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Mark Toney Oct 19
Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
Channeling Kerouac

Brilliant stars, silent nights
Fireflies, Northern Lights
Mountain streams, fresh air
Fall asleep anywhere

Small town, take a chance
Pig roast, barn dance
Allemande left!  Do-si-do!
Spontaneity here we go!

Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
Channeling Kerouac

Beat Zen's hey-day
Doing things our own way
Non-conformity, anything goes
Kerouac-Ginsburg-Burroughs

Shot to pieces, picking skin
Experiment with ******
Don't forget the Phenergan
Notify our next of kin

Long arm gendarme
My mistake namaste
Backpack bivouac
Channeling Kerouac
7/15/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - "The Beat Generation was a literary movement started by a group of authors whose work explored and influenced American culture and politics in the post-war era. The bulk of their work was published and popularized throughout the 1950s. The central elements of Beat culture are the rejection of standard narrative values, making a spiritual quest, the exploration of American and Eastern religions, the rejection of materialism, explicit portrayals of the human condition and experimentation with drugs...In the 1960s, elements of the expanding Beat movement were incorporated into the hippie and larger counterculture movements." (Wikipedia: Beat Generation) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Steelyvibe Jun 2018
Ragged claws scuttling across the room
The muttering retreats of restless noon
Bracelet white and sprinkled streets
As if in a magic floor of silent seas
Fog that rubs its back upon a pillow
Among the porcelain some to follow
Like the solar apex of the sun

Before the taking my greatest flicker
Crisis though I have coat and snicker
The sunset and door yard so presume
With cheap hotels and sawdust perfume
Streets that follow time to ******
And time yet tired of market order
Like the solar apex of the sun

Would the dead come back to tell
With spit out restaurant oyster shells
My necktie taken from the eternal prophet
Hands that lift and and modest pockets
I have the dying beneath the terrace
Sleeps so peacefully without this marriage
Like the solar apex of the sun
Influenced by William S Burroughs cut up machine & TS Eliot words, around a theme of domestic violence
Ian Hammond Feb 2018
The sprawling corporate tool, the false pretense destroys the inner sanctity. In his own personal palace crumbling with the rest of it. Not good enough. Slicked back afraid no one can comprehend the magnitude and pure scale of ból. Incessant staring, incessant staring, incessant staring. In the name of god, gravity over death, nothing is sacred, everything is broken. I am broken, for he is broken. Torn apart. Almost dead. Worth is less. No one can comprehend the magnitude and pure scale of verletzt. Stranded by the wrists, hanging. Dwindling. Imagine a man with his wrists attached to a ceiling fan, with cement shoes. Activating the ceiling fan is despicable and abhorrent, but the beauty shines through. Beauty knows no pain. Beauty covers the pain of the moment. Encompass Dancing Shiva through and through, Dancing Shiva is guidance. Encephalic dissociation at the route. What the hell is wrong. Omit me. Chasing the glorification, what he wants is not healthy he knows. Self gratification taking a non existent approach. Back seat. Take the back ******* seat. It’s for others. Its all for ******* others. He is broken where it is impossible to fix. Supplement a camera, feed the anxiety and take away the comfort. Supplement the ******* camera, take away the innocence. ADD THE INNOCENCE. Where is this where am I. What am I. How am I. Incoherent rambling to focus on a main theme. Incoherent rambling to focus on a main theme? Provide reason for disinterest; the enormous mouth roaring into his ear, roaring, flaring, decomposing any sense of worth. It’s alright. Raskolnikov would be jealous of his malcontentedness.
a shill
dusk sky
lively by
night ere
the dawn
and fraught
a wisp
but mellow
here his
bulge really
bare him
angular stork
with frost
will quickly
freeze his
whir again
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
William ...
we need you now,
come on back,

soft-shoe-shuffle on back,
mordantly wander
on back,
undertaker-drag
on back,

comment on the conventions,
acidly notice things,
flagrantly ...
destroy things,

whilst muttering mutations,
just plain cut-the-rug
right out
from under,

the creationists,
the snake-handlers,
the dumb-**** religionists,
the paranoid drug czars,
the oh so ignorant
blonde talking heads,
that *******
Zimmerman,

The war is still being fought,
and Uncle Bill ...
We need you!
wild boys
CMD Jun 2015
mushrooms to the finger dance


throw **** in the street and change locks....happy 1öö you old ****

                                           im just a vagabond searching for a sweetheart
at sears
typed feb 5th, 2014
Paul Sands Mar 2015
Curious be as remembered be
I, a fellow
And oh what a way to go
Flag frozen feet surrendered
as the Maine Lobster in culinary throes
hard-on steeped, Word steamed
Virus glasses spread across lap
Stepped in to a way too hot bath last night and my mind ran away
B Young May 2014
Hop hopeless off the L
searching for hell
"works" "works"
"subs" "subs"
"Bars" "Bars"
"Xanny Bars"
The Avenue Chant
Howl the diseased infected addicted ****
The Avenue Chant
an open drug bazaar is a beautiful thing for one playing the beautiful *****
Requiem for a Nightmare

You ask what I need
knowing what I want
Hop down the corner
You know the best spot
they got the fire
I got a house to burn
You ask, can I get one?
I think in first person with a laugh
perhaps I would give you a leg for one
I see you could use it
We keep walking
you keep limp, limp, limping down....
Cambria
Crutches clacking off the littered decaying pavement
The boys are out in town (when aren't they)
the block is hot (as always)
I wait around the corner
You do my ***** business
Our ***** business
Everyones ***** business
You swing back, deed done, dirt in hand
awwww
yeahhhhh
the stamp is cobra
I remember this ****. mm.
this **** is good
The printed snake swims up and out
siphoned from a tiny
baby
blue
bag
cleansing all insecurities, all fear, all humanity.

We limp along
You tell me how you ended up on these streets
wife kicked you out, job fired you, veterans insurance cut you.
The American dream as it looks, on Kensington streets,
circa2013
etc. etc. etc

I feel bad, but, not really, emotional skeleton,
Numbed.

I leave you with some rocks, not much,
then go off kicking
rocks all the way Redrocks
H>O<W
long can I continue without being caught in crosstalk.

A skinny white privileged boy from the suburbs
seeing his future
trotting away before his eyes
The
everlasting
haunting
crouching
limping
creature of death
A
rotten
old one
legged
......junk
Y

— The End —