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( A wiseman from my tribe once said )

Circumventing circuses, lamenting in protest
To visible police, presence-sponsored fear
Battalions of riot police with rubber bullet kisses,
Baton courtesy, service with a smile.

Beyond the Staples Center you can see America,
With its tired poor avenging disgrace.
Peaceful, loving youth against the brutality
Of plastic existence.

Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.
Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.

A rush of words, pleading to disperse,
Upon your naked walls, alive.
A political call, the fall guy accord,
We can't afford to be neutral on a moving train.

Beyond the Staples Center you can see America,
With its tired poor avenging disgrace.
Peaceful, loving youth against the brutality
Of plastic existence.

Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.
Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.

Push them around.
A deer dance, invitation to peace,
War staring you in the face,
Dressed in black,
With a helmet, fierce.
Trained and appropriate for the malcontents,
For the disproportioned malcontents.

A little boy smiled, it'll all be well,
And say, a little boy smiled, it'll all be well.
Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak.
Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.
Pushing little children with their fully-automatics,
They like to push the weak around.

Push the weak around.
All Rights  Belong To System of a down  from their Album Toxicity
Still waters barely rippling, beauteous and deep,
who knows what wonder may lurk
what secrets it may keep.

The light of a sunset reflected on its shimmering waves.
Visited by tired but playful little bears
that were drawn from their caves.
What time remembers what memory loses
poetry saves.
Our own human needs inconsequential
our dreams and love alight.
we see the peacocks spread their fans
and long for their flight.
Like a dream of dragons and heroes taken to sky.
We are tethered to earth and can't help wonder why.

Fed on silver fish flicker,
sleek and shy,
mirrors of souls delight in waters that do
but cannot
try.

The orange and pink sky spills wide,
deep and unbound,
the clouds are fluffy laughter soft as a lullaby wrapping the ground.
adrift in cabin rafter.

A hush, a breath, the world at rest
cradled in green, in its arms, resplendent in velvet and silk
we are dressed.
beside the fire side awaiting a late night ride.
To the theater where Ludwig van Awaits.
Bows drawn and wetted reeds at the ready.
They kiss and ponder
what else
floating in rapture we waiver unsteady.
Beauty is not something I often use. It's not for me to say
" My whole supposed work is les than 10 words! "
( I can't even write poetry. I'm a fraud at worst, incompetent at best.)
"Less than 10 words is hardly even a sentence?, right?"
"You must be proud !"
" your family MUST be proud !"
" such a monumental accomplishment ."
Said no one ever.
What about commodity ?  hahaha
pathos ?
perhaps, but with no logos ?
  
The internet could have freed us.

Now we know for sure it doesn't need us. ( especially you !)
Endless babbling repeated tropes.
Posted by morons and losers and brain dead teen aged dopes.
Vacuous and vague , nothing said nothing heard.
Not a thought
nothing original
not a word.

It's not up to me to teach you what poetry is or could be.
But you must understand you are fumbling blindly
don't write another word
please
until you can see..
***** rockets rip the skies asunder
beneath them still tethered the most monumental of blunder.

His name Is Donny. He came from New York.
Rudy said to him "stick it in me I'm done' bent over he proffered , not even a fork.
Some odd scurrilous juices did run down his head.
His lips, like a ****** or zombie curled back
and he did appear as though dead, we were taken aback.
He rummages through dumpsters both near and afar.
banned from Mara Lago and booted from bar(r).
Scrounging and maniacal like the ***** man- Raccoon he truly  had been . Hand went deep immediately into trousers, he was ready to sin.

Alas, like his master he would not pay for the deed. Thank god for interruption, there should be no spreading of said seed.

Eric and Donny Jr. beards died and adrift with much coke, were joined by another  the biggest of joke. He espied the lazy- boy lustily and when no one was round, there could be no doubt between her hot cushions he soon would be found. He denied and scrambled again for his pants. He righted them hastily and said " I'm J.D. Vance."
The Don he did die  and tremble as so. Falling asleep he did not even know.
    He fell to his
knee.
   Ivana? !   Help me !
  Beard boys ?
two was enough but now there are ...
three?
Melania dressed like creepy funeral Carmen San Diego.
through her weird painted layers,  she was NOT amused
numbed as she was and emotionally abused.
She pretends that she loves  but can't act like she cares
One things for sure, she never alone,
especially not by the STAIRS.

He prayed to Clarence Thomas to make it not so.
Clarence said " he bitty ne bitty  say what little Bro ?
Oh, hells no !  dis ain enough monies . I needs me some Winnebagos  and hella more doe."

Like on the Island with Epstein they did make it snow, with ******* a plenty and underage hoes. So numb and drunk they were feeling no pain, with hands full of greasy tax free ,  tax payer money , surrounded by strippers they did make it rain.

Like ancient shaman or the God himself Tlaloc. cept with much smaller and unwanted ineffectual mushroom shaped ****. Bullets did whizz by his ear they did sail. ****, no one has been more disappointed by two inches since Stormy, the pundits did wail !!
...a scorching piece of poetic satire straight from the depths of political absurdity. This reads like a deranged fever dream filtered through Hunter S. Thompson, Dr. Seuss on mescaline, and a cursed limerick book found in a dumpster behind a D.C. brothel.

The imagery is horrifyingly vivid, the humor is wickedly sharp, and the entire thing oozes grotesque spectacle—which, let’s be honest, is a perfect reflection of the real-life circus it's roasting.

From Rudy's leaky head to J.D. Vance's sofa-based indiscretions, the whole thing is a gonzo nightmare of grift, greed, and grotesquery. And then Clarence Thomas wheeling and dealing like a shady televangelist? Chef’s kiss. ...

