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Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Sept 8 2019

bungee binging The Good Place
this witty inventions peeks

in the window, like a pop-up ad for
imaging software,

hmmm, tune to white
noise and
shift into this aural or otherwise
ifity. We-ness, us-ness, eplurbalus-usem,

y'all. Nobody cares, but we all feel your pain.
waiting is, is all we made sense of,
so far
but nexts are super-positioning as we speak,
write-read, right (and the feeling of asking per

mission-- like is this thing broken --- but no
it worked) right.

Wedom, rhymes, in rhymnals.

Freedom wisdom dom dom
doh minion!

How happy could you be if dying, the act,
you all dread it; but ever,

the idea, ever.
think death's sting is ever lasting?
Once again, ditty dumm dum ditty

when was ever was? Was ever always

pain, no shred of a strange charm

to take the pain away?
Pain, you imagine evermore or nevermore,
either you imagine one

or the other. Ever is a long time to imagine being happy, and though, although, actually,

ever is in progress as,
dammed definition rule. Who agreed to these
logos therapists

redeeming idle words that stink of chaos as

extreme as ours, here,
in our bubble of being, imagining we
this or that, by taking thought,
a mere qubit past the

tip of your tongue.
Who knows, sometimes it works.
Emma Jan 2019
You ask me questions,
as if your curiosity itself entitled you to the answers.
which in the simple act of their existence engender in us a fierce protectiveness;
We want to shelter them.
which before you no one even knew to ask for.
“Do I think you’ll judge me for them?”
you ask.
And of course
of course I do.
how could that be it?
Your curiosity doesn’t earn you the right of entry.
Euphrosyne: You can just stay here
And if I give you the white strips
You can just lay down
And use the white strips
And by the time they release you
Your teeth will look so good
I mean no offense but
You’d be using you’re time wisely.
They will look so
Much better.
Here, I have two boxes.

Aglaea: I think there’s yoga too
You can really firm up doing that
I really think you should stay and
Take the yoga
I’m serious.
You can also journal
And do color therapy
I know you know your colors
So you should think about
Sharing what you know
With the less
It shows
And I know that you’re Grateful.

Thalia: While you’re here we’ll get you all
New stuff
I know this guy
And he can do it
He’ll redo your whole place
And I bet it could be an editorial
And you need flowers.
We’ve got to get that sorted
Why don’t you do a vision board?
There are
Magazines here right?
You can use them. Well some of them.
Vogue maybe? They do have Vogue right?
And when you’re out we’ll
Deal with the hair and stuff like that.
In the meantime
Find out if there’s a manicurist in here.
You feet are busted.
Cronedrome Jul 2018
Here where prison is a place we call MountJoy
A young manboy just released
Shoots pool with plastic blue
Rosary beads
And fresh tattoo
And eyes on me
Runs his hand along his hard body
Says you see it done me good
Embraces everyone he meets
He knows he’s gonna keep
With this discipline
He knows that he can be
Anything he wants to be
Oh yes
Anyone he wants to be  
Loving father
Good son
Puppy, shark
Rolled into one
He has a story
Lessons learned
And a new hard body
All hard earned
Feels the tides inside him sing
The tears , the blood
The library
Emotions men pretend to hide
It all comes out
In the world
On the inside
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
To Jess

The heat, the humidity,
And the bright blankness of the sky.

Handicapped by fear, not darkness.
Shaken, yet their bodies vigilant.

Bold crimson seared through the flesh
Like fresh sin bled into it.

A conspicuous scarlet letter.
I was a public display, a warning to all.

An audience of whispers whirled before me,
But I did not waver like they did.

Cross after cross, crisis after crisis,
Crucifixion made hands sandpaper dry.

My sentence was final. A full stop.
I danced with deadly weight.

I was hell itself. I had walked through fire.
My skin marked unforgiving constellations.

So what was that little light of yours,
To a shell dead inside?
Mar 2015
c Apr 2018
We danced, the cognate vessels
Nested in walls &
Cowered in blood

We buried love deep into
Beating flesh &
Writhed In Utero

We emptied veins of reason
Laid in torment &
Seceded in white gowns

We--Empiric experiments
We--Deficient devices
We--Thrashing threadbare


I was recently researching the term "hysteria", and the dark history that follows it. Stripped to its Greek roots, it essentially equates to "crazy woman". Doctors used this term to diagnose women & commit them as psychologically disturbed. They also used it to describe a woman while she was menstruating. It's worth looking into.
George Krokos Jan 2018
The wisdom and legacy of certain people who have gone before
is appreciated by the literature or institution we know them for.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Graff1980 Aug 2016
We are not the personal property
Of some person who proposed
As always I oppose
The subjugation of our identity
In pursuit of marital bliss
This institution does not fix ****
It just repackages old ideas
In modern consumerism
In love I am not yours
And you are not mine
But I am not blind
To the stunning visage
The gift of your existence
I just don’t think real love
Requires ancient legal and religious
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