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Seth Keplinger Jul 2018
I keep pretending I'm alone.
Even after losing my seat
to her new prince.

it's spellbinding,  
enough to make the ole' dog wince.

I still love the sad songs
her puppy dog eyes dispense.
it was never her truth, per usual;
per his glimpse,
into the future of my demise.
I pretend to appreciate the gent in the white coat.
A self diagnosis wouldn't compromise
my vulnerability.  
Don't, she won't, undermine my competency
it lends itself to my daily routine,
I self prescribe- a precisely perplexing potency
abide, at least you tried
an unprecedented golden rule.
This wasn't premeditated,
nor an act of repetition.
We've been classically conditioned, so
I implore and drool.  

I keep pretending it's a new found happiness.
it's for the canaries,
the relievers
and deveivers.
I believe it's for the ignorant
the boring
those of you chasing an
American Dream-
the people with white picket fences
and golden retrievers.
Beware of the conformist
they who did well on geometry tests
their smile so luminous  
like diamonds between her *******.


I'm a brittle leaf in autumns first frost
hanging on the edge of winters righteous freeze.
the shackled, the .22,
let it be me.  
I'm a warning sign, Cuba 1963;

I can barely sleep as it is
from this dusty room
I garner for clues inauspiciously
the obtuse path back to the life i once lived,
obstructed by the 4 seasons, the 4 reasons, the 4 walls,
the 4 grains in this whiskey.

Life outside of her box is a bargain.
Before the flies, where my heart lies;
her highfalutin jargon.
Coping with this void gives me nightmares.
joe shakes my daydreams
they fall from my dilated pupils
and anxiously I begin to slur.
I wish he'd stop cutting his pen through the air,
reminds me of my geometry teacher,
lecturing vicariously through a sorcerer
maybe the boring one's preacher?
everyone in this coffee house likes to stare.
Seth Keplinger May 2018
Honey bee sneezes
dusty daisy, pink petal
spring convolution
Seth Keplinger Mar 2018
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the arts.
Caramel coffee is for trolls,  
calamities are uninvested conversations.
Your selective ignorance
are their political polls;
cocoa conundrums; coagulating
serotonin serums inhibiting innovations.
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the love;
you turtle dove.
Historical happy hours,
rhetorical- the ring on her finger
indigo indiscretions linger
bloom a bouquet of flowers.
I've got the shakes again, and
we've lost the respect.
Ignore Tesla, the moon;
******* by his diamonds,  
instant gratifications- new world addictions.
Hats off at my table!
Shake hands, shake social frictions.
I pump my brakes again, and
I've lost invitations;
my blinded observations.
Soulless shoes sully love,
subtle self proclamations.
Societies vicarious vices,
subliminal author's themes;
my presumption suffices.
Johnny's mother screams!
I've got the shakes again, and
I've lost my mind again;
dubious is an art of repetition.
In this war of attrition,  
monkey business is the real oppression;
***** color schemes
deter my nightlife's daydreams.
Premeditations- self induced depression.
First amend, then reprieve
a society in genocide,
murderous screaming thieves.  
I've got the shakes again, and
he's lost his midnight train of thought;
his ****** obsessions.
Espresso and ****** expressions,
prerogatives- propaganda bought;
the bad vibrations.
Battling a vertigo,
temptation i fought.
Dancing amongst the constellations;
these must be his
coffee drunken genius inspirations.
Seth Keplinger Mar 2018
They danced the bow,
an ole' burning skiff;
never taking his hands from her helm.
Did he even blink?
Blinded by the heat of her omnipotence.
He tried to discern her face proximately;
the impermeable remnants of
the flame impaired his vision .
Frère Charles couldn’t distill an elixir strong enough
to manipulate his compass’s rationale.
The ripest grapes, the deepest roots,
her herbaceous lips; his soulless old boots
laced with diffidence.
A despondent moon, a tear,
the asymmetry in her shadow.
She, whom he blindly confided in,
is painting a landscape of a fairytale.
The lily’s blossom eternally,
the dirt taste like chocolate,  
her oceans motions
propagate love.  
When?
He’ll never know.
His imagination undulates in wildflowers,
while she swims inauspiciously
in stormy seas.
Inevitably, a slave to the wave,
he thank her forest for the oak he step.
The old oak is opinionated,
and charred.  
Heedless it seem,
full mast against the wind;
somewhere their currents will convene.
A confluence relentless and unyielding;
even Moses ponder.
Seth Keplinger Feb 2018
Amongst all reflections,
glass proclamations
they sit, stare
superficially surmise.
Coffee aromas and
veracious Blue eyes.
Why the disguise?
The rainbows, the waterfalls
into puddles of
Tupelo Honey, for
the Giddy Butterflies.
The sublime silence
composes a void
between the notes.
Mozart envies
the way the
music floats;  lost amongst
winter's sinister breeze.
Dancing between the
New Moons,
Frusciante's guitar strings
ocean melodies and
a song Yogi sings;
2 souls exhume
from the depths,
a groupie swoons.
Seth Keplinger Dec 2017
I miss
my friends.
While they
laugh, revel
and skip.
I miss
the point
While I
hide, cower
and drip.
I miss
my friends.
While they
fly, displace
and ascertain.
I miss
the invite.
While I
spin, clot
and complain.
Seth Keplinger Dec 2017
She's an innocuous ghost,
another figment
of her own imagination.
Her tongue has no translation,
eyes of a celestial creation.
An architect,
the author of my day dreams
the puppet master,
my heart tied to the strings.
Butterflies undulate
March's melancholy melodies,
and a forlorn song
cupid sings.
She dance,
it's more than a notion
poetry in motion
writing fantasies,
and mixing potions.
Impeding the flowers from wilting
in an abstract meadow,
blooming blossoms of
emotion.
She's a conversation piece
Neruda's muse, chilly
and abused.
Complications he excuse,
her past fragile
another heart bruised.
Discerning an impossible future,
chasing the shadow of
A Ghost,
whom he refuse to lose.

— The End —