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Ken Pepiton Sep 4
Breathing easy, without a care, con-
science filling emptiness in me, auto-pilot,
in and out of wonder why and how.
Bard arrogance, pretending,
it all may be, let us see.

The rule is beauty is truth,
- a temptation,
- a eh, a canadian dare,
- prove all things out and about as
- this being that in a preceptous sense.
according to a cultural rule, we use,
truth is beauty,
and that is plenty to know,
not useful, but plenty
well known…
emplanted in my psyche plot
when I was less than fully functional.

No sweat. Em space, letters let us
see beauty in the symmeasury,
perfect curves and ratio.
Line after line, then
line upon line, then story
to story to now, from ever so long
long before thoughts were fit to spells,
common to all speakers of sacred songs.

Enter the grid of Em, between the lines.

Right,
it's out there
to be brought in
by the eye
of the being holding beauty
as a measure for a portion,
I am asking, as in prayer,
may I have more?
-------- there was an art in forming type

I may destroy it,
I am sorry to say so,
but you know, once we take,
giving seems worthless,
how can I give beauty back
that I took in from there,
see
right there?

Aldus, Theobaldo, is this a spirit
you pondered with, a musement bit
of ifery, in tune to older reasons
easier to use, as we learn
new means of making
knowledge reach beyond the grave,
and back to us in books,
set beautifully in emphatic type styled
perfectly, at the touch of a key

see, set as aesthetic-pleasant, as I wish
this is my magic letter forming
word
rush, through salt marsh, to briny deep

now I lay down my type, perfection of old
rural pens poking angled pits in drying clay,
here is proof of beauty sung,
measure worth of what I learned
in years of seasons spent in trial
resetting of the worth to cost ration,
coin of exchange, goods for service,
clearing rats from the Rathaus,
pressing poets into political
religatory bonds
at exorbitant interest paid in
occurrencys, specie, value
holding letters,
formed as words holding knows, ready
to know,
read and see, we learned to use the mind
reading signs in numbers, sames in shapes and
colors and sounds,
rhythms reoccurring some patterns form,
we agree, see
north, and east,
south, and west, after many seasons,
winters all become one winter,
summers become one summer,
harvest and planting all become one, over all
this is life,
We live we
learn, we leave the knowing showing,
I was here, and when I was
here, others were with me, we went on
according to the story with the center to
where all winds meet,
where all water flows up from into
this beauty
we be
holding as breaths, each as beautiful, or more
so than all that came before, and went.
-----------------

My grand daughter is a bright spot calling,
in passing, as would the shadow
of the jay harvesting the hillside out side
my window.
- I smile a treasure smile

Struck by Brynn Aulyn's fashion sense,
since holey jeans were forboten
in my gramma's haus.
- a lucidated old man am I -
- ever learning there is beauty
-----------------------
Hoping to form a gem of immense
value,
the old bard, stutters,
takes back a step,
looks you over, eye to eye, to make
the circuit, as we
know, left eye, right brain take the order
bend it to the shape
seeming something
you could see - and so it is, you see.

These unnumbered lines are indexed,
linked and crosslinked to all the info
ever, up to now, your time,
when electricity is still the tool to keep
things forming letters in your mental
word process, listening,
far in the future, faceward flow
of all we think to ask to know,
what lies can make a mirror,

¿ stop me in my tracks? Do I know?
Do you imagine, we may know?

Does your reality hide truth?
Why, I wondered too loud, why
I heard only being
caused by quests set to type, adventure

tragic remembrance warning
comic awareness insisting, sense is essential.

ESSE, HEY, capslock, s'cool type reading
we can learn
to think a thought a second time differ
ing in time, up a line, down a line
right to left to right, this is
a twist to things we do
inside, brainwise, neuro-resurgical, burp
of reco
gnosis, tricky gnosis para site graph point.
Stitch
in time. Torn jeans, signify nothing more
than NY Times Digest from yesterday.

