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Zywa Feb 17
While talking, we find

in our circular thoughts what --

we already knew.
"Diffractive Reading" by Bill Mullaney: reading of the twelve cards designed by him after Pauline Oliveros' "Wind Horse Mandala", in the Organpark on February 10th, 2024

Collection "org anp ark" #363
mjad Jan 12
After all these years
We start again
We know one another like the back of our hands
Slipping in and out of each other's lives
As if they aren't completely intertwined
No one else understands
Saying we're toxic and bad
But conversations are all that's being had
Screaming baby on your end of the line
My static is your lullaby
The telephone is cradled against my chin
The cord is wrapped taut around my neck
I wait to rest my head against your phantom shoulder
Press my lips against the mouthpiece
Begging you to pull the trigger

Rocking myself to sleep slumped on the sticky linoleum floor,
The plug pulls off its socket with a pop
My vision grows dark
My song bellows through the air, it
Swallows the walls that keep us apart
Jeremy Betts Dec 2023
The conversation
That I'm havin'
With my sin
Is frightenin'

Acts like a friend
Knows the motion
It knows when
To dig in

Where do I end and it begin?

Hand in hand
We both land
In quicksand
Like it planned

Flames are fanned
I'll be ******
Whoop *** canned
Right on brand

I took a stand and lost command
Thomas W Case Oct 2023
A canary flew
in my
window and sat at
my desk with
It said,
who are you?
I replied,
I'm a base
poet that's been
dropped on
his head by life
a few times.
Eyes like a
kicked dog, and a
beard that doesn't
grow straight.

It chirped like
a Bach concerto, and
ah yes, we are
all just dead
birds at the
bottom of a cage, tiny
lice crawling through
our eyes.
No song.
No light.

I said,
you're a strange
little fellow.
And we sat there,
like that, waiting
for 6:00 am
so, I could make
a beer run.
Please check out my book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems on Amazon.
seated in a cafe
are in ocean
tides of
to one
wings of
and thought,
if only humans
knew of their
Mark Wanless Jul 2023
We do so hard grasp these nascent bodies
Of thought that any occurrence of change
Brings with it pain. Deceitful aspect strange
This attribute of sentience. Shared lies
Self formed and self believed, and fierce beloved
Distract the known conscious moment again
And again in heroic effort vain
To shut out the ego damning dreaded
Truth of universal equanimity
Non specific to the fabricate me
The i perceiving. No answers can be
Found to malformed questions. The path to see
Begins with forgetting. But to uproot dreams
Of self repeatedly lived, hatedly looms.
AE Jul 2023
"A melancholy grows, and it's swathed in nostalgia.”

"Why is that?"

"With every day that rains, it is September again... the month of endings.”

"Or new beginnings."
we each bought
a burrito from
that same van
i would visit back
when i lived there
two pork burritos
one with added
sweet potato
brazenly requested
the other simply
the expected guac
my overconfident request
should have cost more
than I was charged
but the man serving
could not bring himself
to demand the full cost
for "just" a burrito
we sat and ate
on the bank of the river
that i used to
think of as mine
we bit
we chewed
we swallowed
catching up
as napkin-less
salsa-dripping hands
were licked clean
and wiped dry
across the thighs of
already marred jeans
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