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Questions from tomorrow
I can answer only neurally
When pressed hard
For answers unknown today
You hurt me.
Give all an option
To say yes or no,
Neurally.
2015 June
Impure is my mind,
The gnawing desires,
Unfulfilled, weakening neurally
My being, second by second.
Not millions of them
A dozen, may be.
Whom can I disclose,
Gripped with fear,
Of getting trapped
For lives?
2015 September 21
Nat Lipstadt May 2015
one more for five year old Ian*

he is the little boy, on an
I-don't-want-to-go road trip,
yet inside happily,
pretense outward poutingly,
yet he is nosed pressed straining onto window,
so hard, it's window marked, stain leaving,
absorbing, being absorbed by the fresh
flowing of air currents of new scenery

little boys of beauty,
of beauty,
what do they know?

life is action figures,
videos and toons,
colors vivid but manufactured,
daddy hanging them upside down,
coloring books less than quaint,
few museums bid then enter...
how do they learn what needs
remembering, celebrating...
differentiating tween mundane profane and profound...

some say there are pleasure chems,
the brain releases when the
San Fran sun contacts all flesh,
when California coast surf
beckons claiming splashing
and attention demanding,
when nature offers up
mountain trails that insist
one of any age climb her offerings,
to make them "ours,"
if ever so briefly,.

to be map marked upon
cerebral tissues and
leave the boy and the vistas
neurally connected perpetually

of these matters, I,
no certainty possess,
though I well recall
my nose in that windowed position,
the clarity of Atlantic Rockaway
fresh salt breezes
entering, being stored inside
my five year old brain cloud,
so it could be true
what all the grandmothers
claim!

but this know with soul surety,
there are few things
more beautiful
than a five year old boy,
inhaling the passing scenery,
redding his cheeks even more rosy...

he, a painting, forever stored,
summonable with a single blink
of my mind's eye,
perhaps this is how
he will indeed learn too...

May 16, 2015
Photo by Marsha Guggenheim
http://www.guggenheimphotography.com/
Graff1980  Nov 2020
Untitled 579
Graff1980 Nov 2020
I cannot seem to write
without rhyming.

It is not a simple matter
of timing
but has become
my mental wiring.

I find other
non-rhyming
poets so inspiring
so deeply
neurally
firing,
sparking
inspiration.

But my brain
has lost the ability
to make any poetry
without playing with
rhymes.
Graff1980  Jun 2018
Untitled
Graff1980 Jun 2018
He is an old
cold clod,
clay killer,
a muddy faced foe
of late
who I learned to hate;

Neurally neutered
by a network
of morally bankrupted
rich men
who tell him
what to think,

nervous and jittery,
a solvable mystery
that bothers me
because the enigma
could be easily
adjusted to improve
all of our lives.

Yet, he remains oblivious.
With a silvery shank of
stale ignorance
he stabs the very core of me,
promoting the gory,
and proactive expansion
of humanity’s worse traits.

A sea of sickness spreads
the black bile and poison of
oppression, sexism,
greed, bigotry,
and the intentional
obfuscation
truth.
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
The biggest killer is in a woman's dress.
You, old pictures, the dream must be the
shadow of the original, which is kept secret
by the small drainage. And he said to them,
"Well, he does not rule out the command
of God, so that when the day of evil is to resist."
A night of peace in Africa, soreness, turkey,
expectations, barges and urban life,
the helper star in the world still wants a cache
for us to smoke at home, nightclub mother
and music, you are in the Red Sea and women
have blue and green. Gold East, South Africa
Blue Greek women, and all the micro-B,


Germany and the war will change
the divorce set in heaven. The head
of the listener, beautiful, beautiful,
the head of a very large land in vain
instead of cold the title of the most
appropriate way to cut the concert.

The biggest killer is in a woman's
dress. You are old photographs,
sleep, the dream of pure, natural
science must be a shadow of the
original, which is kept secret by
the small drainage. And he said,
"Well, he does not cancel the command of God,
so when the day of evil had to resist."
Lilith of peace in Africa, sore throat,
Turkish, expectations, speaker
and city life, the helper star in the world
everywhere wants to release a hidden
one and smoke at her home, a nightclub,
a smile, and his mother and music,
you are in the Red Sea, and women,
blue and green. Gold East, South
African blue women, and all the tiny Bs,

Germany and the war will change
the divorce, which is in paradise.
The head of the listener, beautiful,
beautiful, at the top of a very large
country in the mood at the cold
place the title of the most suitable
way to cut the concert. The leader,
who is the head of the shot, only
because of the form of pure silk.
My gesture to c. They are symbols
that the nerves in the heavens, like
knowledge and from him black.

He said to them, "Take me
and cast me into the sea."
Emotional and soft white
candles, the wind was motionless.
It is beautiful and beautiful,
the colors of the stars of the most
beautiful and of the seasons,
from the darkness. A woman,
a woman and a woman
who was a woman to turn
around the cat's flame
1 fought, the Second
Ecumenical Council 2,
not a woman to whom
she had a dream of a woman,
but the wife and her reference
woman is the wife of her wife,
cat is her wife, as the woman
is the killer rather interesting,
to be sure of her abuse.
You are old photos, sleep
and dreams, science
is the silhouette. He said,
"You are totally insensitive
to the command of God
to be able to resist the bad
day and do everything."

London, plague and peace
in Africa, soreness, Turkish,
expectations, speaker and life in the city,
                      the comfort of stars in the world
                      and the wishes of the movement
                      in the secret and hidden
                      Lion and smoke in the home
                      of the nightclub and her mother,
the woman in the fourth,
red, green and blue;
South Africa with a dark
side: Yannis, Asia, body,
Russian, Easter gold,
Greek, Little B, Germany
will reward the change,
head near the temperature
of France by *******
for those in Paradise.

To quit the names Ball,
big Head, empty, empty,
cold, beautiful rooms in
the room were beautiful
and beautiful, the judges
in concert only hair
for shapes and silk
is not clear gestures to c.
They are symbols,                      they are symbols that the nerves in the skies,
like knowledge and from this black. . .
and throw me to the sea in the wind,
waiting for excuse for a stone
and the softness of E on the tablet
of stars in the darkness of time
and time of the world and the world.
Dreams Dreams dream, dream of life secret
Woman in woman,
woman in woman, woman in woman, woman in woman, woman in woman, woman in woman; the head of the shot
because you are only due to the pure
silk type. Tribute to the gel c.
They are symbols neurally
in the sky such knowledge
from the same black. He
said to them, "Take me
and cast me into the sea."
Soft white emotional candles,
                                      the wind was motionless.
                                      It's gorgeous and beautiful,
                                      the star of the most is the best killer in women's clothing. You, old pictures, must remain pure science,
they must be natural shades of nature,
hidden in silent voice. And he said,
Give to the wrath of his wrath;
It is against us. Africa's game night,
wounds, turkey, vegetables, ships
and city life, are blue and green for
us and for music and toys, fabrics
and children's and women's music.

Black East, South Africa,
African women and all
minority groups, Germans
and the battle in Heaven.

Instead of being able
to use vending machines
effectively, the leaders
of a large country
are no account. The most
free weapons in women's
clothing. Old photos,
sleep, pure dreams must
be a dream. They say,
"Instead, do not work
as the way of God." Lilia
is an African, Peace, Tumor, T

— The End —