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kenpepitonPoems
A private memory shared with one close closed bubble within my bubble, on a San Diego winter day, it came to pass cacophony's child, noise, beginner guitar and vocal solo loud as lungs allow, making dischords and missed beats feel like, demons sc'reaching into fretful, jobless Dad's brain Stop, please! Tic, that was it- the point-end track switch… he was cut to the core, a full on ogre as father wound, through the heart in tears of rage, he said, I was worshipping… said the child, and he had been adding worth, with his whole little fist sized heart, Dad had been working, in service of some other god, slowly going mad.
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Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
Surfacing sacred things
A private memory shared with one close closed bubble within my bubble, on a San Diego winter day, it came to pass cacophony's child, noise, beginner guitar and vocal solo loud as lungs allow, making dischords and missed beats feel like, demons sc'reaching into fretful, jobless Dad's brain Stop, please! Tic, that was it- the point-end track switch… he was cut to the core, a full on ogre as father wound, through the heart in tears of rage, he said, I was worshipping… said the child, and he had been adding worth, with his whole little fist sized heart, Dad had been working, in service of some other god, slowly going mad.
The forms of ideas seem to simmer when I share them here. I learned forms and ideas were one, in the head on Plato's broad shoulders.
#platonic#formula#examined#worth#living
kenpepiton
Written by
kenpepiton
77/M/Pine Valley CA
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:25 PM UTC
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