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Untitled

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posts 1–11 of 11
regular - founder
195 posts

How much of what we speak
Is for our benefit,
For ourselves to see
The mirror
No longer clouded;
As it were our words
Clearing as hands
Would the steam,
Displacing a veil
Suspended in the air before
From our bathing.
What we collected
On our skin washed away,
The clarity of our image portrayed
In nakedness before our reasoning.
Or is it covering
In silence through which we seek
To remain obscure,
In that so much of what proceeds is empty.

regular - member
117 posts

interesting hmmm.

regular - member
117 posts

where is title?

superstar - member
342 posts
Not all poems need a title
regular - founder
195 posts

the title is in the glove compartment of my soul

regular - member
117 posts

squeaky? crowded? broken? full of paraphernalia?

superstar - member
369 posts

This is a very thoughtful and reflective work. i think i get what the poet is saying, but i am not very sure.

superstar - member
342 posts
Wannabe. Why is the size of your script
so small???

Musicboi. You don't have
a car so how can the title
be in the glove compartment?

I am still thinking about this
one before I put in my
comments
regular - founder
195 posts

all of the above, rio wink

regular - founder
195 posts

hey, i have a car!

regular - member
117 posts

this has no title....               .                 .               .             .       still?

that's like having a dog with no name.


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