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Aaron Elswick Sep 23
Is it... Irony?
My life is language
and I have no words for you.

Erasing each little quip
before it reaches my lip
only echoes

A thousand lines for you.

The precedent muse,
and you won't see them
even if written
you won't see them

I feel defeated

By myself and my hands
by my words
with which the short line spans

I feel deleted


As if it's my defeat to posess.
As if the story is in reference to me.

But it was ours
and now it's not.

You won't see it.
The words won't rhyme,
because it's not our song anymore.

It's a memory
Fading into the background
Frequencies slowly dying out
against the scenery
as our ears get too old to hear them.

We'll remember differently every time
we think of it again.
Until it's different again.
Over and over,
until the echoes are a whole new chorus.

A different memory.
And the spark will be dead again.
In another new way.

I'll always be sorry.
Then I'll remember it
and type it, and delete it.

And we'll forget it, but we won't.
We'll hear the echoes
and won't have the words.

Aaron Elswick Sep 14
So many words.
Which to choose.

Which to use.




Simple smooth ambivalence



Hellenistic rhetoric.


Watching the archetypal parable filler sealing his fate with a seed,
and see the walls of the story blossoming off to the sky.

It seems to offer impossibility bottled and wreathed,
a leaf in season to whittle through to the blossom in time.

The time he took to fear it, board windows, ignoring the means,
and flailing crops are not to halt the work ,and question the why.

He finds a seed to bury deep within the walls of his dreams,
a kind of thief to be policing the light.

The hubris in a few ferocious branches,
accruing the subtle stances required, refusing visitor glances at the shrine
The thorns swallow a rich canopy buried beneath
and keep a perilous gift hanging for traveler thigh

Time echoes in hope of lending vestige's light, crying out
to see the breadth of the line.
To see the tangential nature of the leaf,
and know the grief elucidated and reaped
for a return on what we sow in the vine

Another garden enclosed.
A partial view of the sky.
A further longing for truth.
Assume a gruesome divide.
Aloof and hardened to bone.
A carving suited for pine.
A starving forest in use.
Abuse is moving inside.

Confusing and dried.

He's choosing his pride.

Refusing a guide.

Losing his mind.
Aaron Elswick Aug 28
Formed in a field of fire, I cry,

serving thorns of beleaguered triumph, I crawl

to a shorn little wreath of wiring, I stall

to enthrall all the force behind me, I crawl.

Crawl with a ghost's sobriety, in a  thought
I have wrought
what a world denied me, in a joke,
but its not,
it's assuming a piety
in deliverance from fouler hits
isn't a blinder for your civil bliss.

Wake the **** up.

Watch the flare, trace the wick.

Dodge the rain drops, cop's air and spit.

Hopped a train of thought for a ditch

Found a chain of White grapes and whips.

You intervene with glitter glue at the seams,
assume to placate flames below the root of your jeans,
assemble suitable frames amid a brutal disease,
accrue the nourishing famine, staying true to your leaves,
and seeing nothing.


capitulate to the critical conditioners , an oppressor
hypernormal in biblical proportions for your pleasure
find the border for brick mortar
pull lever, level threat, fine order,
don't. cross. this. line.
Never stop to observe the servile nature of your stature
levy thoughtless concern to herd the ******* in your factor
paper shredder for flame fodder, **** your water
crawling out with a name, and an aim to discolor your collar

I have no eyes to see son or daughter,
grass in the field, lacks appeal,
devoured countless when I was smaller

Eyes on the whole deal, now
coal fields, cold meals, thicc hoes, sick cows,
this thirst, it grows, it thrives, right now
it knows, it chose,
these throes are how these days will close when you aren't loud.

Eat the rich
Eat the poor
Eat the earth
Wake the **** up.
(It's pretty long so... Sorry. Also sorry for the double negatives and cursing, in that order.)

