Poetry Soup Talks, Ow, Hot
Hot Soup talk is the pressure cooker's son!
Sweet derth of wicked tallows and
wipped addicted frothing spider tounges!
All Poets are not the same.
They are born and then multiply
regressivily complexifying claims
who cannot love
or loved enough
but find behind them
a second lack.
This other lack that follows,
that fills with words and
signal flares a homage
to enjoyed pain,
to futures cut from knowing
what can lack in love.
Copyright © Iwould Prefernotto | Year Posted 2018
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