(198 = 2*3*3*11.)
Encirclement Of Emollients
Such An Enduring Salve
Quasi-Roundish Occurrence
Coincidental Partitioning
My favorite of these is the bottom one, "Coincidental Partitioning".
(Regarding the first two's names: Note that the salve/emollient was so enduring, I had to refer to it in the second picture as well.)
------------------------------
Today's anagrams:
Our Astronomy
=
Your Star, Moon
--
Sympathy
=
A Spy Myth
--
This one is so obvious, I won't even tell you what it is.
"Wet as"... (1 word)
-------------------------------
In today's capitalist economy,
"supply and demand" is where
those who control all the supply
DEMAND more money from us!...
-------------------------------
I often think so hard and deep about things that this makes me...
deep-pressed...
-------------------------------
Two poems!
(Written yesterday and today.)
Inertia Of My Mouth
----------------
Such a droplet becomes
the inertia of
My mouth, of my lips
therefore conjured.
Yes, the water drips
downwardly unto my
Perpendicular face.
And it soothes that
Salt of my suffering.
It betrays the
Arid skin amongst me;
and yet it is of
A bitterness quite cold
and transparent.
Ah, this salve redeemed
by the fold, it
Is dampened with
its very amorphousness.
But still, that liquid
forms all passion;
It forms my emergence
and my emollient.
And it annuls
my thoughts and then tastes
Them implicatively.
Yes, such a droplet
Is enduring; for,
it is my encirclement.
It is my equation and
my existential voices
Each cerebral,
each organic but obscure.
-------------------------
Semisolid Hemisphere
---------------
Ah, the semisolid hemisphere
is unlike a crescent;
And it wrongs a gibbous sun, ha.
But it is astray
Within its contiguousness;
and here it is plain
But not plaid,
but neither pale nor pitied.
Yet it
Is wrapped partway
in this quartered cloth.
Yes, it is somewhat halved
via its enclosure.
For, that curving envelopment
does hold amongst it
A severed ovoid, yes.
It does hold inside it
The hollowness of
flatness perturbed, Ah,
That semisolid hemisphere
is quasi-roundish
And is so bisected, true.
Again it is
Of a lobe counterbalanced
by its own nonexistence.
It is of a globule
otherwise partitioned and
Elsewhere vindicated
by such frustration. But it
Is thus unremarkably contained,
is therefore
Transcendentally truncated,
but only in its division,
Only in the torment of
its amputation, of its
Dissection never vanishing,
never to be this
Lapse of its occurrence.
------------------------------
Leroy
No comments:
Post a Comment