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M Solav May 9
You want to be manipulated,
you like it this way,
to be robbed from your agency,
to be imprisoned deliberately.

And in the sandbox play as you will,
With known constraints
And known space to fill.

You want it altered just so enough
As to tell things apart,
But to be told where they belong,
Hinted at what’s right or wrong.

And in the new stuff find exhilaration ,
But newness is old news;
Just give them the passion.
Written in May 2020.

— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
My hand writes when it is sleepy,
Though my pin prickled pal pays me no tithe,
The static sound feel of my arm,
Removes itself from me,
Granting formerly unprecedented agency,
Between my brain and my limb,
With me left the unhappy spectator
Stringer Jul 2018
And Chrysomallus discarded the golden fleece, on the shadowy east,
Of the American land,
By charcoal calloused crimson red stained hands,

Our industry
Is heinous beyond belief
It's a surprise that we can sleep in peace

Selective memory is bittersweet
A Simillacrum Jul 2018
It's easy to get angry
and see the worst in
everyone & everything
isn't it?

No one is above the
bottom mounted
power supply
if one is

One likely bleeds money profusely

At the bottom pointing
fingers at the
portions of pie
passed around

Get your pitchfork
Get your rock
Get your virulence
Put your words to work
Put the words to terms
Put the terms to head

Blow the brains

Serve justice upon the lame
Serve justice upon the poor
Serve justice upon the tray
Of silver fear

With the money
Make guns
With the gun the
Money, make or break
With the money
Buy guns
With the gun ****
With your gun away

All these people fighting over
Fences and personal defenses
Look more and more like ants
On this elevator up

As the poverty line rises
The middle meets the bottom
Resources are scarce as it is
Now add to that the opulence
Wanting younger sibling of
The richest parts of a country
And you have two distinct groups
That don't understand how
The U.S. government works
That don't understand mass
Media conglomeration
That don't understand those
Two groups fight and also
Fight the churches for the
Remnants of our human soul

Earth is the perfect farm
Introduce a material form of power
Then put your bids on the board
Watch as the poor and the poor
****** each other for the right
To dive on coins


Down is where we're at.
I never knew why standing on a balcony was so unnerving—
Why driving across a bridge,
Or around a mountain with only a short railing,
Made me question reality and life itself.

Tucking me in that night before you went home,
When we talked for an hour about Agency and Free Will,
Before you finally kissed me and left me to think in the dark:
My eyes were open wide as I learned that feeling's name.

"It's like how I could scream, right now?" I asked
And you nodded, "But something keeps you from doing it."
"I don't want to wake up Mom," I laughed.
He smiled and said, "And it would hurt my ears if you did."

Then a conversation later, after you blew a kiss
You turned out the light, and I lay in the dark.
I could jump out my window right now, I thought.
*There's nothing physically stopping me.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Even the most textbook
Looking suicide can be
Arranged and made to
Look as such, even if it

Wasn’t, says Bill to the
Young man he’s just
****** from across the
Hall, standing by the

Hotel window, looking
At the street below. Maybe
You’d get the hit and how
It had to look (accidents

Were choice, but needed
To be planned to the last
Iota) or these suicides,
Especially for those who

Seemed they just might
Have done so under the
Right pressure, the likely
Targets, the ones with a

History of imbalanced
Behind them. The young
Man dresses and combs
His hair, giving Bill a tight

*** frightened stare, but
Saying nothing, a nod of
Head, a weak smile, wide
Eyes watching as the man

Who ****** him well, turns
From the window with his
Steely gaze, tightening his
Tie, that look of iciness of

Face and eye. Had to be
Done well, couldn’t have
Those conspiracy jerks all
Over it, pointing fingers,

Lifting the lid, letting out
A bad smell. Job fixed and
Dusted, hit made, states Bill,
Opening a smile, and done well.
The agency killer and lover.
Arjun Raj Nov 2016
What happens when an open space, once a canvas to your thoughts,
turn into a dingy cabin, where you are chained to a chair with no lumbar support
and a program is chipped into your brain to decode client briefs, one after the other,
however idiotic they might be,
only to churn out results that will please a super boss,
who has done the same, for n number of years more than you,
so that the numbers that are not on your side, look irrelevant, coz
the money that you are making for the company is very relevant, to them, their family
and the rest of mankind, but you?
You quit.
No, wait
You’ve got EMI’s to pay.
Eliza Fairchild Nov 2016
Are we acting within the laws of Thermodynamics?
Is this why the forests are felled
and the earth scoured for its ore?
We can not act randomly against the stochastic forces of nature.

Our agency has facilitated the beginning of the end,
fewer and fewer possibilities present themselves
and we're closing the doors to our future
before we ever knew of their existences
There was once,
A pretty colour, so vibrant as it attempts to bleed itself
out in your name. A petty tyrant, in whose talons your life and death
are gripped.  Caressed even, by the sharp attack of an avatar of self-importance.

"Speak back to me!" it screams as if a trap. This may be a dangerous p0rtal
towards necessary frequency.
The moment can speak
if you let it.
Jump in.

OH! To tune in when someone is trampling
bringing such impetuous force to the fore-
-play. Such violent noise, hastily moving towards
your space.  All of this reminding
of control,
blessed like a desert rain.

However such patience is not easily bled from this raging heart.  What then is
forbearance in the face of such solid, personable disgust attempting so sanguine a victory?

The room, though it is darker
now.  If you're careful
you might see the outline of the colour's scream;
A sin wave sculpted in fury
and projected in great hurry, as if a fisherman stumbling
to throw his last net around a future pet.

Though at this moment, you are

as the hidden moon behind the clouds
waiting in simple joy happily holding its light back
until timing,
such a beautiful quality
governing the release of all

makes it’s move.

In this room, while the colour is fading to grey-scale
you make one last attempt to scale the dam

constructed as it was through control, discipline and forbearance
searching as if you had eternity

for the Achilles heel of the pinches tiranitos,
knowing that time is the gate of that dam.

If you focus ******* the stone
you might be able to read

The mossy inscription, round
about the frame's border.

"Don't worry
Mama gonna
wash it
all away."

Your steps


Each an embrace,
as you walk

towards the setting sun.
Waiting for time
to end.
AD Mullin Nov 2014
In pursuit of an elusive harmony
     summer nights rolled away from us
     reverberating into a numinous bassline
     reconciling the duality of our dreams
     with the non-duality of our burgeoning truth

Plying our differences into commonality
     re-aligning fractured selves using the agency
     of Jungian synchronicity and finding
     immutable archetypal truth: INFJ and INFP
     our portraits resonating essence from meetings past

Flustered with desire
     walking in non-ordinary reality, finding love
     and getting lost in Source, the Love that
     is magnified so purely through the portal
     of your soul

Much more than a soul mate, Plato
     tells stories of Zeus splitting souls in half
     as punishment for pride
     in this incarnation, we've both found humbility
     will this be enough to carry us back to our nobility?
It is challenging to find your way back
     into a lover's arms, my mistakes haunt me
     through eternity but I wake up every morning
     let them go, just as the sun sets and rises, reminding us
     with experience, guidance, and repetition ... it gets easier

My half soul, my plag nishmasa
     awoke when my mortality decomposed before me
     when half becomes one, then the real turmoil begins (and it's delicious)
     on Acheron Shores, Raven calls
     and I follow my destiny into an obsidian night
'If I cannot deflect the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell.' ~~ Virgil

— The End —