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Andy Denson Mar 20
Specked on the toes
or heals of a plate.
The horse is waiting. You don’t know it —
you should breathe in & out in situations like this.
Situations lead to more of them. You smell like Axe. My breathing hasn’t been consistent
-or monitored enough to know the depths of the soul.
Scroll down or turn the page depending on what era you are in. There is infinity on the back of my hand.
On your other back there is some tension. Taste like sweat. Southeast Asian flavored — not in an overly ****** or fetishized way. You and me are the same.
The other you called me an intruder. I know by nationality — not blood. So, you are partially right.
On the other side, you get a massage. We’ve taken turns with other versions of ourselves. Plenty of work in the 21st Century.
A job. Updated resume. For someone who might love you in that moment. Truly love that job. On the back of your real back.
A *******. Not a quickie. We work. Free labor. We use our hands to make things. All jobs are hand jobs — don’t be a pervert. I thought you were a nice person. Don’t sexualize everything? What job isn’t a *******?
Why is it so hard? Why is it so big? Why do I have expectations?
We met at a mall. Or you picked me up. My feelings are present. Your feelings back there. You and me are scared. Because jobs that are tiring can be scary.
I miss all of you. You’re back and my back. My stupidity and my wisdom is yours too. The back seat smells like SafeGuard. Breathe in. Brea- Calm. No more scared.
You just ate. That’s how we flirt in the Philippines.
I had black pepper on my foods because it’s used on the front of a dish where I’m from-
When I eat, I don’t burp from the back. You sprinkle the front of the food on its back.
On the front of the back of the phone is an anticipation.
People I know of back home are dying. There is black pepper. No one I have been really close to has passed yet. In the back of your mind you know it’ll happen.
I back up a bit from the table and you. I always think I am smart. I always think of crying when I get home. But I am too smart to cry in public.
Back up — back up. Black up. Sprinkle Black Pepper on food. For you. Backed by support from followers like you.
You may be familiar with my back. Or vice versa. What a beautiful time it is to eat Black Pepper in September!
Wondering what is going on in the back of their minds. You tell me to get over it.
Try the Black Pepper in a town near you. Sides go great with a little back back dash of the Black Pepper. Yes I am ok.
You need salt. I need salt. Back away. Because moderation. Just use Black Pepper. It is your job.
Black. Then front. Top it off. Then back and black. Self love advice — taking everything with a grain of (bath) salt.
Which Black Pepper is the best Black Pepper?
Back and Black. Duh.
Forward through the congestion of Cebu City — I back up but not enough. My new job is to sprinkle the Black Pepper on us. After the commute.
Crazy?
You’re crazy, babe.
You…
Baby, I know I am crazy.
Sike.
You bet.
Because of the motorcycle makes me feel dangerous and cool on your back. I drove too. Danger. You. Never mind! Never. Mind. Men are dumb. That includes me.
That means everything men do other men and women they pursue is dumb. Black Pepper takes their mind off that front and back to the front. People are dumb. Di ba?
Black Pepper is Black Pepper. Nothing but Black Pepper. I love me so much. You too. You told me to love myself more. So I ate Black Pepper.
You aren’t always looking at palm trees, or nature, like I do. Back on your phone. Black pepper grounds the tree.
Now from the back to the other back I calmly sneeze.
Where has life taken you in regards to others? The backs of theirs.
It is not hard to believe in the world of form — because Black Peppers are on my back.
So is the back of your motorbike. I smell Black Pepper on my upper lip. There is Black Pepper sprinkles. Everywhere. I use the back of my wet hand to wipe the back. You wipe the front.
— in the back of my mind, I’m glad most of the Black Pepper is covered by my clothes.
Sleeping on back back — exhale. Exhaling from both the nostrils. I remember the time I garnished a dish with Black Pepper in the Upper East Side. I felt gross. I remember that moment in the back of my mind.
How could anyone hate you if you’re back?
Black Pepper eaters never seem to care too much. So you — don’t back up that with a fact check. Back up. I am not crazy.
I love the blacks. I love the peppers. If you back the love too — it’s a job. You too will know love from the back.
— Sprinkled with black pepper and backed by gold.
black pepper, is a love story that dives deep into the spicy realms of fil am identity, queer desire, and the dance of modern dating. blending the raw energy of film and poetry, it uses the metaphor of black pepper to evoke the taste, scent, and passion of human connections. starring and inspired by original work, this piece invites you to savor every nuance of identity and love, one sprinkle at a time.
Mark Wanless Jan 2024
either i am or
i think i am but am not
doh ain't that something
Mark Wanless Nov 2023
i think therefore i
am no i am therefore i
am yes am think now
Mark Wanless Sep 2023
i think therefore i
am wrong in the present and
i walk among stars
Where Shelter Jun 2023
<6:36 AM>


