Spent,
shattered shards,
splintered,
spewed and
splayed,
spread rough shot,
across
shifting scapes, in
swirls of
soil and sand.
Seems
especially similar
since I’ve
certainly summarized
this sort of
scene before,
something
stunningly same,
of slender
artistic equities.
I’ve said it
some other time,
these
alliterated stories of
sorrow, sadness
or sweetness,
summed up
and spat out,
a series
rerun.
A sequel to
something I said,
about trees,
or hearts, or sex,
or lovers,
signifying a desperation
for substance,
sorely lacking with
substandard
alliteration.
So,
something to say, supple in
seriousness
and specialness.
A sure show
stopper to send the
senses spiraling
into space,
a
spectacular spectacle.
Something worthy
of Shakespeare,
or Sam
Shepard, I’m steady, ready,
steamed and
sharp, so I’ve just to
say it. To
say it, the something,
something
stupendous.
Shit.
Stupid
stuttering syllables.
So many
disappointments.
Shattered,
shards of sentiment,
spelling
nonsense,
constantly.
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