If the world is but a stage
then I am but a mime,
lost for words and lost in words
and trapped by words,
for the significance of sound
is lost to the mute.
In silence I have brought forth
the essence of craftwork,
washed myself in the afterbirth
of Loki Lie-Smith.
(copyright a(scetic)verse, for whatever fucking reason I want to copyright a godawful draft, 8/25/09)
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First stanza is pretty much made of gold. Maybe tarnished silver. But still, I like it.
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