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Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
Tall tales, memories inerradicated,
other worlds
other ways
other times, no other truth, all possible things are;
all impossible things never were,
no matter

all reroes religate the religious use of truth, in
impossible situations,

the truth frees, but this is the beginning, is it not?
This is the first time your mind found a way
into a common legend
of times when all minds spoke one language,

languages are difficult to perfect but first need known
is patience,
fear, known sooner than patience, is wise-being,
the result of the author seeing how a lie
could get out of hand and imagine an
impossible thing for too long a time.

Madness is the first word I learned for this state.
Imogene, who smote her hubby with a hammer,

ha,ha, ha. that real already was written in another
lie I lived through to now.

We sold them, they bought us. We owe nothing.
We earned our keep, and may I say,
with professorial non-chalance, this is the price one pays

when the script calls for attention,
you were about to mention the state we abide in, when
in default mode
mind wandering, not at all mindlessly, very mindifly, I

flee the pun
ish ment no harm, tis the charm of that wheezing old chump,
d'ja tell'em one, did they

survive. It seems most don't. Most of youse used to gititon
gititup gitiover on the other side,

flip the coin
time and chance, one day up, one day down, depends
on do darkness count as day or not

time being related to states of stop,
stop states, as
sleep states, to the fractal degree of hypernation of
indignation, kanyedigit, digial assistence
national notions

did you jump in
we be we be we be
whoa, selah,
balancing factor, at your service.
Where we wish we was...
And we have lift off, the novel is commited ancillary act gotten to gather idle words to fess up, give account, what are you worrth, we don't give dams, spark until the fire stars, I always say.
Ruheen Jul 2020
They do have the best stories.
May not be very bubbly
Or comedic,
But thrilling,
At the least.
Horror
Is
The most fascinating
Genre.
...
Poetic T Jul 2020
She plucked his fingernails
            gently out,

                 he loves me,

                                  He
                             loves
                        me

not..

The pollen of love filtered from
            everyone discarded..

Pulses raised with
each one
           harvested.

The dander was sodden,
               but still she needed to
know..

Does he love me, does he not...

And after every petal was gently
                                        discarded,

You thought that the only way
                 to no was to cut the stem..

Looking to his surroundings,
            a jar of nails...

How many had been planted here
                                               before..

Like a daffodil popping off,
                        she was out cold..

He'd been like a seed floating in the air,
       what some would catch to place a wish.
                          his was to land upon her jaw.

                                              He fell,
the roots that bonded him fallen.
            And he ran out in to the wilderness.

Floating in and out of consciousness,
                                       but he was free..
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Rages are red
My opponents black n' blue
The sound of the bell
Means it's time to be fed
And as you know
I never bite off
More than I can chew
In Memory of Evander Holyfield's ear (1962-1997)

Thomas W. Case's Historical Figure Poetry Challenge, Mike Tyson.
I can call myself crazy
When the thirst for life
Makes me feel dizzy!
Bhill Jun 2020
You
I'm crazy about you, in that I'm sure
you set up my day so I can endure
you correct me and guide me, to take on the world
it's easier with roadmaps that aren't so ****** twirled
pretty sure I would stagger, when I walk out the door
but with your wise guidance, I'm ready for more

Brian Hill - 2020 # 166
Wo is your ”you”?
Josephine Wilea Jun 2020
He was more permanent than other men,
A little more friendly -
And it don’t make no difference.

I ain’t wanted.
Why ain’t you wanted?
I don’t know.

You think it’s a lie.
You won’t get out.
But it ain’t no lie.

He cried.
Lost his smile.
Helplessly broken.

I seen things out here.
Alone out here at night.
I don’t know if I was asleep.

It’s just in their head.
Yeah… sometimes.
But… not always.

You’re nuts.
You’re crazy.
We are too.
Found poetry for Of Mice and Men.
Ken Pepiton May 2020
Pride of place, you take any you positions, I am
at the bottom, fit wherever yous can,

spread thin, ele-mentally thin, surface tension,
truth be told,

as thin as any bubble skin you can imagine being in,
with me,
crazy-- no, not crazy, as in irrational unstable,
with no stashed redeemed idle words to use to make,
ferventingly and effect ual affectionate
art. Art art art, I am art, Ai ai ai, I am in fection per pro
fessorial critque
AI
cuty pi, french curvature sure to pitch that screwball,
Fibbonacci's sion, seeing

so many things follow this curve from a point, might
I?
So, if I were a pinecone, why would I take this
golden progression in materialization,

printing, as in 3-D, at geo-speed, indeed, but we can see;
now, is 2020 and it only gets better,
once.
"This is your life"
Oops, the object orienting this program has slipped

the surly bonds of earth,
in his mind... is that crazy enough? Are you content?
After a long youtube morning in Samuel Beckett's  allusion to the thinnest of sanities imaginable.
Natasha May 2020
romantic


love




never



works


for me.




because



I'm not even sure,




I know




what



that




kind




of



love




is.
Sheila Greene May 2020
see crazy
in my eyes
on my skin
your blood
I wallow in.

hot body
rubbing mine so close
whispers come
crawling
"Don't touch."

our heat mingled
glistening dew
rolls
licked
intoxicating fever
consumes.

dripping lips
loves first kiss
or the last
swallowing in.

a womb
giving and taking away
wet
ready for the ****

© sd greene  8/14/17
I have lots of crazy in my eyes.  It stems from the desire to be consumed and the madness from within when you can not obtain it.
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