50 ways to wreck, get in line
Need to grow, have to push
Flicking through vinyl and feeding the rush
Kovacs

let's decenter love
crush it and mix it with pepper
let's put it in boxes and send them
to an uknown destination
let's caress our defeated hands
til they willingly remember
skin's magnetic charge, the magma of darkness

let's asphixiate the air till no longer tolerates words
excavate the emptiness, two fossils washed by rain our hearts
unbearable the silence hidden in the middle of teeth

let's not do impossible things like two acrobats of the invisible
certainties implode like stars' collapse into the ***** of space
your confetti smile, this brutal beauty of longing
let's stop counting days, stay resonant instead
we are a fleeting sorcery in  a dyzzing endless pace

Who am I in this world we call Earth, and our home
By species, I am a human being, supposedly master of all other species
We were made to look after and care for this planet called Earth

Instead we have ravaged, plundered and ***** the planet earth
In our blind quest to obtain control and dominance over all

Are humans masters or slaves of their egos, their pride
Humans believe they are invincible, they can do anything, to anyone
Man's greatest enemy is man himself, a beast beyond all beasts
So, who am I, man, the master or man, the beast of all beasts

I am two sides of the same coin, the master and the beast
There is a struggle inside of me for dominance, for control
Sometimes the master wins, other times the beast wins


I fear, I fear the beast will gain control and dominance over me
I have seen the power of the beast unleashed, a madness, a rage
A madness, a rage only a beast from hell can possess, it scares me

So, who am I, man, the master or the beast from hell
It's very difficult to know, as I keep changing all the time
Will someone please tell me, please tell me, please tell me
Who am I, Who am I, Who am I

outstanding

i do not research the words's etymology,
for it might steal it's magic from me,
you take me to different places different nights,
in shoes that hold eyes that see those sights.
that I cannot, though perhaps commonplace,
they are
out standing of my welds experience

so i, we, are voyeurs to a moment of humanity,
and i am out side, outside my body, in your visions,
out standing, near by, by words, moved by words,
composed outstandingly…
and now under~standings achingly transport me to
where you have been/seen  
and send us

It's everybody's job.

Détente, rollback, middle-ground.

Working it until an internal weakness is found.

Surround the town with wire.

Eventually their voices will tire.

It does not work with fixed plans. It does not take unnecessary risks. Impervious to the logic of reason, and it is highly sensitive to the logic of force.

For this reason, it can easily withdraw—and usually does when strong resistance is encountered at any point.

I dreamt that I was working, putting in a hard shift
It was exhausting
When my alarm clock rang I was relieved
I thought it was the quitting time bell
But of course, when I opened my eyes
I found I had a whole day ahead of me, to live
I thought "This life it's trying to **** me
It ain't fair!
Hell! They hadn't even paid me for last night".

Peter Granger
7:02 PM (2 hours ago)
to marshalgebbie45, Denis, Dave, Peter

By Piddles Granger

In our little town, permanent attire is dressing-gown,
outsiders find it impossible to believe
Most believe we is abnormal, nonetheless preferring informal
Dressen' gowns are our clothing motif

Its their unappreciated beauty, specially for us with big-*****
the deception is made at each weigh-in
concealing a multitude of sins, its a fashionista win-win
creates an illusion even when public tennis playin’.

Its the classic wrap-around garment, conceals unflattering enlargement
a truly remarkable master of disguise
not an opposite-*** attractant, au-contraire a comatose relaxant
its a virtual cold shower for most red-blooded guys

Made of quality chenille, has such a sensuous feel,
with hundreds of Pantonian skins
pastel ripple pink is my favourite, but high-vis is also made of it
its unmistakable as street-ferrying trash bins

Whilst the gown is entirely inflammable, near open fires dont be too casual
one percent natural fibre improves its aeration
If the belt-knot comes adrift, one’s inside package may shift
but on a hot day providing much-needed ventilation

When it comes to arthritis, swollen ankles and phlebitis
provides gown-length that perfectly suits
it will always be low-down, ever so close to the ground
without ever concealing those treasured ugg boots

Unfortunately, dressen' gowns and cosmetics do not equate to chick magnets
the two being completely incompatible
when venturing beyond one’s own premises, socially unacceptable skin blemishes
in some quarters have become ever so fashionable

PG

In apparent silence,
Raindrops play their music.
I look at the strings of stretched water
Before they touch the soft, damp ground.

Fog has covered the distant hills.
The Spirit of those Mountains
Existed only in the past chants
Of those who, without bodies,
Return to their abandoned homes
As a breath on a wet glass.

I don't know their language,
But I hear their words:
The fog,
The rain,
The hills
And memories
Hidden in the soothingly cold rocks
And streams of clear water.

I cut out a piece of earth and sky
I've always been sad to leave that place.
I stay a few moments longer,
Before walking ahead
I drink the peace,  
I eat the rustle of the wind,
Absorbing the steady pattern of raindrops.

I long to be invisible
A drawing of the unearthly landscape
And come back here endlessly
After long absences.
In the green valley,
Immersed in the rain
Where I leave and find myself
Again,
Again,
Again…

In the early morning
I’m a kid again
It reminds me of the quiet
when the evening snow fell.  
And the hope of tomorrow
where school was no more.  

There are no lions in the early morning,
Only rabbits and my armadillo friend.  
The herrons skiddish though
and never stays to talk.  

But the day grows gray
in the rush of the sun,
And I grow older
on my way back home.  
The dawn is not sacred and there is no snow,
And I’m not a kid anymore.