The second son of Mr. NoOne
trapped birdsong cages
engaged in misery for sport
binaural exposition on loss
of sleep and quantum forces
Mt. Musgrave and the Tasman Seas
aboriginal this place, an emotion
of ugly nonchalance
not New Zealand, just the times
unborn crimes bind
aspirations falter on the lips of winter
swipe three times and wish for home
succumb to the pharmaceutical revolution
eschew the common courtesies
important calamities are self-centered
predators at home in the houses of the holy
mediate the trauma of darkness
one, two, three, mark. zero, one, zero
step to the rhythm discordant
one carries more than one can hold
Mr. NoOne doesn’t help to pick up the pieces
dropped along the way
esoteric drivel on the screen before you,
what does it even mean?
the kisses of finality linger, dear.
image courtesy of Funny Signs(Roliga Skyltar)
Masterful, OP, as always!
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Thanks AP 🙏🖤
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💜
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Wahey! Dope.
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Thank you Daisy 🤙🖤
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This poetry is punk rock and full of amazing visuals and heart. 🙂
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Thank you my friend 🙏🖤 good to hear from you
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You welcome, my friend. It’s always a pleasure to read your incredible work and hear from you as well. 🙂
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🙏
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It is a sad reality that there are those who just live to disrupt! Mr. No One indeed!
dwight
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Thank you Dwight. It is indeed a low place we find ourselves in
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