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So they march us down the street keeping time to a broken beat
And the morals that we worship will be gone
Spite the blisters on our feet, we will all make a mass retreat
to a world where what we need will carry on

It’s spiraling out of hand, and we’re polling the crowd again
Nobody told me us life was not free
So I say to me
“Put up those halfway houses and pray the storm recedes.”
We act so vicious out of greed
As if there’s a victory among us, none such

So we’re taking our friends and we’re puttin’ ‘em out
like there ain’t no love to go around
Pulling no punches, only teeth
Then we’re taking the ends and we’re finding it out
It pulls you up to push them down
And this is not where I wanna be, either, picky eater

Now I think we’ve lost the plot, so we make ourselves a new lot
by putting two of our friends inside a room
We’ll be popping our candy corn in a protest anti-****
while strapping ourselves inside the viewing booth
And staying so clean
Taking our Adderall, and going for the guttural
Laying all our incensers next to us
They’re blaming us for the mess so we’ve gotta totally digress
and turn against the only ones we trust
Next time I feel mean

I’ll try openly
Cut out my heart and tape it on my sleeve
Can we have their shame redeemed for a handful of thee
in tickets (quit this)

I’ve got a certain feeling you’ll be beat around it when the bush is in bloom
Again, I’ve got a secret 7th sense about it…you’ll dance like a foot if I shoot
Though - my mind is resolute: I don’t play with my food.

So we’re taking our friends and we’re puttin’ ‘em out
like there ain’t no love to go around
Pulling no punches, only teeth
Then we’re taking the ends and we’re finding it out
It pulls you up to push them down
and this is not where I want to be, either, picky eater
in 4
island poet Aug 19
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity,  with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…

tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer

it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance  on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…


7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Jeremy Betts May 2024
She wants me less and less everyday
Which is why I think about walking away
And I know exactly what she's gonna say
She will turn it on me in a spectacular way
I used to hate that it's something I was able to say
I just don't care anymore

©2024
luciana Nov 2020
when does time affect how we feel towards someone?

maybe as the seasons progress
we will find a winter to lay down and rest.
or when the midnight hour fades in
your voice is a lullaby that can paint a vision.
our radiant past that enriched our hearts
pinky promises and aspirations.

thinking of the future, do you see
our sunflowers ever blooming?
this one is so old & iffy
kain Nov 2019
How did it feel
When you turned around
Rain chafing off your umbrella
Shiny shoes tapping on wet pavement

How did it feel
When you turned and walked away
Did it feel like cinema
Did you feel like a masterpiece
Never looking back on me
How does it feel to be an actor in your own life's production?  How does it feel to have the world as your stage? How does it feel when the curtains close and you're all alone and you realize that nothing you have is real? Do you ever get tired of playing pretend?
Colm May 2018
Please
Don’t ever think that you’re alone
That no one has seen with similar eyes
Or could understand the initial confusion
That is, Inside
But solved in time. As we all are.
Dirt Sep 2017
The glass bottle feels better against my lips
than you ever did
Steven Gosling Jul 2015
Life’s an awful rat race,
and it’s getting trickier and trickier,
so forget the woes you can’t face,
and do nothing in particular.

When life starts getting real tough,
relax from the perpendicular,
lay back and kick your shoes off,
and do nothing in particular.

— The End —