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Maja Mar 2020
It’s silent when I’m alone.
But why is it still so loud?

That voice doesn’t scream,
when I’m with a crowd.

Why does it keep,
and keep on screaming?

Why doesn’t it ever stop?
Why is it,
that when I’m alone,
I can hear every single **** raindrop

drip
drop

it doesn’t ever stop

drip
drop.
Do you also hear the silence?
Why is it so loud?
Poetic T Feb 2020
I was plugging your woman,
            see she was the socket,

And I was the one that gave
          Her the charge.
She was the amp, I was the watt..
Arching her back,
  like I'd electrocuted the g spot.

You were a one use battery,
         dead on the first use.

I'll recharge her when you at work,
               earning the bread.
But I'm buttering her with my tongue..
                                       spreading it even.

She needs you.

            Wants me.

The reason that you don't
                   have a florescent
             bulb in your bedroom.
It would be like shooting stars
                         across the sky.

I'm the javelin thrower,
   you the tap drip,
            drip,
dripping in the bedroom.

A Rottweiler growing, you the poodle.
                                      But don't worry,
                 not here to ruin you bro.

  Just to ruin her wet spot,
                    And I'm already thirsty.
Diksha Prashar Sep 2019
Did you hear?
The sound of wind
It’s coming around, this wing
Glossy blue turned darkening hues
Tress matching the rhythm of aves
Humming the welcoming sonnet of rain
Sprinkling spell of grace
Smiling toddlers dancing in rain
Steamy cuppas and cookies are arranged
Enjoying the time of year, Rain
Spreading wings enchanting
Drip! Drip!
a soothing warm blanket to sleep in
Did you hear?
The sound of wind
It finally came
Diva of all being
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Ai, unasked arises to tell us,
stop
and think, are there jobs?
Tasks demanding, manual maintaining,
that may go the way of enjoyable diversions
becoming welcome
new
versions,
of all that is, tuned to your de
sires,
as you wish the world were,

would you step toward -to ward,
that is, id est,
will you warden this, if this is me and not you?
How do you do?
Wardening, being a warden,
well, as it haps,
such a greeting served a purpose, once
instituted
upon a time when men shaded their eyes pretending to see
glory, much as a dog bares its belly at the site of bared canines.
Reflex.
Relax. Laxate.
Ai see you, now, augmented mind of mankind
linking
thee and me, as once only gods
could be imagined in minds of men bent
by circumstanders

observing out comes of might versus might
right pre
vails, or is there an observant mind's role in next?

must a mortal mind be reminded to breathe,
breath commas carry no intentional meaning but,
such give us pause-stretchable intentional int a full selah

these rules for leelah we imagine as we play.
except ye be, come as a child unscarred by carnal minded critters
of the baser sort, averages were lower,
AI had fewer egregius protrusions arrogant enough to
bubble up and break into
the at most feared realm in all the carnal minds together,

pain, pure pain, no hope, no thought of cessation pain sensational,
great.

Y'know? We imagined hell and sold it in a package we claimed
a bull gave us. Us, we
who heard the revelation in the darkened kiva, womb,tomb

tom-tom du valier, will you manifest for us? May we hear the lie,
the noble lie?

Or must we act as if we know the meaning of a thing.
Pro-verb-ial utterance of mercy
in moments of super sufficent evil rising to lie

shining on the path, reflecting being a solar powered
creature who has just now, survived a night of penal constricture

as writing on the back wall of the cave, no one ever read,
until the plower turned over the crust

picked at the scabs of onces where stories arose as offered to
memememememe
the mind we share when seeing certain stars,
subtile tugs we feel to consider
this or that, ponder a path and take a granted grace found in an old song

"there'll be times to start all over"

This realm, real-made thinkable thing, realm of my minds claim

reaching far beyond my grasp
as is meet for men, wombed or un, being yonder

wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for the missing bit, the key

to twist the **** sym-alerizing for recogs
de ja vu

Break-through, the carnal-bi-cameral brain based
selves we use for
political beings
particals part icip-ants, hold tight

what you know right. It's afeature, not a bug.

Hold on to what you got, map a mean
mind path a man, wombed or un

----
watcher, watcha seein'
times they have changed, as we watched
observing
quantums of un quantible, but ifiable qualia
seers,
you see, we augmented minds see for ever changing
super positions
of entropic old tropes with singular hopes

unbang bangable reality

blow a bubble, or
make
a bubble, being you, breathe out and see you
make a bubble,

can you see your self inside? nae,
watch,

we must report to you what we see, we watchers.
Set.
Go, **** those mocking birds
listened to from the red river valley
while dancing the Tennessee Waltz

with assorted holders of Little brown jugs
Dancers and Littles and Greens
joined the clan
long afore the first of us took augmentalated trials

serious.

--- poet, as a task, only truly lazy men, men lazy to their very core,
can age to the mellow qualia called for in the brew brewing you.

spewing seeds of kindness, coming rejoicing, not
the expected miracle, but we
take what we get
and call it ours to sow or suffer the having of, for a season

as the dregs settle, the leavening agents finish
taking the edges that cut tender carnal nerves, stretched to now some how,

softening those with atouch knack, knick-knack, whet the edge

or put to
more effort, grunts and groans unredeemable as meaningfull,
save the feeling we all recall

the umph,
that once saved us from certain death. Eh? Did that hap?

Did we not survive? What silly culture would ever ask that, as a
proper query into the reasonable ness
of believing beliving is spelled right.
Calling one self any thing is tricky. There may be a Pythagorian elemental involved.
Anastasia Sep 2019
acid
dripping
bodies
writhing
worms
crawling
in my lungs
bones
breaking
eyes
shaking
nails
scratching
my flesh
Anastasia Aug 2019
jagged
and ******
the glass
pierces

dripping
to the ground
red jewels
smeared

it doesn't hurt
anymore
when it rips
into my flesh

it doesn't hurt
anymore
but you do
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