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The neck, long and lean, feels Fizzing, fuzzing emotions Ready to pop And spew and sizzle and swim Soaking the skin, sticky Someone lost the lid A long time ago Once the liquid spills out The empty hallow Transforms into a transport vessel For a message Of hope, love, longing Or of rescue, release On the top shelf She keeps her collection Of colored glass Gathering dust Shaped like violins or hour glasses Did they hold whiskey or rum? She bites her lip Until she bleeds But she never cries I do Poete maudit accursed Poet

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

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Date: 8/11/2009 11:09:00 AM
I love this poem, I can really get some metaphors in this.
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Date: 8/11/2009 8:51:00 AM
Nicely written. I can gain several messages from this one. Sara
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Date: 8/11/2009 8:36:00 AM
This is a very interesting how you developed the write and how the poem flowed..good work.
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