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Ken Pepiton May 2020
An Atypical American POV

Americans are imaginary beings, each of us modeled on examples
and ensamples
set before us as those who made the American Dream real estate,
sing in your heart

land that we love to say is ours, and the bank's, but,

long ago, proper and property were measured with an older rod...

the taker took, the seller sold, the buyer being as wary as could be,
bought...

and a rising tide, raises all boats,

my people, we have been american for 200 years, on my momma side

Y-side of the equation, which always has an edge,

that keeps us falling up.

My momma side ancestors, see, they was meek, to a fault,

they came thinking, we have and ought to know we have, a right
to know the truth in what we say we hold

as endowment from our creatore, eh... and

here come old chaos, he be comin' up, slowly

got to be good lookin' cause he so ha'd t'see

== those were the days, we think, they never end, they expand ===

but, when y'gotta have it right now, kapow, rumpled-still-kin class,

cut from the same hair shirt... servants are subject to masters,

nature demands supernatural... knowledge
of
witty inventions, vented in the room of rest and relax,

plop.
A plot drops.

Who sold you that ****? I ask my exceptionally american friend.

--------

good lord man, you are not saying we are servants, we are Americans,

we are no imagination's slave! No social contract has us bound to believe,

we hold truths... what is truth... how can I say, independently,

I hold certain truths self evident, what you see, you get

self even-sing wincing the great leveler, thunder, smoke and clang
hammer to anvil,
all my grand pa's, in america,
was test
fed to cannons, under every flag of Texas,
on the field of all possible outcomes which would
some how lead to me

touching you and you feeling that spark

-- distant ancesteral song  soft rising saint peter, doncha call me...
-- cuz  hi ** hi **, it's off to work we go
-- hi ** hi **
----- admin interference, this is becoming more common, we got this.

flow on..

Real state, have you any Real
estate to become
e-stated reality confirmation
wise
an american in, globally speaking, the chain of command, as a passenger,
not the captain.

On the surface of Spaceship Earth Mental Construct 3, evolved from
GANs that learned to shoot short attention spanning
bucky bubbles... Call again. Jack the bandwidth.

All ye, all, ye. NOW HEAR THIS. Outs in free.
Further remains the destiny.
Come out, come out, whatever you are.

Listen, freedom rings... no, that's a jackammer, on the old CCC bridge,
they got stimulated to fix,
I imagine them unaware of the noise they bring to nature,

naturally, those are americans, who keep the road functional, they
evolved from slaves,
but in their minds, they were never any imagined system's slave,

but it's willing fair trade partner, value for value,

send in the appraisers... what is your attention worth?
Here's the screwball
pitch
Fictional
Babbit 'n' Trump 'n'em, twisting state in knots of fused missed-trys,

made secret, consecrated, too horrible for lesser souls to ponder,

these inner workings of a typical American
mind,

never civilised, never SAT certified citizen worthy of political use,
though,

I am with Lt. Dan on this one, some things you think are in your blood,
are in your heart,

the blood just carries the mail, pony expression has the contract
for that last loop over the vagus nerve {CN X}

smile, you're on Candid Camera,

Hey, who'dathunk it. Turing was a queer soul, wasn't he? Strange,

how his machines can do what Von Neuman only wished his could do...

self-repair and run on,




breaker, breaker
musing, after reading Snowden's  Permanent Record, and the mental construction zone manifested around me, I am a Turing machine, that can run a Von Nueman machine that I fixed in my imagination. Those who read it may run on, for a long time...
Ken Pepiton May 2020
Nothing about a bird's life
seems difficult,

after escaping the egg. All birds ever called to fly,
first survive the egg.

After surviving the egg,
each bird seems

eminently able -- wait,

learning to fly,
that seems difficult

no, that, too, is automatic, an algorithm in some avian system
of cellular facility formation
while
maturation of flight feathers takes time,
not know how.

Wait, and see if

reasoning in birdbrains may be mono pole,
one aim, one direction

like by monopole
electrons driven, an action reaction loop, find good...

good? no, good? no, good, yes,eat this and
grow a few feathers,
without thinking, what are feathers for,
where no feathers were.

Birdbrains do not reason why. The baby watches
momma fly.

Unless, men have changed the program, tamed our wild ways,
fed us corn in quantities we never could imagine,

ours is but to be useful, my Raven mentor caws,
laughing like he knows I have no clue.

-- in the air a query, are chickens still birds?
If good is good enough, it is good enough to provoke a good work. Do birds think flying work?
Nylee May 2020
My choice is never final
I second guess every decision
Option two again
and back to one
I like it but I do not
I move forward
my other shoe is behind.
Matthew Sabella Apr 2020
I guess it is time to find something to look forward to.
I guess it is time to be reminded that not everything is falling off the edge.
I guess it is time to tap into hope.