~for Joanne Louise Veronika~

patches of light, snatches of sleep,
cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia,
detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping

who cares!

new commitment, self imposed!

greet the early ones with sooth and java,
a combination, “all across the nation,”
ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams,
to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters
running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points,
etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration

the smoke haze bad dream departed,
sun rays warmth for the invisible innards,
waves look like the EKG of human at peace,
resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet

and I laugh at myself, preposterous!
this is my secret path to restoration,
please laugh at me, join the raucous joy
of not-taking-yourself too seriously,
meaning of a new light, fresh waters,
of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective,
a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality,
a two-word~poem of
meditative perfection:

calm sheltering
Sat Jun 10
Silver Beach, S.I.
𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑
𝑑
𝑜
𝑤
𝑛
                            𝑝  
  𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡'𝑠 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢 ,     
𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑐𝑎𝑏
                         (<----)
𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 ,
𝑏𝑦  𝑓 𝑜 𝑟 𝑤 𝑎 𝑟 𝑑 𝑖 𝑛 𝑔
𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟  𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑒-𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒...
If it comes back to you, its yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be. – Unknown.
God's Oracle Apr 2021
Eradication within a hollow abyss of such instinct... callibrating an insourmantable animallistic realization of a deeper defiled reconciled underlined evil lurking within...dominance of my debilitating disease...temptation to succumb to this numbing feeling...As if it all dissapears while I indulge into feeding my own agonizing addiction....something I keep feeding...tired of always fleeing not facing Life secluded within a snared trap of a battle am exausted from alliviating my feelings. I want to recuperate my sobreity, yet keep getting intoxicated to deal with inner dealings. Envelopped in tranquilizing my own self with destructive substances to hide this pain am living...slowly killing myself just to think am living.

As I contemplate at deconstructing my past...where did I go wrong Lord...is my Life even worth living?
The experiences I attain am NOT finding enjoyment at completing...
How the **** do I recover from this deep sadness am feeling?
Despair await me as my thoughts form this sentences am speaking
I ask myself the harshes questions...Is my Life to someone out there hold meaning?
Lord free me from this inprisonement am feeling...
Undersiedged and captivated am losing focus on how I ought to be living...
withstanding the problems I face with ******* toxins I keep utilizing when I desire to be quitting.
Rehab many say is the answer they keep pleading...yet cannot fully shut the door where old habits keep creeping...
Alone, conflicted and restless...am left when am dope feeding...
Is me, myself and I...who I ought to be healing...
In time...this will also dissapear
I just ask of thee Lord, let me make it out alive
Out crawl from this ticking time death-bomb I keep re-living.
Addiction Vs. Self
Toothache Jun 2019
Strangers on the subway
Who I never met and never will
Say, "hey, martha", like they're hailing a taxi
And I say, "hey" back, because, I am martha.
The lights go out in the tunnels, because, the conductor thinks it's funny and,
Three murders happened in that time but, that never stopped him.
That train after 1 am
The grey and green one that smokes and used to have a future,
That was, good at writing or something in high school, but, never made it to college, you know the one.
That train rolls up and its five minutes late, but it's always five minutes late so no one complains,
And I stub my toe on the way in, I forgot to, mind the gap, and
A strange stranger bumps into me,
They say, "watch where you're going sean"
And I say
"Sorry"
Because, I'm sean,
And we all get on and no one says a word, and most of the passengers are rodents
But maybe some are marsupials
I dont know the difference.
And we sit in there for ten minutes maybe, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague,
Excepting, of course, those few that make eye contact the whole ride, like you're interesting or, appetising, or, they're blind and those are actually glass eyes that just happen to be looking your way.
And, when the train starts it lurches, it belches down the cars, because it, doesnt think anyone can hear it five meters underground.
And as we sit and we ride the silence turns to tune, like the lack of even rustling, or bustling, or conversation to a friend, becomes the sound of collective recognition, often purposefully ignored, that no one on that train is going.
The train moves, but they dont, except to stops around the corner, with no corner piece, without landing that gig, or getting the girl, or saving the day
Because in the looming washed out morning,
We're all, nothing more than, strangers, on the subway.
Mark Wanless Feb 2021
full oblivion
and absence of consciousness
i am i am
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