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Time Check

Last roads

, oh know, just that, nowhere, this one brings me back. Where do these last roads begin and end, in our minds. Are we forever traveling down last roads as we imagine only for them to have no beginning or

, oh know, just that, nowhere, this one brings me back. Where do these last roads begin and end, in our minds. Are we forever traveling down last roads as we imagine only for them to have no beginning or

Out there



Halfpenny moment

28-06-1914

3 foot ruler

ABANDONED

About Tomorrow

ABSURB

Acceptance

ACCESSORY

ACROSS THE LINE

ADVERSITY OF VANITY

AIMLESS

ALTERNATIVE BELFAST

AMERICAN DIPLOMACY

AND ALL THAT THERE

AND NOW....A WORD FROM BRIAN

ANGELS

ANGELS CARING

ANGELS FALLING

ANNOYING SUCKER

ANYONE

AN INOFFENSIVE MAN

ART OF LIFE

ASKING A QUESTION

ASSUMPTION

AS WE CHOOSE

ATOMIC NUMBER (6}

ATTEN--SHUN

More Poetry >>

Stickless 
I feel like a stick again. I listen to others talking
and their conversation is beyond my understanding 
It's as if i don't occupy the same shape nor space
they do, but I know, at least I think I know I'm the 
same as them. But i must be a stick again because,
it's as if I never worked with and heard their conversation.
All my working life heard the same old tales about football.
 
Never did understand the passion on display, but then again 
if one can't understand, its better being a stick, 
least way, one doesn't have to pretend you're interested in 
the drivel dribbling from their twisted smiles or perhaps sneering lips.
Today the the lips were moving on about pigeons 
okay i know they're a bird and that they, at least some of
them are homing pigeons, never felt at home anywhere.
 
maybe that's why I always feel like a stick, I get thrown 
Around and where i end, i settle, until I'm picked up by
a soft soughing though and find myself traveling on
carried by the wind in the guise of a plane. Unlike the
the homing pigeons where i end up is never home, just
a place upon the ground that welcomes stick men such as me.






Stick--Less


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