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imparo Sep 2019
I am a small bird,
thirsty to explore the world.
I've got small wings,
seeking for the touch of the wind.

I hop and hop, but I never go so far,
my head keeps bumping on a bar.
I am feed well, yes, but I'll never grow
living in this cage I've always known.
Clay Face Aug 2019
Feel me

Branch out

You live

Apathetically

You’re a charlatan

Who dwells

One sidedly

Dark sidedly

Think you spew vitriolic criticism

Just abysmal blabber

You’re like an infant without wonder

You’re a void for joyousness

You’re incontinent of your blabber

Of your verbal feces

And vile thoughts

Read the room

We’re sick of your ****

The only depth you have

Is how low you make everyone

You’re so dismal

Break free

From your own restraints

And you can scintillate

Beauty can always root

Where horridness once dwelled
Mateo Aug 2019
sweet little dreams
occur in my sleep
her longing gaze
leaves me weightless and free
i fall into a silent trance
by the sound of her familiar voice
deeper and deeper i go
to a place unlike any other
...
a place where we live as one
breathe as one
love as one
...
it's a place i never want to leave
i want to explore together
with her as my guide
and i as her companion
i fall deeper and deeper
into the beautiful world of her
she is my sweet little dream.
a poem for her
F A Pacelli Jul 2019
desire is quicksand
a trap to suffering
the liberating tree branch
is knowing your desires
are imaginary and fleeting
you can let them go
F A Pacelli Jul 2019
happiness is easy
it's easier to drink soda
than juice celery
it's easier to scroll facebook
than read a book
it's easier to watch internet ****
than romance your lover
it's easier to freeze the fat
than exercise and eat well

yes, happiness is easy
but when did it become
another addiction?
F A Pacelli Jul 2019
we explore the world
but what good is that knowledge
without creation
we create works of art
but how limited are our creations
without exploration
NYC Eclogues Jul 2019
Chapped heels are clacking messy rhythms
as tattooed bikes dart through honking traffic.

A cop waiving his gloves, orchestrates the lights &
tourists riding in humid mustard cabs with bloated bags.

Resident pigeons fly in alphabetical patterns looking for a bite
while commuting rats scatter home along warmed subway tracks.

After every performance the soles clap and groupie tires start screaming at the ring leader welcoming people to the show at the stitched crosswalks.
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