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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, March 1, 2014. A March without Movement. I awaken to the ground hard,. Vestiges of melting winter come at me. Downward from the slate stricken sky. I awaken to the dawn. Of madness bearing down. Of b-ball bracket worship. And faux celtic drunk-fests,. Of emergence from snow-swept silence. And the last gasps of ice storms fading. Recede into the mud.

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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life | unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com Reviews

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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, March 1, 2014. A March without Movement. I awaken to the ground hard,. Vestiges of melting winter come at me. Downward from the slate stricken sky. I awaken to the dawn. Of madness bearing down. Of b-ball bracket worship. And faux celtic drunk-fests,. Of emergence from snow-swept silence. And the last gasps of ice storms fading. Recede into the mud.

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5 poem

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7 seasonal

8 spring

9 the frozen muddy

10 of dawn

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posted by,benjamin francis birnam,no comments,labels fragment,poem,poetry,seasonal,spring,the frozen muddy,of dawn,at midnight,a sharp breath,of clarity,born,but blackouts,and madness,of morning,come dawn,of my,exhausted pointless,the last filament,hope

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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life | unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com Reviews

https://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, March 1, 2014. A March without Movement. I awaken to the ground hard,. Vestiges of melting winter come at me. Downward from the slate stricken sky. I awaken to the dawn. Of madness bearing down. Of b-ball bracket worship. And faux celtic drunk-fests,. Of emergence from snow-swept silence. And the last gasps of ice storms fading. Recede into the mud.

INTERNAL PAGES

unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com

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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life: Our Living Room Cries, Her Coffee Cup Bleeds

http://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com/2009/09/cup-work-in-progress.html

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Wednesday, September 9, 2009. Our Living Room Cries, Her Coffee Cup Bleeds. I was fixated as a kid on a red and white checkered coffee mug, a cup that would never know the taste of java; in fact, it knew only wine, woman, and song. The wine was cheap, the woman my mother and the song metaphorical. Think Beach Boys 'In My Room,'. And through the hazy chain sm...

2

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life: the frozen muddy

http://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-filthy-drifts-of-void.html

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, February 15, 2014. She is a whisper. I dream of nothing. She is the promise. She is a figment. With daydreams of nothing. Filthy drifts devoid,. But the frozen muddy. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). And Don the central figure in The Lost Weekend. The profile picture is Mickey Rourke as Bukowski's Henry Chinasky from Barfly. Our Living Room Cries.

3

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life: Leave It To Bitcher

http://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com/2009/10/leave-it-to-bitcher.html

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, October 31, 2009. Leave It To Bitcher. Maybe it's the nostalgia jag I'm on with Mad Men. Maybe it's memories of the thrill I had as a kid getting my first typewriter (I was a wannabe writer geek as a boy, still am), but the thought of these obsolete machines brings with it powerful recollections. Turning tricks, Wally. Selling smack to Lumpy. That ...

4

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life: Bob and Ruth

http://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com/2009/10/accidents-will-happen.html

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, October 31, 2009. Bob Douglas was all chest high plaid pants, wild eyes and eager ears, working the police-fire scanner knobs and his telephone dial with savage efficiency in the darkened room at the back of his house. This was his war room, his command center. The Information Station. Hey, down there at 1310 Hoyt! Get ready for the fire truck!

5

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life: Stucco Green

http://unfinishedmadness.blogspot.com/2010/02/stucco-green-to-tangerine-shag.html

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Sunday, February 21, 2010. Blue-black thoughts down the hallway,. Stucco green bleeds to braided frayed through smoke and sunflower prints of the front room. As decaying paternal, maternal afterthoughts meld into the yellowed fabric, smoldering drowned. I walk through with my head bowed. The dining room spins 78 revolutions. I walk through with my head bowed.

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December | 2011 | Unhand me, Villanelle!

https://unhandmevillanelle.wordpress.com/2011/12

Unhand me, Villanelle! Archive for December, 2011. Posted in Poems by the Brother. On December 24, 2011 by familialdiscontent. As I began my day. I went into the world. And I was spoken to,. A voice in my left ear,. And I was told to turn. As I set my foot. On the blacktop river. That would take me to. The place; the place,. I am told in my right ear,. Is perfectly lined for me:. But my left ear burns. And my throat is always dry. And today there is a tugging. At my earlobe,. And I see trees reflected.

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Authors | Unhand me, Villanelle!

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Unhand me, Villanelle! Two poets, related. The Sister (in Sydney), Beck Longbottom. The Brother (in Perth), Chris Arnold. With over 30 syllables published in a variety of copies of a zine from such far-flung places as Perth, Western Australia, Chris is easily one of the most successful poets living and working in his house today. He lives with a very small Calytrix Strigosa. See Chris reading his poetry live on the open mic at the Perth Poetry Club. You can follow Beck – aka Senorita Poeta. A new post to...

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Unhand me, Villanelle! | Page 2

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Unhand me, Villanelle! Posted in Poems by the Brother. On May 10, 2011 by familialdiscontent. The gap between my molars. Must be a cozy cottage;. The worst house on the best street:. Not much to look at, but. Plenty to eat and drink. Painful as it is,. It’s comforting to know. That there’s something. Alive in us all. Posted in Poems by the Brother. On April 30, 2011 by familialdiscontent. It’s much like the the sprawling ruin. With the endless staircase:. Every arcane cold grey block. Or two steps above.

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Define villanelle | Unhand me, Villanelle!

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Unhand me, Villanelle! What, pray-tell, be a villanelle. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. Join 17 other followers.

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Copyright | Unhand me, Villanelle!

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Unhand me, Villanelle! All content on the. Unhand me, Villanelle. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. Join 17 other followers.

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God is still working on me. This will be the last post at this web address. I’m moving this blog over to LisaMarieNewton.com. I’ll continue to post personal updates as well as my thoughts on reading, blogging, and learning (3 passions of mine). Make sure you change your bookmarks, RSS feeds, or however you read blogs to the new address! I walked around in a daze for about a week after. It was a nasty combination of emotion and synthetic hormone withdrawal that I hope I never have to repeat again. It had ...

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دریافت کد صفحه ورودی. شنبه سیزدهم مهر 1392 ] [ 15:9 ] [ مسعود ] . قالب هاي نايت نما. کد هدایت به بالا. طراح قالب: نايت نما ].

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Still listy…a little less complainy. May 16, 2014. Guns don’t kill people, but GUNmen do. Recently encountered on my primary unaccredited literary source (i.e., Facebook):. When there’s a bombing, we blame the bomber. When there’s a drunk-driving accident, we blame the driver. Why, when there’s a shooting, do we blame the gun? When a bombing occurs, the general public agrees that people should not own or detonate bombs. I’m defending my family.” Yes…by killing or disabling someone e...I bet that number i...

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Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life

Unfinished Madness and Other Walks of Life. Bad Poetry and Lousy Stories from a Father's Son, a Mother's Boy and a Cocaine Kid turned Tanqueray Man. Saturday, March 1, 2014. A March without Movement. I awaken to the ground hard,. Vestiges of melting winter come at me. Downward from the slate stricken sky. I awaken to the dawn. Of madness bearing down. Of b-ball bracket worship. And faux celtic drunk-fests,. Of emergence from snow-swept silence. And the last gasps of ice storms fading. Recede into the mud.

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