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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=486179" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Babbling....</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=486179" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">the sea has mastered the mass<br>production of waves<br>like millions of white foamy<br>eyelashes<br>the shore multiplies its own sands<br>that gleam like diamonds at noon<br>the trees grow leaves upon its twigs<br>the spiders spit their own silk<br>just like the worms<br>air is breathing upon its own <br>molecules<br>no one notices all these miracles<br>every aspect is normal<br>there is nothing extraordinary<br>things flow like water<br>coolness gush like wind<br>clouds flit, rain pours, the winds from<br>the sea hushes<br>my hands type the words for anything<br>trying to make poetry unnoticeable<br>there is nothing extraordinary now about<br>words on feelings long numbed<br>when you read this<br>you shall notice nothing but mass production <br>too, and you tell yourself<br>what kind of desecration of the words<br>is this phenomenon? <br>desanctify fear, disedify what is divine<br>make things flow like water<br>let the air be but just molecules<br>now, what is so extraordinary about you? <br>there is no such thing now<br>as discriminating taste...</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a></strong></div>