The perspective is of a problem, a deep seeded growing fire of a problem. People may acknowledge or even discuss it, but it will be in tame, civil, language. That urge to take the edge off of a clear problem, because either it benefits us to be inactive or silent, or because social conditioning has essentially taught us to keep talk small and inconsequential. That inactive cowardice of principle (which I too am guilty of) is what allows that problem to spread and cause others and so on. Problems don't feel or care whether you're trying to solve them or not. They will eat your world away without a feeling. Just talking about them earnestly won't solve them obviously, but it is a pretty critical first step. The last part is basically when all of them pile up and consume everything.
Aaron Elswick Aug 17
Baptized in the framework,
emboldened dregs,
stolen legs,
having the will enabled,
will stoke flares.
Hope there's enough left,
to capitalize and trademark,
These machination metaphorics may get way dark.

Witness the churn,
turn barrel, pour fuel.
Envision thrift in the burn.
Unequivocal innocents in the thick of it learn,
gun metal, flower petal.
Power is sick of our tone.
They play their tricks on our young,
to build a system above.

We killed the sadness
fit to galvanize
a truthful spirit,
loose beneath the masses.

lifted powder keg,
rug and broom,
others soon to be suiting fashion

Buried in a priory cast.
Wire he tapped,
isn't the first,
was a fiery blast.

I heard the ground stir, out turned choirs of wrath.
Give baron bread, give miner shaft,
and all the pigs just laughed.

All the swine surrounded, founded "Freedom".
Heavy quotes aligned to,
"leave em lying".
We declined to deify, redefine our civil vision .
Twisted lips and sirens, rent,
systems turn, climate,
worth, time to learn to hear and listen,
kids,  earth, diet.
'On the list I promise'.
Truth can't hurt if you stay quiet.
Truth in earnest moves the strongest.
Our seeds to earth are truth in kindness.

You better practice.
The alacrity with which we crawl is grievous

We aren't laughing.
We're the ******* and you can not deceive us

We remember

We envelope the view of stolen streets
and only speak
to show the fury stoked beneath the yoke
and only speak until we don't

We know that it's enough.
We know that's all it takes.
To only speak.

For us to say that you are weak
and you rely on our feet
for what's involved in your deceit

That's all it takes for you to falter.
We chew the noose and loosen off your halter

But once the halter loosens your abuses,
still within the 'blood and soil',
boil over our brims and filter fire out
from within.

We're coming.
Contain us or try.
It won't matter.
We know the saints and the lies,
and you'll get fatter.
And you'll be food for the flies
and we won't choose to abide;
to let the bruises subside.
We're unhinged in every way we know can chew you inside.
It won't be talking.

We know that it's enough to scare you
But your fear won't be enough to spare you.
Aaron Elswick May 24
Barrels of oil painted smooth in acryllic
fill up the cracks with a feeling
spit out the money to feed the machine

Fair if it's toiling kids
draped along spoiled villians
immersed to serve the version of a billionaire's dream

eat the rich

Try me after I've been taught
I could've bought my chain

I would've lost my name

I should've dropped my shame facade
to play the game

We grew the youthful breath of heaven from the clay beneath our bones
imbued and innervated

aided you and drew the oath to play within the zone

circle reverie treasury burdens
bury the feathery,
herding squarely to fame - put on a show

eat the rich
dare me

you and yours invaded
bated breath had sung belated effort, whistle "death has reared it's head
at our expense so grab a sword.
We can war this **** straight out of this ole ditch
and fix whatever ***** gone wrong with it
with grit and sense

and build a fence"

Forget the soil your roots are grown in,
if you want to.

bask in shadow
of the weight of trust and decency
impeding our advances to your winner's table
fabled robin hoods with internets

guess who's deft enough let you know through every filter
left for us we may upset your dinner guests

let em know what's on the menu

eat the rich

let em know

The irony in learning
how to burn the fuel that kills you
after all the warning signs were there
sound familiar? it's a slog

burnin up, they'll crawl around
and find a meal on common ground
try the light show one more time
maybe that'll work

"The serfs are like a herd you see
they can't be riled along without a sermon
Burden them with silks and styles
worry them toward money piles"
Remind them of the fire they've been turning

Analogies aside I must abide by me and mine
but I've still got my eye on anything

eat the rich
with discretion I guess.
Eat the Rich
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