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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 03/21/2013
WELCOME TO WOW
M, from Baltimore, Maryland, United StatesWELCOME TO WOW
The city was hard bit back then...beaten to a pulp but not yet dead...
run down in all the riot prone places...like the popped pimples on feckless faces
forgotten then overrun by art house squatters...living for nothing in used up warehouses
and the burned out sweatshops of dearly departed failure factories
stamped flat and shut in by hog tied...hell tarred roofs ruthlessly smashed open
to reveal the hideous heights and the ruined vistas of old gray buildings
I sat on the cancerous ledge with my back to that tumble down empire
the crazy combustible street under my ass...the pigeon shit smeared tower over my head
this wasn't a dream...that spark of desire...setting love on fire
for the same year that tore you up...stitched me back together
floating on an ecstasy...drifting towards danger
from the home of hope...I roamed with a rope
to thread...to stretch...to climb...strapped to the hides of heaven
turning heretic papers into the sacred sound of holy words
on the dark shores...where women were too weary to worry to be aware
of the starlit ancient inca stones rimming a lily pond
on the eye lash sash of a savior's sin ridden sea
a daughter dangles donuts...before her doubtful dad...imploring her messiah mother
shielding the straggling strangled strangers primed and praying please to drain the pain
walking in the wake which welcomes the wow in how...happily can never be forever after
tenderly taking an internal mission through the tough going of our external journey
to the omelette oasis of an egg head summit...full of vividly high..baby skillet fried...fall foliage
left by the deteriorating dialogue discovered in a laid back experiment
shooting pictures lacking captions...like spreading icing without a cake
a recklessly stoic magnificence...a petty percolated passion posing as a pot head's paradise
hey mom...look I'm tripping...in the gallery of the good
only a vaccination to prevent me from catching the meanies
I observe...absorb...and share...putting the lid on my id
with a beloved hug on that chilly day...above marble steps terracing a reflecting pool
naked limbs askew dancing on the tips of obelisk points
stuck like stereophonic needles scratchily playing
the cool blue music of a sanguine sky.
by L Douglas St Ours
November 2012
WELCOME TO WOW(L Douglas St Ours)
WELCOME TO WOW
The city was hard bit back then...beaten to a pulp but not yet dead...
run down in all the riot prone places...like the popped pimples on feckless faces
forgotten then overrun by art house squatters...living for nothing in used up warehouses
and the burned out sweatshops of dearly departed failure factories
stamped flat and shut in by hog tied...hell tarred roofs ruthlessly smashed open
to reveal the hideous heights and the ruined vistas of old gray buildings
I sat on the cancerous ledge with my back to that tumble down empire
the crazy combustible street under my ass...the pigeon shit smeared tower over my head
this wasn't a dream...that spark of desire...setting love on fire
for the same year that tore you up...stitched me back together
floating on an ecstasy...drifting towards danger
from the home of hope...I roamed with a rope
to thread...to stretch...to climb...strapped to the hides of heaven
turning heretic papers into the sacred sound of holy words
on the dark shores...where women were too weary to worry to be aware
of the starlit ancient inca stones rimming a lily pond
on the eye lash sash of a savior's sin ridden sea
a daughter dangles donuts...before her doubtful dad...imploring her messiah mother
shielding the straggling strangled strangers primed and praying please to drain the pain
walking in the wake which welcomes the wow in how...happily can never be forever after
tenderly taking an internal mission through the tough going of our external journey
to the omelette oasis of an egg head summit...full of vividly high..baby skillet fried...fall foliage
left by the deteriorating dialogue discovered in a laid back experiment
shooting pictures lacking captions...like spreading icing without a cake
a recklessly stoic magnificence...a petty percolated passion posing as a pot head's paradise
hey mom...look I'm tripping...in the gallery of the good
only a vaccination to prevent me from catching the meanies
I observe...absorb...and share...putting the lid on my id
with a beloved hug on that chilly day...above marble steps terracing a reflecting pool
naked limbs askew dancing on the tips of obelisk points
stuck like stereophonic needles scratchily playing
the cool blue music of a sanguine sky.
by L Douglas St Ours
November 2012
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