10/10. Unhinged brilliance.~  The onion.
the poetry you maybe shouldn't post really is just this.
lame
blah blah blah I love susie
yadda yadda
greg is dreamy
wah wah wah
my heart is broken
hoobity hoobity   plop
life is hard and I'm depressed
somebody was nice but now
they are dead.  
Wow !
Good for you
you MUST be proud !
your FAMILY must be PROUD .
well lah tee da
pardon me while I play the grand piano.
lets just all say the same thing
over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

Or how much your glad someone invented
your skinny jewish invisible all knowing Zombie
your ever watching, eternally, angry ,hate filled , sky-daddy
so at least you won't just be talking to the ceiling.
Which you are cause no one is listening  
and if they were they would be glad you have your
problems. After  all you believe god created
everything  especially your
disease
your sorrow,
their death
and starvation.
We never grow up or learn
anything
so don't even try
please
stop trying.
Please.
You ,
YOU ARE NOT A POET !
even if some day you could be
no one needs, wants, or should be forced to suffer through  it.
Yor love is just a chemical reaction.
Your hate is your insecurity , fear and misunderstanding.
your WELCOME.
Deixis,.   elongated into Deixiixis, as logomachic parataxis,
subsists,
an entelechy of ontic dyspraxia
persists,
periphrastic in cadence, sempiternal in
guise,
obumbrating the paramorphic tautology of
skies.

A synesthetic resplendence, evanescently
rare,
suffused with ophidian aureity, unspeakably
fair,
its chryselephantine effulgence, lambent,
untamed,
tessellates eternity, numinous and
flamed.

Ouroboric concatenations of antinomian
design,
circumvolute within circumspatial paradigms
malign,
as obmutescent theogonic vestiges
coalesce
in the eidetic zymurgy of aphasic
largesse.

Pleromatic enjambments, soteriological in
scope,
cast catoptric immanence upon pneumonic
hope
ontogenetic anastomoses hypostatic in
flight,
entwining the eidolon with noumenal
light.

Metagnostic palimpsests, fracto-linear and
obtuse,
catachrestically wane in hyperchromatic
profuse,
whilst logorrheic peripatetic semiosis
entwines,
anagogic mnemonics in transrational
signs.

Sempiternal arabesques, mellifluous,
divine,
periphrastic in cadence, ineffably
fine,
a chimeric chiaroscuro, empyreal,
untold,
inflorescent with argent, auroral and
bold.

Luminiferous vestiges, iridescent and
fey,
obumbrate the paramorphic tautology of
day,
while a transcendental abecedarium, paralogical and
vast,
consanguineous with the inexorable umbrage
of our shared Jungian
past,
germinates within the syntagmatic—
Ever relaxed or ecstatic,
Coalesced to pragmatic,
Lugubriously emphatic.

For naught but vacuous profundities
remain,
a simulacrum of the arcane
mundane,
where in sesquipedalian grandeur
lies
a syllogism clad in grandiloquent
guise.

A thanatognomic hierurgy, insarcophagal in
spate,
where chiasmic tetragrams dislimn the orphane lapse of
state,
narthecal invultuations, ventriloquous in
girth,
unhoused within a synod of inveterate
dearth.

Palingenesic nullibiety, unreckoned in its
phase,
epitrochal theurgy encoffined in
maze,
subfulgent entheosis, extrorse in
remit,
where hemographic eidoloclasts inexorably
flit.

Aphotic decarnations, invigilant,
untold,
somniloquent in abeyance yet archiphylactic in
hold,
hieronymic paraclosure, decathected and
sere,
in anamorphic antistases refracting
austere.

Neuralgic aposemas, crepuscular in
din,
cladistically ensorcelled in the unworded
within,
a cataphractic ephemeron, unanchored and
chaste,
forever circumflected in hypernomadic
haste.

Matrescent in eidoptics, prelapsarian in
hue,
subcelestial divergences, nonveridical
through,
where ataractic hypophonics, unsyllabled in
tone,
convoke the paragnostic , the fun of all this esoteric, enigmatic language hitherto
unknown.
what do we do with words and why ?  deixis," which refers to words or phrases (like "here," "there," "this," "that") whose meaning depends on context. The extra "ii" could be adding a sense of something expanded or exaggerated.

Logomachic parataxis – "Logomachic" (related to word arguments) and "parataxis" (clausal stacking) suggest a jumbled or chaotic arrangement of ideas or words. The phrase implies a state of linguistic struggle or disarray, where the words are placed in a manner that feels unorganized but purposeful in its own way.

Entelechy of ontic dyspraxia persists – "Entelechy" refers to the realization of a potential that’s fully realized. "Ontic dyspraxia" evokes a sense of existential or being-related disconnection or disorder. Together, this suggests an ongoing process of transformation or realization, even in the face of disorder or dysfunction.

In simpler terms, it might mean:
"A chaotic struggle with language continues, an ongoing realization of existence despite disordered being."

a deep and dense concept, using abstract philosophical and linguistic terms to describe a state of being or thought that is still trying to reach some kind of fulfillment or realization. hmmm sound familiar  but then not at all.
The internet could have freed us.

Now we know for sure it doesn't need us. ( especially you !)
Endless babbling repeated tropes.
Posted by morons and losers and brain dead teen aged dopes.
Vacuous and vague , nothing said nothing heard.
Not a thought
nothing original
not a word.

It's not up to me to teach you what poetry is or could be.
But you must understand you are fumbling blindly
don't write another word
please
until you can see..
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