--- and my Saturday continues on to yours, soon
enough, let's make peace, since sense is now science.

One time, in my life, at the middle school mark in time we called Junior High,
grade six
through eight,
the formative years, Televised Profusely,
since Our Miss Brooks, I think,
back to when I first pretended to know
the guy that became
John Rambo's boss.

Bite me in my own buts, but, but
I did
read First Blood, before, the movie
made the idea a cultural meme,
meaning one thing to men
of a certain, certified-archetype mold,
hot lead poured to military purpose,
in the imaginary battles boys can
set in array
on vast plains
of rag rugs, in front of hearth, in home
of grandpa, telling
of a friend
who must remember stories alone…

-hot lead type pouring from my gnosis
I I ai don't wish to say this… so
we make a mental meta

using toy soldiers cast in ready state
standing at attention, bayonets fixed.

What comes next, child, may you
never know.
So. that book closes.
Saturday with kids in celebration of no school, and all the world at play. And me waxing pleasantly poetic and feeling no pain from yesterday or year or whatever before. Time is so swift from now.
In retrospect, I regret this choice.
Years ago, I made it.

And years have passed.
My heart is beating, still fast.

I am no way closer,
I'm yet to have a closure.

All the boring bits aside.
In you, I am trusting to confide.

'twas a longer journey than usual.
so I summoned a supernatural.

Puny desires on my mind so I stooped to this.
Didn’t think about the toll, I made hollow promises.

Smothered my craving and I wished to doze off.
In my sweet dreams, I rode a tiny giraffe.

Started out really small, my verses are expanding
Oxymoronic hell is so cold yet I am burning

Toll paying is so near, I’m only feeling fear
My judgement is so clouded, I cannot steer clear.


In retrospect, I regret this choice.
Years ago, I made it.


I wish I had found the right night.
A kinder sprite would have fought off my plight.

Rather, I got to meet the troll.
No way out, now I gotta pay the toll.

I wish I had found the right night.
My spirit would have been just right.
Closure is something that I will never have
You did not think I deserved that
No explanation
No goodbye
Makes me think that our friendship was a lie

Closure is something that I rarely receive
It seems they do it just to spite me
I'm too much to deal with
Too much drama
Too demanding
It makes me question the point of my existence

Closure is an elusive myth
As invisible as a birthday wish
Closure is an old friend that I met in a dream
He taught me about acceptance
He taught me about inner peace
Now I realise that true closure is found from within
true closure is found from within
Winter Jul 12
When you turn over the page
in the book of life
and you find your next chapter...

you'll find that love
was never over-
only beginning again...

anew.
Jennifer Alé
Zack Ripley Jul 1
If we had just one more hour, one more day, could we find another way?
Could we find the words to say
what we've always wanted to say?
Could we find a reason to stay?
And yes. It's true that one more hour,
one more day could make things worse.
But isn't it worth the risk
if you can find closure? Worth?
It was so abrupt
Like a string being snapped -
Like a door being slammed -
Like a voice being shut -
An unforeseen slap
It was
a ledge too short
a goodbye too soon
a sudden break -
- **** -        
my heart aches.
Being frozen in shock and then frantically looking for answers - that's how it feels when something we care about ends so suddenly.
We all need closu-
emma May 27
It’s not fair
Why did you get to end it that way
What ******* changed?

I knew we weren’t perfect
But I believed we were getting through it together
I believed in us
Why couldn’t you do the same?

It’s not fair
Why do you get closure
Why does my heart reach everytime I see you in the halls

It’s not fair
Why does my dreams torment me with false memories
Why do you get ******* peace but you couldn’t grant me the same

It’s not fair

But you know what they say
Life isn’t always fair

And life,
it’s never been kind to me

But life,
Life always loved you
como un poema a medio recitar,
como una película con final abierto,
con el corazón lleno de pesar
observo un árido desierto
donde antes había mar
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