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Pride of place, you take any you positions, I am
at the bottom, fit wherever yous can,

spread thin, ele-mentally thin, surface tension,
truth be told,

as thin as any bubble skin you can imagine being in,
with me,
crazy-- no, not crazy, as in irrational unstable,
with no stashed redeemed idle words to use to make,
ferventingly and effect ual affectionate
art. Art art art, I am art, Ai ai ai, I am in fection per pro
fessorial critque
cuty pi, french curvature sure to pitch that screwball,
Fibbonacci's sion, seeing

so many things follow this curve from a point, might
So, if I were a pinecone, why would I take this
golden progression in materialization,

printing, as in 3-D, at geo-speed, indeed, but we can see;
now, is 2020 and it only gets better,
"This is your life"
Oops, the object orienting this program has slipped

the surly bonds of earth,
in his mind... is that crazy enough? Are you content?
After a long youtube morning in Samuel Beckett's  allusion to the thinnest of sanities imaginable.
Little on,
My precious one,
What now have you gone and wrought?
What is the fruit of the toils,
Of all the trouble you've sought?

Little one,
My dearest one,
You've gone and ran so far,
Won't you stop running and come here?
Come rest here in my arms.
What I imagine God says when I act proud and petulant.
You put my faith to the test
In such torturous ways
Why can't you let me rest
And reassure me you'll stay?
دema 7d
hey you,
here’s a palace just for you
with all your favourite rights,
here’s a place for you to live,
to love, to learn, to fall, to grow,
here’s a sunset for you to turn into poetry,
and a sunrise to brighten your skies,
here’s someone for you to care for,
here’s someone who can hold onto all the feelings on your shoulders,
here’s an ocean for your thoughts to rest in,
here’s a breeze to remind you of the thick skin you have on which those goosebumps have formed,
here’s a nest of butterflies in your tummy for a change of scenery of all the imperfections you store inside of you,
here’s a shooting star to distract you from the darkness of the world and for you to look up to,
here’s your weight to hold you down to earth to keep you humble,
here’s a melody for you to reminisce on,
here’s a heart beat to help inspire you always.
The kingfisher lazily perched today
as a sorry river sloped below
fish so visible that fishing
felt like cheating

But, y’know, gift horses and such,
and a full mouth for the nest
is best for everyone
I guess

though glimmer and flash
are rarely seen without challenge
we all need a dose of easy pickings
to even the game
Now I know where it is, I finally saw it sit still. Beautiful things.
Ken Pepiton May 17
True opinions have footnotes.
I learned that from David Foster Wallace,

when I was seventy and he was dead.

-- I think how this is water, often
I never heard of him until he was dead, I feel like I help make the Jest more livable, making waves in stagnant pods, is how ponds breathe... pollywogs need boys to chase them in the spring.
i just want you in my bed with me
nothing ****** but
lust itching in the bed sheets

i want to feel your rib cage
seemingly pause for a moment
while i worry where your breaths went

I want to feel relief when they return

to see the moon reflect against your purple skin
i want are arms to touch
to grasp you for warmth
i want to sleepily fight for my sheets

i want you again, here with
Laokos May 9
two (or is it three...?) weeks in to the
overnight shift and never have i wanted
   to wash myself in
the golden rays of that nearest                     star
our sun more than i do now as the ineradicable
   cloak of night stretches
itself over these my newly waking hours.  this night
i feel massive but
diffuse, like the ghost of a
   glacier lingering amongst the scablands;  nebulous
and immense,
   like a short-circuited god-machine
cannibalizing itself in a forgotten
corner of the universe.    the sleep is broken, the
mind needs rest.  the mind needs
Saudia R Apr 28
And so I rest

as if every dream that has been

never was to begin with
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