If life were easy they'd call it death
Wager it in your poker circle
With sheer exhilaration you're tingling
Like a junkie in a murky alley
You fervently await the conception
Clutching damp, smudged paper
Leaves lines of pine on moist palms
Emerald beryl cracked to the core
Pick wedges pieces like scattering stones
Cast amid a tide
Dank abyss, glacial perspiration
Stonehenge presses the edges of your skull
Gambled existence, an inadvertent act of defiance
Crass fatuousness amid a sea of smug assertions
(SIDENOTE: what do you think? i know i am wretchedly unfinished here but i need a break. will be back. i've been on a roll with poetry as of late, but my novel...has been sitting there. update with that: i got rejected from my first literary agency. they said it doesn't fall under the kind of books they represent and they are already have too many clients and have to be INCREDIBLY SELECTIVE. FUCK. Oh well, I only sent like a few sentences of a description. I can't get ahead of myself here, I need to fucking finish before I sent a query letter, sample chapters and such. I will get this published though, mark my words! It would be a terrible injustice not to publish this work. It's insanely unique. There's nothing like it!)
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