capoeiragem

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
Storyon the roof culturehero317 years 9 months ago
StoryDistance capoeiragem417 years 9 months ago
StoryJean Paul Sartre Is In My Cornflakes capoeiragem717 years 9 months ago
StoryColophon Brooklands217 years 9 months ago
StoryThe Most Good and Generous of People ethancrane117 years 9 months ago
StoryA Gangster Smile ethancrane517 years 9 months ago
StoryFairground Boys Ewan517 years 9 months ago
StoryDream Brooklands617 years 10 months ago
StoryCarpentry for beginners Brooklands418 years 1 week ago
StoryNeon Ewan318 years 2 weeks ago
Storythe lump culturehero118 years 2 weeks ago
Storythe hot air balloon culturehero118 years 2 weeks ago
StoryReverse BeamsAndVoids818 years 1 month ago
StoryScene Dream capoeiragem718 years 1 month ago
StoryIn the Mouths of Children capoeiragem718 years 1 month ago
StoryMalandro capoeiragem418 years 1 month ago
StoryTime Killer capoeiragem218 years 1 month ago
StoryTime capoeiragem518 years 1 month ago
StoryPoem Slam. keleph518 years 1 month ago
StoryMarlboro Nights DominicNolan118 years 2 months ago
StoryMattress ben1318 years 2 months ago
Storybad experience in the underpass culturehero118 years 2 months ago
StoryH2N2O4Li+ ellydawn218 years 2 months ago
StoryLeast of Gifts Ken Simm418 years 2 months ago
StoryOde to Tomorrow [Revised] ellydawn818 years 3 months ago

My stories

Cherry

We Made This Poem Together

We made this poem together, do you remember? I read you a few lines from Octavio Paz, something about your body being the trace of your body, and you said it was one of the saddest poems

The Brave

A beaded rattle burns in rivers across his chest, fluid lines that stretch and roll towards the colour of the sky, while the desperate drilling sound of ancient oil wealth,
Cherry

Distance

As the night time fades into morning, you can see for a single moment, in the shimmer of distant stars, a subtle trace of things that we will never understand.
Cherry

Jean Paul Sartre Is In My Cornflakes

JD Salinger once wrote that probably for every man there is at least one city that eventually turns into a girl, but I think the opposite is also true, that a girl can just as easily turn into a city.

Surreal Poem

I met a tangerine today, it fizzled in my face, sang Mrs. Robinson in Russian, and stormed off into the night, even stranger when you consider the label said she was from Colombia,

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