Artists, vote at the end of the story.
There are so many words and things running through my brain,
I don’t know where to start.
Surely there are moons that go by, that I find nothing left
Behind but a blur.
What fantastic combination in my mind triggers all the
Flutters that lead to the sardonic sound of ideas that
There is a gender to the fizzled out agendas, lazy
Female gaffery, with those few sensual ripples
That leave an aching to chase.
There are sensations that course the length of my
Body. Crumbling spires of foolishness, steeping
Brain storms caught in my arms and hands.
How else can I explain a poet without slandering
A heart that toils for the word, and movement of
Nervous energy caught in the palms of my hands.
If it were to be anything else but pure minglings
Of thought, bunched together in clusters of
Tart, crisp and pungent. smelling of genious
By: Natalie Janssen
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