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“It’s a dandy of a day”
I heard her say
as I hooked my charm
into her arm
She sighed,
with eyes half closed
a ’Gone With The Wind’ pose
and ‘mmm’ for a hum
we locked our kiss
and kissed like this
till our mouths were blistering numb
we made kissing an art
till ’pop’ went my heart
for the day had only begun
******* on a pillow
and fibres to swallow
when I awoke with the alarm
It’s been a while since a poem flowed so freely and simply for me. Enjoy
busy pitter patters
of feet, at least
pretending
to be busy
these humans,
these flesh sacks,
place their bags
laptops
their unconsciousness
on this barnes & noble’s
coffee tables
whose chairs aren’t comfortable

yet, here they sit, beside me
amongst me
and an old
ancient, it seems now,
version of me would’ve cursed them
silently
while pretending to associate
to relate
to give a ****
for doing so,
for raising my anxiety,
for reflecting what i truly was,
at least
pretending
to identify with that narrow
window of my self

some collide
physically,
cosmically,
spiritually,
intuitively, whatever the hell you brand it

we all seek
connection,
always elsewhere,
never with our miserable
anxious selves

and if we can’t connect
we, at least
pretend
to do so
much like our riddling iphones
desperate for battery
for a sort of
charge
for life
elsewhere
somewhere else
anywhere
else rather than within

to be alone, amongst the crowds,
without our phones, our books,
our lovers, our seven dollar coffees,
our ******* egg white breakfast sanwhiches

almost as if these things
are essential to the unsavory
cravings and desires, or
dare i say
ourselves

we pretend
to work, to live
we read, without reading
we speak, without thinking,
we speak, without speaking,

“to be, or not to be.”

we don’t care for
intention
anymore
how could we?
we’re just so
un-*******-phadomably
busy
doing
nothing,

at all

just,
pretending.

-melanholicreator
people pretend.
Piotr Balkus Mar 5
We clearly see the illusion of material things.
We simply choose to ignore it.

It doesn't matter how high we think of ourselves,
it matters who will pay for it.
Zywa Mar 2
Clouds passing over

the sun give life to the floor --


it breathes up and down.
Leadlight windows

Collection "org anp ark" #4 (September 23rd, 2011, November 19th, 2011)
Zywa Jan 17
Sometimes I hear bells

ringing, high in the blue sky --


blue aerial bells.
"Maurits en de feiten" ("Maurits and the facts", 1986, Gerrit Krol), § 3

Collection "On the fly"
neth jones Sep 2023
standing pin    with military tension
           a dead suit
torted stance in the mirror solvent
commandeering a flect stare
      more punish than my double could lance me

                                                     - salute
Time could be hesitant
But illusion is not
Time can fly
But an illusion can turn
Fading in illusion,
I thought I was in prison
When my second was your hour
The mystery of an underworld tought me
To fly in time
For what a real illusion
Is in there...
11:01 p.m. words!
Sean Achilleos Aug 2023
Some people think they're rich
Because some people have less money than them
Some people embrace the illusion that they're poor
Because some people have more money than them
It's the contrast of both that creates the illusion
Yet when this life is over
Both won and lost
And though they lived in separate neighbourhoods
They retired in the same cemetery
sean achilleos
1 Aug '23

What is this..   that

Chooses  to rise up
against  the Mundane?
Why not just "status-quo"
the **** out of Life..
or better yet..
Build a self-centered- based
world of illusion..
or people of illusion..
or a partner, of illusion

.. or better yet,
an illusion-based, lover?

They say,    "Reality *****"


  I say,
(to that whole thought-process)


Hmmm;  Ah, Ya-ya..
I say..   "**** this."

You want "Life"?

pay its cost--
(it's admission fee)
I promise you that it is worth it.
It really is.

And the rewards
go on forever.  :) xo

(:
Feel this,  kid..
https://youtu.be/DuX2MkflGYs


#oh.
.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2023
~
His initial kiss
Is foraging
Ballasting

The solemn experience
Flickers by like sodium lights

It ****** the entrance
Of her thoughts
It settles at the door
To wonderland

Where and there
The pressure meets the surf
Bathing over her

A cleansing ripple
To tide her over 'til spring

~
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