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Ylzm Apr 15
Banished to wander the Earth
But rebelled to build a City
Babel was temporary, now COVID19
For worship of numbers makes Money, and Man, god.
Poetic T Apr 11
Can I have some more "sir,

             how can we feed the children..

Put them in the coal mines,
                      its our new energy...

Green is dead..

I gave the logging corporations
             the go ahead to cut the lungs out,
who needs to breath fresh
          its all recycled, {redacted}
  its used and we'll sell it back to you.

Air who needs it,
   We'll sell you fresh in a unrecycled
                 with only a hint of contamination.

We made America great again,
                 even though you cant go out.

As we down played the viruses...

           All the bunkers were lately filled,

That singular cough flowing through
  the cheaply made ventilation system..

Made in the USA, more like red tape cut,
             As Americans cough to the grave...

But you died with a dollar in your hand..
                   Wait the money is what gave you

Covid 19 as it wasn't sanitised,

as money is
                   worth more than American lives..
Daniel Magner Jan 20
I have a hidden chest,
full with sorcerous wonders, a trove.
In a hallway, down a staircase,
through a maze chalked full with traps and danger.
My way to keep it safe
from prying hands,
the coin-filled eyes.
My prize, my treasure.
Is it better to keep under constraint or let it free?
How can I share it with the world,
and keep it all for me?
Daniel Magner 2020
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
i know well the fear as it manifests
in the dampness come night
dollar bills burn hot in pocket
the reddened skin of my inner thighs
fights to fray the cloth, but i
i'm better off sleeping in my pants
and my shoes, as to evade
then this thing clicks and the misfit
cuts come to fall into plan
by design, without fail, buy and sell
then there's me, this thing replete
with confidence in its destruction
by its hand, or on demand, its a
matter of course                  lightbulb!
Nigdaw Jul 2019
“Come in and sit down”
said the celluloid voice,
smooth as silk.
Cautiously I stepped
through the TV screen,
to take my place.

“I will show you a world”
it continued,
“That bears no relation
to what you consider as

The air around electrified,
as the set was powered to life.

Beautiful bodies playing on a beach,
running into the foaming sea;
sun ripening skin, bleaching hair;
Then, from nowhere a can appears,
elixir of every surfer, sun worshipper.

Somewhere in the distance
a distinctive throaty roar,
the romantic throb of a Harley;
ridden by a pair of jeans
giving identity to,
some muscular male *****;
A dream of America
and freedom.

Slow moody blues solo
hangs in the air;
a guitar talking to a journeyman,
familiar but not remembered.
Every note sustained, holding breath,
then carried by a riff
from a bottle of bourbon.

Outside the set
beautiful bodies are burning up,
through a hole in the ozone.
(Too many limousines and Harleys)
The alcoholic looks on, wide eyed,
trying to see a way in,
really believing there is one.
Jon Thenes Apr 2019
Best off known
Make ‘art world’ of my damage
Prepare to go mammary

Prattle my way into important company
Display something intimidating
And put in my stake
My patchwork for paternity
I grasp it
and discern it's gonna blow out
Yet I never bemoan the moment enduring it
For the smile, it sells upon me
is the remembrance that will never wilt.
a buyer
of house
looks to
aspire them
to gain
trust in
this mortgage
commonplace that
coffee imagine
a donut
worth their
value in
density as
once dulce
vita is
this anchor
with marrow
a code
I wonder if you know
how often I pass
that church door where we kissed
(and kissed, and kissed)

Or how I'd desecrate
a thousand more
just to do it again
(and again, and again).

It feels now like a deal with the devil,
and too good, it lasted as long as one would.
For rapturous blasphemy, for ludicrous bliss,
I sold all my fears for just one shot at this.

I wonder if you know
that we are our own devils,
that nothing's contracted
that can't be redacted

That we spin our own fates
and can re-thread our revels -
Did you know? But you must,
(you must, you must.)

Yet I'm sure that you won't
and that all that we built
is crumbling, returning,
To dust, to dust.
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