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One billion stories
With thousands of pages filled
Are we but paper?
Everything is temporary
A little crumpled.
Fold it in half.
A bit dry from the crevasses of its body,
still, it’s a blank slate.

There’s a table placed beside it.
A warm chocolate milk on the right side of the table, the rain poured, and winds blew.
A pale hand reaching for it.
Skin like ivory, laced with thick, intensifying wires all over her body.
It connects, and there’s a pulse.

A pull.
Observed from his perspective, there’s a gravity,
it is a button, or power itself.

Whether from the weather or words born with swords.

It’s a little crumpled,
folded into eight shapes.
He bled as a form of escape
and she drank her warm chocolate milk.
Alongside it, there was filth.
I have been writing for years and it became who I am today. but sometimes, there are words and metaphors I cannot write and it frustrates me, not being able to write something. not being able to explain it in such a manner that it will come as beautiful, pleasing, warm, and genuine.

but today, I tried.
Growing or shrinking
last star exit in mind
New trend
Is life the dead-end?
Star casting kiss
No exit to miss
A friend

Finding courage
Circles and stars breath
Feeling nameless no
picket white fences
Eyes adored last glances
Society- Supreme- be
Forget me not Garden- of- Eden

  Wish upon a star hidden?

The last digging dandelion
yellow ray  
In the end no more suffering
until the day
Like poem book* open and end
Something stiff glued together her life
Paper- Mache
Making amends Sales man

Taking his last exit he picks desire
The spitfire Rare- star sire
Computing- reliving-  dying
Don't settle for scheming
The last star exit

The last scripture
Vivid mixture
Mind storing like a cache
Rare Robin bird great
Recherche last meal al -dente
Smell the last flower herbal- ritual

Petals open up new portal
Blue elf Viola sing like Mona Lisa
*        *        *        *
Autumn red wine star bridge

Grenache field of mirage
Seeing stars you fell
Where's my falling angel
Strong words vocal
If its the last exit don't disconnect

Dots.. and dots.. connect
God casting
Its written stars for all in our name
Starry- end
Things feel like there to sudden not knowing when? We all want the everlasting but we live through a time like bomb blasting take your best moments let them last In life there are all exits
I S A A C May 24
pen to paper
tears to soil
the interactive process makes me
what am i without the mercy of paper?
what am i without the abundance of ink?
what am i without?
footprints in fresh snow
bloodstains on a sheep’s wool
what am i when i am no longer broke?
what am i when i unfold?
I S A A C Apr 12
tangents as i peel my tangerine
stranded when you leave the scene
running up the walls, painting the town green
artificial natural, warped reality
plethora of predators creep on me
sneak a peek, steal my peace
perception the weapon of my enemy
your glance is cold and it stings
my words are paper to a fire
to escape i needed to lose everything
I need Love
but what's in control
doesn't let Love
emotional damage
Ken Pepiton Oct 2022
Coming Apart

marketing value of brains
marketing worth of knowing

college sorting machine

Murray from the Bell Curve

Just yesterday Lex Fridman, and this guy
odd co-suggestion
- do you think we are evolving?
A shared culture,
shared tastes and prefer-
ences incessant conferences

2022, and a few, a rare few, seeing
bits in patterns of eight,
2-bits, et cetera

Samuel Johnson, obscure as can be,
practically kabalisticly mysteriousus,
sum mostus
firstus, fundus mentalis, serpent mind/

Marshall McLuhan 1967--
Buckminster Fuller

The Beatles, et al,

Acid, Grace Slick, Tallahachee Bridge,
Rick Ridenour Suicide
1970 - too late, too soon, take your time,

put it back into your head, your head, baby,
it was all real
it was all real at the time, so long
so long, since we found some body

to love, till the end
of time,

tipped and split into ever more, after
never before.

There was never such a time as this.
Two main parts, about two years apart, then 2 more.
Steve Page Mar 2022
The paper weight will hold
my ink down
in a way my fluidity never could.

No matter how violent
my metaphor, how heady
my imagery, how blistering
my narrative - it will hold
the reader's attention,
ensuring my thoughts reach
each reader's own resolution
a little before the weight shifts
and the burden of their eyes falls
heavy on the turn
of the page

and then their eyes will lift,
burdened with new meaning.
I started with the concept of a paper weight, and went from there.
Zeth Feb 2022
Misty mem’ries down murky highways
Of sinking ships down dark alley drains
There dreams there too have sadly sunken
With hopes of life obscurely ashen.

May these paper boats find their way out
To flow back in endless paradise
Then I’ll surely know without a doubt
I’ve set my heart there again to rise.

Though we may cross a different path
Or flow on different waterways
Please know we’ll meet there a moment too
When rivers meet at the vast blue space.
To those who have once lost themselves and their dreams
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