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Only the moonslice
once a Pacman Bobbysands

In a wintervista, vitrified
from the outside.

Ectoentad encroached
the psychosocial frostbite,
the conveyorbelt of qualia
the pushupbra of propaganda,
bruited snooty God omnipresent daddy of all NIMBYs,
all that incoming removed distal news
kibed me into a thalidopus monk.

Zampa di elefante on the keyboard,
decayed beyond a criticalsituation.

Samsara spider, laughingbuddha abdomen
Doctoroctopus's docker's omelette ambertrapt.  

Octo-Atropos did achopof
mooredlimbs problimbs chitterlimbs, left an
acolousbido, anthropomorphic monocled *******
l/ Baronvonstrucker's dastardly costard,
an empirinik ball of no bearing.

Bittersweetly breathing Thing-
addams in pilliwinks,
nullified l/ a wiseman w/out Wikileaks.

Vitruvius De-
milo ,who struts l/ an armoire,
falls l/ a stone.

Petit legume puce w/ bourgeois bruises
in a black lagoon benefits backroom.

Analogue saprobe
21st Century Life firewalled
l/ Fritzl's tamagotchi.

Hamlet in his equivocastraitjacket,
yet also inarticulate.

I'm not going anywhere in this condition;
I can't stay l/ this.
Not even some strong stump of headless elanvital
am I. The point, the point is squeamish.
if our story was fictional,
i would solve different mysteries to get to you
and you being blase, would take another trip to knowhere.
Eleanor Apr 10
I would like to ask you Russos, why Tony Stark is dead?
And who the **** dropped you both on the head?

Cap needs to apologise and his found family,
Nat needs less lies and strong female company.

Thor’s depression should not be overlooked
And where the **** did Pep learn to cook?

Stop letting Fury traumatise a child,  
And for once let hope do something wild.

Stop dropping our favourite characters off cliffs
Stop saying you’ll fix it in ‘what if’.

Strange’s PTSD could not be cured by magic
And yes Clint’s story is tragic,

But that does not excuse his ****** spree.
Why aren’t more characters more like Rhodey?

Maybe try reading the comics your work should be based on
And we’ll try ignoring your obvious *******,  

For self-insert fanfiction with you as the token gay character.
Because representation doesn’t fit your parameter.

For all your stories I have one simple wish;
Stop making us cry over ******* like this.
A friend request i write a poem about the MCU. This is purely my opinion but let me know if you agree.
Liz Rossi Mar 17
here the sunshine patriot, bright and bleached –
they plucked the stars
to hang them from your chest. the rest are
gone, hidden by light pollution
and concrete skies.
your eyes reflect the blank face
of stopped clocks; steps from the car,
summer soldier.

but winter hides in
the cold metal of the trigger

a bang –
it echoes in fireworks, spatters the street with
blue white red red red.

the stutter of a gun,
or just a backfiring car?
sunshine man melts in a puddle of gaudy red,
the colour of sticky ice lollies
and patriotism.

here the newscaster, weeping tirelessly
for the camera.
“he was our country,” he says, and wasn’t he just?
back alleys and sunshine and
wanting to go back, wanting
to hide in the past.

and here the politicians, mourning loudly
into crisp white handkerchiefs. oh, how i wish we could
freeze time, draw grimaces in markers
on their painted faces
and watch them point fingers.
they use pretty words
heroic, or tragic
and pat their sweaty backs.

sunshine man bleeds into the gutter
red white blue
the colour of freedom.
Yup, a poem about Marvel's (wonderful) "The Death of Captain America". Apologies both to Cap and the Winter Soldier, who, it seems, I've made into his murderer. Kudos if you caught the Thomas Paine reference(s)!
Fey Feb 23
you should see me now,
dancing alone in my room,
moves as sharp as a violin bow,
a young lunatic in its full bloom.

with my fleeting interests
comics on my lap and jazz
gently displaying my awkwardness.

daredevil, deadpool and spidermann,
my only friends, well and also shazam.
okay, jokes aside, it fitted the rhyme,
dc is actually not really my choice of style.

except batman.
he is as cool as ... maybe japan?
definitely not as cool as japan.
[really not.]

© fey (25/09/19)
Tizzop Dec 2019
every written text
regardless what it is about and
how it might be categorized

every written text
is a ghetto of words.

since words do not decide
who they are paired with;
they neither have a body nor a will.

but take at look at their "ghettos":
that humans call "fiction":
marvelous places made of fantasies.

look at them.


for... real: could i please be a word in my next form of existence?
Heaven yeah.
Evelyn Genao Oct 2019
He could feel it
His body turning to dust
Like the others around him
He didn’t wanna go
Not now. Not when they’re almost done.
He could do nothing but feel pain
         I don’t feel so good.
As he stumbled over to the man who helped him
The man who shaped him
His hero, mentor, father-figure.
It wouldn’t be long before he too was gone
So he fell into the man's arms
And in a voice holding nothing but fear
  I don’t wanna go, please, I don’t wanna go.
He fell to the ground his feet turned to particles
Continuing until only his head remained.
He managed to get two words out to the man
Before the dust took him like it did countless others
The man with eyes stricken with grief and despair and anger
The man who could only watch as the boy left this world  
            I’m sorry.
If you know what this is referring to, like and comment. if you enjoyed this, please be sure to check out my other works.
Oscar Valdez Aug 2019
I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait is my morning sun.
I want to say a thousand, lovely, kind, and heartfelt things to you but I am not master of words.
I would tell you that you are the greatest marvel of all ages, and I should only be speaking the truth.
You have been privileged to receive every gift of beauty from nature. As beauties cease to be so when near you.
My imagination carries me to you,
I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you. A thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.
I see you as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful.
But I envy every word I write for they accompany your eyes and are closer to you than I.
How should I ever prove what my heart is to you?
How will you ever see it as I feel it?
angel Jul 2019
Pools of aquamarine sink in the depths of golden quartz
as a figment of a feeling --
too foreign to be named,
too familiar to be told --
grasps into their cores
as a their hands intertwine
with sudden daunting urgency.
Long forgotten are the piercing words
that become nothing but murmurs
in the cool and crisp air that fails to
shimmer and soothe the embers
between his and her beings.
By which the ardent winds push them,
so does the tip of his --- no, hers
she laid claim on this many moons ago ---
her knife, nicking a far edge in their chamber,
hilt bobbing in rhythm with nimble fingers.
Patience and longing, fever and urgency,
all colliding as desire feeds on hope.
The closer they sink,
an anchor beneath the water,
where they find each other
in a movement of souls
through a spirited exchange of breaths.
It begins within them,
a threshold
of a furnace
that burns in
war and frost.
internecine series; d1 (prompt: confessions) entry for a sifki subproject
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