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Neon’s radioactive glow in a window,
offers the cheap promise of pleasure.
Like a hypnotic, fluorescent serpent,
it flashes, blinks and winks - “Welcome”

It fairly slithers on rain-slicked boulevards,
warms like moonlight on cold unfriendly nights,
and signals cool, ready fun in the summertime.

We dress our vices in silky, pastel colors, like the
gamblers choices of Disney flavored whiskies.
It’s the soft, velvet glove that hides brass knuckles,
oh, you’ll feel those bruises in the morning.

The world’s a dark alleyway with an electric blush,
whose color flatters the lonely, desperate,
and makes sin look like something you could fall for.

Neon is perfume for the optical senses.
In that light, everything seems possible.
Isn’t that girl smiling at you? You see,
beauty is easier to trust than the truth.

Neon imperviously reflects off regrets,
and glitters brightest on broken dreams.
Of course daylight is harsh, but honest.
Didn’t we come in here to escape it?
.
.
Songs for this:
The Ballad of Mac the Knife by Sting & Dominic Muldowney
Any Old Thing by Swing Republic
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/15/25:
Impervious  = does not allow something (such as water or light) to enter or pass through.
I’ve moved out (of school),
I’m moving in (to school).
My joke is that I’m having a ‘moving experience.’

Graduating college (3 days ago) was a dream come true
I’m starting a master’s degree in 7 days.
You have to admire the efficiency.

Do I have your permission to bear my soul?
I might have imposter syndrome.
I’m a harsh critic—of everything—but mostly me.

I’m over the romance and pressure of school.
I’m starting the romance and pressure of school.
Don’t worry, this isn’t hapless, sad girl literature.

Or a diary—it’s a portrayal of my inner life.
.
.
A song for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Messy by Lola Young [E]
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/21/25:
Hapless = means "having no luck."
In our unfinished garden,
warm stones resting atop one another,
forming a wobbly tower,
trying to connect with a true light.

Above the smoky air, faltering steps,
can I see the true shape of your struggles?
Does a malicious gnome
shape my projections?
He topples our confidence.

Do we know if we still want the same?

Your anesthetic drops,
drunk in secret behind smiles.
Your cruelty is a sarcastic, sober blow,
breaking down fleeting joy.

I long for stillness,
for a day without wrinkles.
Why do we argue for first place?
I lost to our demons, invisible enemies.
I heal my fading certainty,
Last night, I dreamt of a well,
repeating my thoughts.

Without context, we are lost,
surrounded by thick walls built by rifts.
We are still impatient for closeness.
We grapple with a weight of assumptions.

Seeing the tower of wobbly stones,
I don’t want to let go of your hands
trusting, warmly kind,
like a promise of endless green,
in our unfinished garden.
Hook him up to the machine.
Shock his brain into
mediocrity.
Death stalks him;
he is aware.
There is too much
flash in his eyes.
His brain needs a reboot;
he needs to forget,
like a goldfish, like
a monkey in the zoo.
Hook him up to the machine.
He is too sentimental.
Salmon swim in his blood;
he has a paisley heart,
and a tie-dye soul.
He can smell colors.
Hook him up to the machine.
He has Van Gogh eyes, and
a Bukowski gut; he walks
like he's lost in a maze;
hunchback sadness,
butcher knife nerves,
Hook him up to the machine.
He believes in love,
and has too much trust.
His vivid green memory
is a curse, we need to
crash it, **** the eternal spring.
Hook him up to
the machine.
My latest book, Sleep Always Calls, is available on Amazon. Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read my poetry.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozzFlYnbGZU&t=1s
A massive abundance on a gentle breeze.
Oh, how the clouds seem to move with ease.
Smooth and certain across the sky.
A visual feast for a hungry eye.

Thick grey centres, with edges soft and unkempt.
Oh, to be in that world of which I’ve only dreamt.
To feel the cool wetness I imagine I’d feel
If I could break gravity, and be in the clouds for real.
Coffee on the balcony,
Staring at the sky.
Maybe I should share some thoughts.
Chose, “why not”, over “why”.
It's a cold world with so many people who don't seem to care about anything. It's a cold world with so many people who are waiting like a scorpion to sting.

Some people don't give a ****, are you one of them too?! I don't know if you care about me, but I give a **** about you!

It's a cold world, but there are still people who would want to believe in you. It's a cold world, but there are still people who would want to stay close and be true.

Some people don't give a ****, are you one of them too! I don't know if you care about me, but I give a **** about you!

Some people don't wanna help, some give a penny or two. I don't know if you care about me, but I give my all to you! I give my all to you!!!
©2025 Daniel I. Tucker

Take a stand. Lend a hand. Try to understand... Give a **** !!!

Oh yeah, and don't ever quit!

[P.S. when I get Writers Block, I resort to posting lyrics of songs I wrote. haha]
A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****.
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.

Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.

But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.

Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.

When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day
If you really want to see what's going on in Gaza, you have to go to sites such as Reddit and look at the World news subreddits. Then you'll understand.
Fresh in the winds,
They are the eyes of the skies.
Look at the signs,
They have narratives to devise.
Candour in their guise,
Across the obvious divide.
Matters of valour, revised.
In the hindsight, there linger problems.
For the network, it is without the borders,
An influence, a spectacle, the scrollers.
Make the best of the data hoarders.
Grave advantage, grace in their claim.
Some signalling, reckoning,
We shaped what you find.
Supreme reach in the night,
It's the truth that flies.
So tomorrow, to see the revise,
You will deem this will lead to paradise.
But needless to say, no solace,
For who fragments peace on Earth.
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