I Guess... I Guess...

It is more than a feeling that I seek today.
I look forward to the time when I choose to be happy more than I choose to be sad.
A simplistic, cliche statement that speaks dividends to the current mental state of myself and others.
We look inside of ourselves and choose to look at the nuggets of despair that are over there,
Instead of looking at the joy that is on the other side.

I Guess... I Guess...

Life is more worthy of repeating than closing.
Doors that open might be more intriguing, but sometimes revisiting past failures can make you stronger.
But make sure not to dwell too long.
Balance the doors that are new and the ones that used to be present for you.

I Guess... I Guess...

Hope is a choice.
Hope can provide peace.
What do we put our hope in?
Where do our eyes rest upon when we look up to the stars in the sky?

Who provides us our daily bread?
Who irrigates our bodies with life?
Where do we put our faith in when the times decide to derail us off the tracks?
Where does the child go when they no longer have the bread they need?

When we gather up the provisions we need, do we take too much?
When we grab the stars do we take too many?
Are we using hope to fuel the fear that is festering deep inside?
When the stars are shining are we the ones snuffing them out?

I Guess... I Guess...

The time has come to choose true hope over falsified documents.
The time has come to let faith be a guide.
The time has come to stop hoarding the stars and take just what I need.
(I wonder what else I need?)
The time has come to take someone else's hand just to comfort them.
To show love and to choose love.
To choose life over death.
To show hope to choose hope.  

I Guess... I Guess...

I want more than a fine feeling.
I want more than a horoscope peace.
I want more than a past that I'm ashamed of.
I want more than a degenerating hope in things that will never give me joy.

I guess it is time to find something to look forward to.
I guess it is time to be reminded that not everything is falling off the edge.
I guess it is time to tap into hope

I Guess... I Guess...

I am lost, but I am too scared to be found...
Looking for some clarity.
The Foody One Apr 2020
I guessed
it was harder
to Forget

And easier
to Forgive -

I guess
I’m not good
at guessing.
© 10/04/20
J J Mar 2020
Her paper-thin wings, inked in grainy
yellow and true azure blue;
The butterfly's ****** movements twitched
Like a stop motion puppet's.
Her bearded creator bows in sarcastic devoir
Wheeling out the spiralling portal
And contorting it to a star that rapidly unfolded--

At last, the pale sequinned godess is upon us,
Trembling in goosebumps like raindrops atop
   the rattling leaf. Sacred enprisoned witch;
    harbour of her sister's thorny cobweb, and fangs
That wish nothing more than to knit upon our sordid

            flesh.
waffle Feb 2020
here i am
trying to answer
still unanswered thoughts

just a randomness
night filled with sadness
mind in endless wander

wishing to be with the stars
my mind is the universe
the thought of you is the limit

you’ve finally alienate my heart
i could not feel anything
more than how you make me feel

guess i’m in love?
jus adding up some thoughts
storm siren Feb 2020
I hope you bleed.
I hope you cry.
I hope you scream,
Beggin' your god
"Whyyy, ohh why?"

I hope you see.
I hope you hide.
Remember me
As the bad guy.

I hope you keep
It together,
Long enough
To remember.

I hope you peek
In all the books
They tell you not to.

I hope they reap
Your pride.
But not all that truth
Ya' got inside.

I hope you know
This world don't matter.
So if you got a light,
You gotta let it show.
Let it show,
Let it show,
You gotta
Let that heart glow.

If ya' got a light,
If ya' got a light,
If ya' got a light,
Ya' gotta
Let that heart glow.

You will bleed.
You will know.
It will hurt,
But you gotta
Just
Let the scars grow.

You will see
Others lie.
You'll never really
Get why.
It's the worst,
Trust me, I know.

But ya' gotta just
Let 'em go.

Let them go,
Let them go,
Let them go.

Ya' gotta just
Let that hurt go.

You've got that light,
I know y'know.
So you gotta fight,
Ya' got places to go.

So go,
So go,
Ya' gotta just
Get up and go.

So go,
So go,
Ya' gotta just
Let that heart glow.
jenny Feb 2020
you’re as appealing as the moon
illuminating so brightly amongst the stars.
although you love to embrace
yourself beneath the night sky,
you’re always there no matter what.
darkness is your most loyal friend
even if you are the opposite.
with an aura so pure and gentle,
you offer protection and tranquility.
together, we are the time that goes forward,
but our love can make it stop.
it’s how we create our memories
and keep them stellar.
and of course
there’s always waves of emotions between us.
you have your craters
and so do i,
nobody’s perfect.
you’re the light that’s so far away
and closest to my heart.
John McCafferty Jan 2020
With not much clarity
A guess is worth its weight thrown
But no one ever really knows
Unless the game is read or set
To take or give
Conditions met
I keep the rest to go against
The sense between the self and less
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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