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WJ Thompson Mar 2017
The question respirates
the acrylic aperture
behind the eardrum.
A responsive tongue to the palate
taps out the consonant.
But before the note descends
with musts in the glass-
The cathartic statue
refracts the
synapses stretching
continuums
to grant a
minuscule autocracy.
Already charting north,
fingers fluently gather
ego between the
sundered reverb of the vowel.
Already twisting key,
pressing restive feet
to acquiescent gasoline.
Working on my vocabulary.
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
We're golden oldies, you see,
This is a concern for thee and me,
When your friends look so desperately,
Found the car but lost the keys!
Welcome to senility!
Feedback welcome.
ukown Jan 2017
My Love grow up everyday
Your disguises!
Got no sense, i try to understand...
But still got no sense !
You happy at all, but you don't care...
  When you ignoring I...
As nothing front of your face...
I love you but..
I feel as a small piece...
Try to turn on a huge wave...
   You got my heart keys...
open the love...
                     or leave me in peace...
Andrew T Dec 2016
My friend Greg is musically talented, a singer-like R-Kelly, and because of that he acts like a dog, around women. Who stand by fire hydrants. He plays with his instrument in front of people on the street. And sometimes, the piano too. When Greg plays, he always wears huge sunglasses. That’s because he wants to impersonate Ray Charles. Plus, it’s cheaper than doing ******. Although, he does make a lot of money and he wants to start a band. Band-Aid company. But on a serious note, Greg teaches lessons to his students. They have tiny fingers, so it’s hard for them to reach the keys. But that’s okay because they’re in his pockets. As a musician, he dresses in black clothing. Excuse me, he dresses in African-American clothing. Before shows at open mics, in front of the audience, Greg sometimes throws up. Gang signs. In all honesty, Greg gives a great performance on stage. He just pretends the audience is naked. And then he gives them five and half minutes. As his friend, before he stepped onto the stage, I told him, “break a leg.” He tells me, thank you for pushing me so hard. As he hops around on crutches. Greg’s really good playing the piano, but the audience always gives him a slow clap. But that’s what happens when you play for retards. He considers himself a feminist womanizer. He sleeps with a lot of women. But don’t worry, he always asks for consent, before he roofies your drink. I know this from experience. He’s a good friend though. Once, I was dancing with a girl and I slipped and fell to the floor. Greg rushed over to me and stuck out his hand And I was so grateful for his friendship, until he grabbed the girl’s ***. But you can’t blame him, it was really dark in there, how was he supposed to know that was his sister. Greg loves Shanghai Noon. He’s a huge fan of Owen Wilson. And me. Greg thinks all Asian people look the same. When he saw the Walking Dead Season premiere, he sent a flower-basket to my parents. Greg is so charming. Like the toilet paper. His favorite sport’s team is the Chicago Cubs, his favorite women are the Chicago Cougars.
Robert Sep 2016
I slam the keys and shiver still,
They make me shake and break,
These keys they don't just make a sound,
It's memories they make.

Yet once a while I'll sit upright,
And play the keys so slow,
But this time there aren't memories,
It's just a concert show.
We fell into bed on an instance
No need for introductions
We left all of those behind
In the bar of inconveniences

As we fumbled in the words
"My place or yours ."
She reached into a pocket
Lined in purple satin promises
And handed me her keys
Picking the lock
That you keep around your heart
If I were a locksmith
That would be a start

I don't know the code
I haven't a key
I will keep on trying
For all eternity

I must never stop
Those chains I must break
Not to have you
Is something I can't take

An emotionless prison
That's where I'll be
I must get out
I must be set free

By any means necessary
This job I'll get done
Nothing can stop me
Not even a gun

Sooner or later
Your love I will win
I will be patient
For our life to begin

You shouldn't worry
Don't have a fear
Whenever you need me
I always be there
Yours is the lullaby saved for thunderstorms, where boys like me gather courage to face the rain.

Yours is the music for dancing in the rain.

Yours is the one legged soldier at the end of the war, thanking God in the language of the enemy.

Yours is the light at the end of the tunnel and every bit of darkness still left in between.

Some words are better left unsaid, so we let you carry language in your keys and our voices are the doors you always seem to open. Like the number of times Beethoven used you to explain that true music is one part sound and one part vibration, one for the body and one for the soul. So we gather the dancing souls of deaf men like fireflies in a jar, something to chase the night and green the moon with envy.
So many keys to success!
You just have to be at the right door,
There's a bunch of options;just don't be careless,
You might drop your key to floor,
And fail to recover it,
So many keys but specific,
Each individual has their door and key of breakthrough
Darby Apr 2016
2/22/16
Pictures are lies with faces
They seem like happy people in happy places
behind the ink, they’re a pile of court cases

Pictures show us what we want to see
they all lock their doors and swallow the key
When the cameras come out they sit down for tea

and pretend nothing happened


Pictures are lies with faces
Once the flash is gone it’s wild goose chases
Their lives don’t have room for blank spaces

Pictures show us what we want to see
Their bright smiles line up perfectly
But even dull teeth are deadly

And words and can make a life end


Pictures are lies with faces
All we see are smiles and braces
When people leave they’re the only traces

Pictures show us what we want to see
When the family posed under the birch tree
After the flash, they all disagree

*And argue till’ the point they transcend
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