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Iska Sep 2020
I am a wandering soul, I know not where I go. My goal is not In the ending nor is it whence I came. my destiny is in the now as I dance between these plains.

I wander with the wishes and chase the petals and leaves, but no matter how far I meander, my roots will follow me.

Breathe in deep and spread your roots to the edges of the universe, in this way everywhere you go becomes home

No matter how far you go, those roots will guide you home
TD Sep 2020
Nefarious are
steepled grays
how they shift and change
before curious fingers can rub
such gristly cheeks

taunting curiosity
with a shady smile

Flushed bits of light
peek in dappled disarray
through patterned wisps
as they meander
despite gravity’s
lazy drawl

that whispers tales
of flightless birds
and craft less pilots
amid the animus
of our longing gazes

and we recognize
is it’s own snare

ankles are turned
and pink with promise

What a pious flirtation!
Imagine a cheeky teen with hyperbolic tendencies—such precociousness!

Or on a more serious note* a sky full of grey lovely erratic clouds floating with peek a boo views of dazzling pinks and peaches.
Ken Pepiton May 2020
Quest or journey?
One has an end in mind, which?
I wonder?

A step, a line to cross; who laid this line?
In my mind, I imagine I am several,
if not many,
opposing mental-

beings, persons, suggests a bird, there...

can you, no, you can't.
I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters.

At the moment you next notice me, all I knew
of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so
hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the
softening cellular barriers,

holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being
in contention for
contentment, with godliness {undefined}

how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live
institutelary as gods,
mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue

of your choice.
---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice,

Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit

--- did you finish the line, must have
here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my
the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack.

Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance
of in for by, all manner of pre set positions,
adding weight where weight is wanting,
lifting lightly where denser matter
crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined}
the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers

give and take that makes this world of mere words
through and through, over and under, one way or another.

join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave,
a reflective wave,
I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there
is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land
in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest.

This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey
from the east.

West is west, keep going.

Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive,
but then the dog goes silent,
and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow
by whose authority,
do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek
no peep.

It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but
today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits
are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only

when the peep
stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on

be yonder when the role is called, say I,
I am here,
waiting with the rest that remain from Eden,
back in the day.
If  I could share the state of being being manifest in my west most thoughts,
i think I would do it like this; sitting on my porch, I' d wish you happen to notice how easy life is now, in the bubble I have my being in, with you.
Look at me
So carefree
Frolicking in the flowers

Skip around
On the ground
In the lushness of the bowers

Here we go
On tip toe
Dancing in the breeze

Arms out wide
Nature's bride
No better days than these

From day to dusk
I do lust
For your grand display

Orange and pinks
Days last wink
A vibrant color soiree

Then I sneak
To the creek
Splashing with delight

Mistress moon
I do swoon
In your beams of soft moonlight
Lyvana Nyx Aug 2017
If there is no point
I will take
The meandering path
I will double back
To the gray matter house
Despite how far I made it
A month ago
A year ago
I always come back
I will stay there
This time
Make it home
Quietly waste away
As energy leaks out
And effort is exhausted
Time flies by
And I will sleep
To my tired heart's content.
Tired depression
Zero Nine Mar 2017
There are, for sure, a few certain things I miss
We could destroy each other's sense of self
And then be twisting in a broken bed
How did it feel? Do you sometimes remember, too?
Reverse genitals, you ****** me, deliverance
My first *******, you went deep
And I could feel you had an IUD
How did it feel?

Let me try to find the right words to describe
This hole of dissonance

You helped build this empire
Now it is burning, lost to ash

Unending hatred begins with vehemence
And pauses when I'm on my back

I can still feel your mouth on me
And your fingers in my ***
You must hate me like I do. I'll be okay.
Spike Harper Dec 2015
My hands have become raw.
The constant digging has made me complacent.
The tools have been scattered.
Just as the thoughts I sift through.
Glory to those that have found the treasure.
Trinkets of blight and misfortune is all that is left.
Do I cherish what remains..
Consume those that are truly nameless.
The definition is lost on me.
Yet I find solitude in the despair it brings.
A constant that always keeps its promise.
The lighting strike has found its mark.
For just as fast as it has come.
Lighting up my eyes.
I am left with only the afterimage.
A burn that is slowly fading.
And soon.
It to will be that of my imagination.
Hinting at a past with static charge.
Will this Phoenix rise.
Or has the fire finally been extinguished.
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