense,
tuned to somewhere in a desert
where nothing sings but the stars.
Remember the Bolivian salt plates?
I wanted to go there to be as close to not existing
while still breathing,
now I’ve found that space in myself.
Just stars, I have become just stars.

I’m not human anymore and that
should comfort me. It does, it does,
it’s bittersweet I tried for so long to have something other
than molten hurt running in my veins.
I am a broken clock
a faulty radio. Unreliable, nonsense,
tuned to somewhere in a desert
where nothing sings but the stars.
Remember the Bolivian salt plates?
I wanted to go there to be as close to not existing
while still breathing,
now I’ve found that space in myself.
Just stars, I have become just stars.

And a 10 minute poem where I write something that's based on that again, but make is grammar this time.

Well, a process that loosened some writers block. Now let's do it again, but with like 1/3rd of the words I think.

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Poem made from generated poem words. Nothing added. Some taken away.

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