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Bree Sep 28
Climbing into the back seat of cars is my serious favorite pastime. There’s a huge lion blanket shoved into the corner of the seat ready to be transformed into a luxury experience provided to you by ripped up “leather” chairs,
with white stars on a backlit velvety escape after working a 24 hour shift at the local grocery store that happens to be on strike.
I’m that happy little scab who will rake in a fortune due to the idea of taking what’s mine.
Shallow Strings spreaded
out in every spiral direction
in this hungrsystem
Where do I go?
To the strings that were already filled?
Where do I start?
To the strings that were already given?
Where do I live?
To the thoughts that say "i do not know."
Do I replace mu colorful battery
with a gray battery?
The fat spider likes them gray
for sure.
Do I replace my human eyes
with the spider eyes?
The eyes that are filled with illusions, paper, and profits.
Or do I keep my human heart,
still picking up the flies
that the strings "accidentally" drag in?
I do not know,
not in this spiral web
of struggles.
vik Sep 13
“oh, how they will all bet on morrows that strain rills after dark,
and yet the Game, unpitying, regains its lordly behest at dawn;

lean back and feel the turn of things, the chance, the risk, the almost...
ante!”



this mania!
when it wreathes,
the imperceptible of myself,
it drains through me, sedulously,
hands aquiver, sight fretful,
and the bath of wanting (and not, ergo),
spewing and fusing
inside the etna of my inlying.

you are, then, obedience itself,
long before the grapevine,
before the Cards;
rails tarnishing, yet begrimed steel,
rather ossein, or thew,
turning to a suttee so pale, it forgets its ills.

and the trains;
yes, they were gushing, though not afore;
“did you think they would arrive for you?”
they smelt into clag,
into a mist of faces, barren,
swelling and shrieking of throe,
snaking, snaking down the spine of
the Stake.

slaves betting with their ilk of ardor,
when a match struck, belatedly,
but already it is leaning toward cinders,
its shine no more
than a laugh of people,
leaving the hall shivery in its bleat,
charcoals sighing their waning,
others honing their exit.
bitterly, bitterly, i am
left with nothing to hold but smoke.

but time, ah, time,
the nimble Host,
old trickster with his cuffs of lithe,
shuffling cloaks for loose change.
he and i,
always at the same table,
and i know his favorite sleight:
to grant the boastful player
a losing hand,
and winning eyes.

the coin is tossed,
to the Parlay; so soon cast,
so soon swallowed by the piker.
the crowd, they clap for a name,
but it is never genius they are crowning,
only luck,
foremost Dealer,
with that last word,
smiling as he lays it down:
only the blind Card turned upward.

~~~

and i,
sitting with my empty cup,
still growing a taste for losing
foolish, surely,
but the loss only deepens the greed,
doubles it, whets it past the reach of will.

so ring then, coin,
dull as you are, tattered,
clattering against the floorboards.
it tells me i am counted,
measured,
already spent.
yes, yes, it is only a caprice,
but it hews, it digs,
it laughs where no mouths are,
and i laugh back;
ante!
🎰
A rainbow of sadness
Take your pick
Will it be big sadness
Small sadness
Scattered clouds
And rain
Or you could choose
Sprinkled sadness
Windy sadness
A thick layer of snow
There’s more adding up
So many options
I know it’s hard to choose
But we’re happy to serve
So just hand over your card
GOLD AND BLOOD

Mantis eyes magnetised her sister’s heart
felt its imprisoned glint of gold
willed it to enlarge into a
                                     lotus leaf upon a sea


It floats on a lake of blood before
dawn turning hot burning blue
heat of her own blood
                                    gold of her own heat


‘Let her not drown in
bloodied gold of red
running thick and deep’
                             So she murmured, so they did


To a shore of soft sand
Heart sailed escorted by
obsidian lidded dragons
                              gloomy gold unshackling


Guts, throat, tongue
puddle, pond, lake of
blood transmuted to turquoise
                               gold and blood morphing


Cupids created decoupage dishes
with bloodied dollars gold
called for another stint
                               to alchemise pentacles cold




©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2018
Oliver Lenz Aug 14
Step zero, the crack of light.
A flicker of doubt in my comfort zone.
For the first time I ask:
Why do I do what they do?

Step one, my wallet speaks.
Every coin, a quiet vote.
Hurt their vulnerable spot:
Profit.

Step two, the test begins.
When it’s cold. When it’s loud.
When the joke’s on me.
When they leave.

Step three, no preaching.
But I tell what I’ve lived.
What it feels like
To look into the world’s mirror
And not flinch.

Step four, I walk in.
With poems in my pockets.
Truth on soft-spoken pages.
They invited the poet,
but the rebel slipped in, too.

Step five, Infiltrate.
You paid the rebel,
You invited the dreamer.
Now start your own step zero.
Zywa Aug 7
Capitalism is

the art of tempting people --


to contract more debts.
Collection "On living on [2]"
Kagey Sage Jul 22
More proof the organs of the body are limiters rather than perceivers:

Dementia onset grandma sees all time at once unfold to her
in the hospital
I am her grandson, son, father, and brother in scattered fragments

The brother amid a manic schizoid crisis can read
your thoughts and see auras
despite my practiced techniques of staying stonefaced and neutral


Eternal Recurrence
Is this where you want to be when YOU come back?

Numbing our faculties with drink and smoke to
forget the faults of our individuality
Unconsciously strive for death
the hallowed and forbidden no man's land of
some universal hum


Forgive all your past
because we're all faulty radios seeking to
receive that same AM static

They used to say to be like the ocean
who can take in polluted rivers, but not be polluted itself
Now the ocean's dying

We achieved an unthinkable number of polluted rivers
It's high time us kind folk dry themselves off and
stop the apocalyptic Millerites from killing us all
prematurely

We need to convince ourselves we're blameless to
grow a backbone and point a collective finger at
the selfish flimflammers we've let rule us so long
Kagey Sage Jul 22
The uniting spirit between us
hundreds of thousands of years and
we lived as hunter-gatherers

This blip in civilization
has been the ascension of the individual
Look at all us tyrants can do by exploiting the universal potential
Spur on division amid the masses and channel any
enlightening sciences into lip service appeasements
that only serve to enhance the status quo
hum-**, regular old exploitive system
we verify by looking back
in our teleological telescopes
Just like the Dutch East India pirates in the Spice Islands

The worst of it is the hypocrisy of it all
Saying they're for freedom and rights
and endorse the man from Galilee handing out fish to
panhandling outcasts, but no
of course the killing is worse
than the irony in between

MacDonald's dead, his tartan's in rags
We're powerless
so we became smart as kids
Putz around, find out stupid ruthlessness wins
Some folks just can't do it
inkedsolace Jul 5
I wish to cry,
but I must be numb,
to these emotions,
because they will not aid me,
when they come,
to take me away,
for my trials,
and charge me,
with unproductivity.
Let us all toast to Dystopia, for she is as inevitable as the passing of Time.
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