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United States of, as in America's
us as toys r us were, conceptually,

states r us, res publica for which,

we, the whole batch born free,
with freedom from the press and
adve'tisers, paid a fine loaf a day,
for selling free papers, here kid,
gitinthegame, easy init
ads on comicbooks
for magic tricks and



GRIT sell this.
Sell that, Publisher's Clearing House,
you know how, they buy the press run,

yeah, they buy all the paper, all the mills,
yeah, they own the stock market, the deals


who knew what when,
is anticipated, slippery, this once
then ante climactic we think of ever




If now state, present state when
we agree, mentally, we are ready

readers, we have learned our ABCs,

by way of Henson, polylingually free from

the limits of sorry old Jos, e-less jo se si se free

from certain trust in words,
stacks and stacks and stacks,

all bundled grunts and hmms, so, n'such
all okey A OK Roger out, didah didawdit

Your time, paid into my stream, using science,

simple as can be, is sublime, so simple, a point

when time is as if no time really ever was,
then we realize now is, though, real as ever/

A state is a political entity that regulates society

and the population
within a definite territory.[1]
Government is considered
to form the fundamental apparatus
of contemporary states.[2][3]

grip cohesion ceity

So, ceity deceitfully may be

we agreeing, on whatsoever we do
being wedone, we do our fair share, eh…

the American, local neighborhood way,
on this side of the railroad tracks, out west/
Pages from the novel seeking one readers sense spent reading it. In celebration of success with AWS, go Eliot elliot yell a lot
Antonia Oct 2021
Summer nights spent locked in my room
Was it suddenly fate that came and brought me to you?
A message; so simple, yet so damning
I had no idea what one little word could do
Back and forth we went
All that time spent questioning
If may I should get with you
When it came down to it
All I could think was
"****, you're pretty cute"
Seeing your face was the one thing that brought me relief
Oh how your voice made me weak
I'd give anything if I could start over
And return to those nights
That left me destroyed beyond belief
Another silly little poem, about the same silly little love for a silly little boy back in the year of 2017. Seems like I could only ever write or get struck to write when I was sad. He's a quite nice guy now, well-rounded and all. I'm glad he's doing well, we are all grown now.
Antonia Oct 2021
Thinking back on all those nights spent with you
Barely exchanging words
Mostly swapping tongues between us two
I still wonder why it was so easy
For me to fall for someone
Who plays for a living
Not caring about who they could lose
Making me feel special was step one
Attention was two
Saying you missed me
So easy for you to do
Now I see
How easy
It all was for you
Even if you never really cared
I can't say that I really regret those nights
I wish we could be together
I wish we could fight
I wish that you would come back into my life
This was an old poem about a boy I used to love, back in 2017.
Very one-sided, I wrote it at the height of my obsession.
So long ago, but I thought it wasn't that bad, so why not publish it here?
Andrea Lee Bolt Apr 2021
"I'll be right here"
my dear friend said to me
a tap of his finger
set my mangled heart free

He never came back
Because he never left

-The boy in the red sweater
I'm a super nerd and it comes out in my poetry a lot! Like to think as characters who I loved and helped shaped the person we are.
Sandman Mar 2020
Seldom are the streets quiet
The children age by the window light
Outside it is spring

March brings the turning of the cold
The adults fester and rot, feeding themselves to their resting places

Wicked things brew far and wide
Sizzling and spewing like acid dissolving bone and flesh

The morning moon glimmering
Time has burned itself to the wax
Everyone is meandering their minds
Searching for a smooth door handle to grasp

There are doors but none to open
There are windows but none to peer out of
There are cars but no one to steer them
This is the apocalypse
Tim Jordan Jul 2019
Mistah Gates. He dead"

Time is an ouroboros and
the Earth a flat circle

Measure out your life
in insta pics

Let us go then, you and I,
through empty diamonds
and deserted play grounds.
Let us visit, if you will,
the battlefields ,
streets full of bodies
that decay in minutes.

In waiting rooms people come and go
and speak of tanks and Bushido
 
Eyes I dare not meet
Can see me with their headpiece
made of straw

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Forgotten, as we stare at our new ones.
This poem is intentionally jagged and imperfect, much like me.
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