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CK Baker Nov 18
the red wine stops fermenting
a young man turns to gray
the voice of truth and promise
leads one and all astray

he follows with a notion
of what may be ahead
that voice of truth and promise
has risen from the dead
Tyler VanOstrand Nov 2015
A god goes with me,
Look at him fly.
Like a shadow,
And also like the sun.

Every action decided thereby,
Every thought preceding his own.
To be absent from him
Is to be absent from life.

Like an embarrassed seraphim
I cover not only my eyes,
But also my animality
He looks ever on.
To stare back is so painful,
It rends me limb from limb.

He desires one thing:
That I be ever in his gaze.
He is without a purpose,
Without a counterpart,
Without existence without me.

Like a parasite he feeds,
Nevertheless, I depend on him,
For he animates - the giver
and sustainer of all that is life.

Every moment without him
A moment when one is lost,
Thought itself rides on his back,
Time, space, value, and measure.

He is from everlasting,
The most ancient of the demagogues,
The all encompassing "I."
Could there be anything stronger?
Could you find a being more supreme?

All these notions depend on him, and any other still. Unravel the knot of existence and you will find it is wrapped around the self. There, and there alone, is its anchor and its starting point. There alone do we find the divine - for truly the creator of heaven far surpasses the supreme being residing therein.
The self - master of the high and low places,
master of the gods!
Does it not seem that it is our diamond?
He is our greatest prize, reconciliation, and reward. Who would wish to rid themselves of the god within? And more telling - why?
Cassandra Jarvie Mar 2015
I want to chop off
chunks of my
hair with a blunt
steak knife bit by
bit until my scalp
is pink and my knuckles glow
pale and distinct like planks
of bleached driftwood.

I want to spread paint
across my back into a
picture of the beach
and lay on it so that
maybe the scratch of the
sand will itch through my t-shirt
and then I can charge
horseshoe ***** to
build townhouses on my
empty lots.

I want to eat at a
table weighed down
with plates bursting with
steaming pasta and
bowls of stark
white rice stuff
that will make me
sick with happiness and
shining like Buddha,
because food is nothing
more than
refined sunlight.
Hippie dippie
Rolling Up*

Swisher split; gutted out, stuffed back in with some indo trees. Tucked right in, pull it over lick the edge close it up & roast that ****!
Braulio Romero Jun 2014
Thinking of him
She asks
What she should do?
I ask the gods
Ganesha, buddah, G-d and Allah
I think of him and she’s angry at me and it’s my fault
I don’t know if its something I can afford
Now I don’t know what to do
I saw myself cross out the graffiti in every city
Should I figure it out and decide
This other guy tells me something red so I play along and he gets mad and it’s my fault
Unfair and cruel
He just tells me to look at the moon
I take back every wink it stole
I see the beauty before my feet
I’m testing the bounds of reality
Are you angry or man?
I’ll be allright
I’ll be safe and yet I’ll go along with the lights

— The End —