Sunday, July 15, 2007

I am a photographer poemhunter whore

wantonly
waddling
wall papered
wall to wall
wordless
war mongrel
wastrel
wait listed
waiting outside
her trembling door
waterlogged
water tight
womb
of her
water spouting
womanhood
my unwordiness
worsens
what for
questions that
I have
no answers for

wrestling
wriggling
writhing
withdrawing
wobbling
worm wooded
wretchedness
worn out
wizardry
her wickidness
unlike before

sitting here
in the eye of a needle
threaded to my
tailoring store
like cinderella
she did dance
a blog of a goddess
pirouetting
on my shop floor

dashed hopes and a dashed decor
cybernetic love choked disappointments
of a poet photographer and a poemhunter whore
prostituting poetry..rednecked
turned back
while the reader takes a snore
seminal stains as words
on the bedsheet of my consciousness
through pictures that i have no use for
poem hunter pompous poets
you can find them unread
at a discount store




to lisbeth

Comment about: firoze shakir
Member: Foster Blaine

Comment: Nothing to be found here; criticism and complaints with no viable alternatives. This is exploitation of the word poetry.. Prostituion awaits the reader.


'I am game- legs spread.. come ye the chosen ones..'

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