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Pockets Aug 28
We all want change 
But we don't wanna change 

We say keep the change
Like we don't need the change
Like we've never counted out dimes to buy cigarettes or beans

We're 2000 miles over on an oil change 
We don't like to think about what we can change 

We change our mind
We change our hair
We change our *** 
We change our friends

We change the channel 

But we don't change

We don't wanna change 
How can you change what makes you the same

Winds change and we get blown away
Because we don't wanna change 

Isn't that strange
Faith Hull Jun 16
Two women
One sobbing, one singing
Two women in one body
My body

Two women
Separate in emotion and desire
Separate by what they see
Out their windows

One woman
Sees nothing but good. She
Is kind and open and she loves continuously
She never stops giving and she does
Not regret it. Not a bit at all
She is a river

One woman
Sees the mundane and is reminded
Of he, the fire, who hurts her, he who
Kills her with his not caring
She does not distance herself, fearing she
Will lose herself too when she does
She is oil-
And she hates herself for it

Two women
One aching, one at rest
United in one vessel of flesh
A vessel at war with itself
My flesh
I suppose I understand now that it is possible for one heart to feel utter compassion and total adoration as well as total spite and hatred towards the same person
Bardo Jun 7
She said she needed fun
   and laughter
Baby I said what you need then
Is to pull into my Gas Station
Me! I'll give you a good servicing
I'll fill you up yea! give you a good
I'll check your oil, all your gauges
Pump your tyres and clean your   windows
Give your bodywork a nice wipe  down
I'll even shine your bonnet

You're so shiny.
Giving someone a much needed boost, an inner cleansing.
Magic oil home magic oil our orchard,
Here impecunious was not recondite to crime.
Stealthy couple marched to the altar against their pride
And the coffin of voices flunk to put asunder.

Magic oil today! magic oil tomorrow!
Where painters salvage the oil as the oil rig,
Opulence buries the scribes and his tools
Up you see guards pounding the gardner

Magic oil no sitting on the fence
Here menace is please been recipient of felicitation
Where my father curses all day long in melancholia
Nodding to the tune of manor with no praxis
Magic oil where preachers cook the book
Where christ denies his peter and refuses the tax
Here shepard pockets his sheeps and mohammed laugh
Relijiosity army of largest temples for the world to learn

Magic oil like the orchid oil
Where saboteur greasing palms was a norm
Our heros casting their faith beyond Abacha loot
Here the beggers you fed suddenly turned feeders

Magic oil where serene was once a time
Sleep not moulting in to the further days
Dine not with this shaman that menacled you to yesterday
Where clown dictate the podium before the colonialist

Magic oil  crossing to be a curse
When others were sick we serve and dance
Where we pay and pray for sharks and their fishes
leaders blessing the fishers purse we curse the osprey
magic oil is base on the abundant wealth, countries like Nigeria has been able to garner from oil exploration. The abundance of the resource propelled the writer to refer to it as a magic the provides capital for the oil rich economy. At a point the writer began to regret that the country has such resources for it was claimed to have led the massive looting of public funds and other corrupt practices. Thus the write forced to say that the oil was a curse and not a blessing as others view it
Nyx Lilith Nov 2019
the ocean is black
black for the soot,
black for the stress,
black for the death,
black for the way their eyes fade out and stare at the starless sky listlessly.

the trees are black
black for the lifelessness,
black for the melancholy,
black for the emptiness,
black for the way the remains look after abandonment all those years ago.

the sky is black
black for the pollution,
black for the harshness,
black for the hopelessness,
black for the way the world looks even when the snow falls, when there's no one left to watch its filthy black chunks mar the earth anyway.
this is part three of a three-part poem, preceding both the past and the present.
Rich Oct 2019
The government’s up early in the morning
hours before my dreams said their last words
~~I wiped off the cosmos from my consciousness~~
our leaders are up, digging for mechanical gold
that sweet fuel for the machines and their automated wealth
today, their shovels disrupt Alaskan wildlife refuges
tomorrow, your backyard
but I’m waking up way later, following the sunrise as an unemployed, unashamed, unresolved and un-unified whole, unpredictable, unfitting man with a wallet
full of poems
packed tighter than an Earth with twice our population
yet still writing
without hesitation
still drifting in and out of your perception
in and out of adjacent trains
stumbling over career paths
until I land on my face and look up
wiping the gravel off hazy eyelids to see the road
and then footsteps become moments
which become monuments upon which I build a future unseen
one day,
we will all be free.
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