Inspired by a song, and myself, and a couple, I spent an inordinate amount of time this morning in poetic collaboration with freetranslatior.com. I actually would, and maybe even at some point will continue the project, but as you might be able to tell, I am a free association jumble at the moment. I'm afraid for my brain!
this poem started as me telling the free translator a story about an awful looking spider on my steering-wheel last night, and then it remained sane and clinical, and in response I became crazy (lather, rinse, repeat). it pretty quickly lead me into a tragic love story in a distopian hellscape. I actually kinda want to write a short story about it.
title: The Mine and Leaves, Victorious
(Where in I am the inexact lover)
this one, of you
'attentive' never was my 'strong process'
and my will was done in.
(Where the hopes in which my roads)
if I form a change, to change the way
that I think on the steering wheel
If I form a shift!
(Not my personal exit, and there is a conflict with, the Mine and Leaves: victorious),
the eternal luck to obtain to my fingers
was the white yellow color to be rotten
to do me and him,
a question of territory,
"never of or near, the lake,"
and walked for to obtain my hands that took.
"Was"
"I owe"
(Where in: I step where I) am
I asleep, on a wall of sick yellow colors.
I awoke, asleep, on a wall of sick yellow colors.
It was, they all, I do
but I to try to look at a corner of my eye
(Where in I do a terrible violence and I dissociate doing the fact)
my hand as the knife, the muscula, the bone on one,
I told him this: "If you cause an
accident, that is not to suffer"
my hands neglect just.
(In it changes the defect/ Pre-Cambrian fault)
In its poison of mouth, each minute of thought.
this there is not that, my life of height,
sound the old one and height one,
it is not the damaging one, my life of height,
its the old and high one,
(inside that is the one, that have the eye, my employer)
to Know my darling and I was between its workers
was among its workers
and that it was mad at me
(Where I am victorious, but in the high price)
it has been launched of the car,
but this one does not see,
the thought is that "I am" lateral to signify, "where".
It to be imagined in my suit and under my hat,
It to be imagined in my process and under my hat, this
poison injects in my skin that as of I,
to permit is "the insolent storm".
EDIT:
I had to make sense of it before my brain would let it go, so here it is re ordered, edited, elaborated and combined with poetic pros:
The Mine and Leaves Victorious.
EDIT:
I had to make sense of it before my brain would let it go, so here it is re ordered, edited, elaborated and combined with poetic pros:
The Mine and Leaves Victorious.
Not my personal exit, there is a conflict with
'the Mine and Leaves: Victorious'
the eternal luck to obtain to my fingers
was the white yellow-color to be rotten
to do the things we did, me and him
Deplorible;
the spring
brought out of stone
with a staff
a question of territory
"never of, nor near, the lake,"
he walked for to obtain my hands that took
like brother Crain[for a time we went about, together as brothers, engaging the people in the street
in wrestling compititions. we fought dirty and pulled their beards, taking their money
when they lay gasping. treating them latter to burgers and shakes when we came
across them by accident, and they weren't sore at us a bit. "good old boys" they'd
say. But we had that old style falling out, and he flew off somewhere, to do miracles.]
(Where in I do a terrible violence and I dissociate doing the fact)
my hand as the knife, the muscula, the bone on one,
I told him this: "If you cause an
accident, that one is not to suffer"
my hands neglect just.
[when I came across him again I was in rags, and he on a high seat, suddenly the son
of someone or another, dressed in splendor, with great white wings. Wings I broke!]
Where the seed is buried in the road
if I form a change, to change the way
that I think on the steering wheel
If I form a shift!
["But how I want to repent, he was my brother, even if his father is someone or another,
even if we have different mothers." I said it and meant it! I would have bandaged his
wings, and brought him soups by the bucket-full, but his wife was in the court, and she
looked so fresh. So I stole into their bedchambers while he laid up in hospice, and fed
him poison soup.]
Where in I am the inexact lover:
this one, of you, near me
'attentive' never was my strongest process
and my will was done in.
"Was"
"I owe"
[I owned her body in the way men used to. I made it mine with bullying and mind
games. I say these things now, as if I own them, but to myself, in dark rooms,
all alone, I just say "She wore you down, how could you be good with a woman like her?"]
In you, changes the defect (Pre-Cambrian fault)
In it's poison of mouth; each minute of thought.
"this there is not that, my life of height"
sound the horns, the old one and high one comes!
it is not the damaging one: my life of height
its the old and high one
[his father suspects, but gives me a high station in his world]
inside! see him?
that is the one, that have the eye, my employer
to Know my darling and I was between its workers
was among its workers
and that it was furious with me
[He must have given me that job just to keep watchful over my wicked ways.]
it has been launched from the car,
but this one (me) does not see,
the thought is that "I am" lateral to signify, "where".
'It' to be imagined in my suit and under my hat,
'It' to be imagined in my process and under my hat, this
poison insect injects in my skin 'that' as in 'I'
to permit is
"the insolent storm".
