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Asominate Apr 2023
Thoughts that drift off into thoughtless.
Thoughtless,
I'm lost to the the darkness

I have no feeling
Deaf, blind, mute, tasteless seething

I'm lost, but I'm believing
Believing?
Oh yes, I'm still believing in you.
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.
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2022
Making sense
With a constant notion
Heart beats

As a stirring reverie
I'm enchanted
By your echoes
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: And tell me your way
I S A A C May 2022
king of rats
mediumship, situationships
dreams showing me your daily slips
your kiss with her, your lips on his
your hands on him, your striptease
pretty please you begged me
pretty please you strung me along
all along, declined your calls
thank god, he had some sense
thank god, I never sent that text
thank god, I let it drift off into the ocean
nature will take its course, I will heal my corpse
writing stories until my dreams show me
the next thing, my next path
I will align, I build an altar, a waft
crossing the waters, no knife in my back
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2022
Honestly

If any
Beautiful thing
Doesn't inspire you

It doesn't make sense
Genre: Observational
Theme: Biased
Author's Note: Senseless I'm not but observant I'm.
the power is the
superhuman ability
the power is the superhuman,
sense of ability
human sense is human ability
human sense is human super sense
super sense is a sense of power

super sense is a sense of ability
super sense is superhuman sense
knowledge is a super sense of skill
knowledge is a super sense of human sense
knowledge is a super sense of a super sense
power is a sense of power
power is a sense of skill

power is a sense of knowledge
a skill power is a skill sense of skill
a skill power is a skill sense of power
skill is a sense of power
skill is a sense of human ability
skill is a sense of knowledge
skill is a sense of skill
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words from the renaissance for instance words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc... this poem is about a sense of power is a sense of skill. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Andrew Sep 2021
the flowers

they sit in this air, chilly;
the wind
it blows, yet, just as the flowers move

I feel it upon my hair

upon my face,
upon my blue feet;

The trees they ask
Do you like how I move?

I ask the same

and I hear no answer -

I never have, yet, I ask
again; again -

There is a wind
and I feel it the same as
the trees; the flowers -
I feel this wind and I will feel it again;

when I will feel it again
Melody Mann Sep 2021
& when it doesn't make sense,
& the wind blows in your direction,
I'll surrender to your will,
For in your benevolence I rest my faith,
Abundant expectancy.
IG saw it first! Check out the reel @solaceamongsolitude
Every dawn is a nexus, /
Every twilight is a beckoning; therefore, /
Embrace the fickle future /
Ensconscing within the sacral oath /
Of a thousand words: /
These utterances shall envelop you /
When upon Triumphal Arcadian Skies /
We meet again. /

Save your tears, /
For love shall reign /
From the empyreal aethers above /
To the Gaian epidermis of /
The Magnanimous Matriarch; moreover, the mellifluous kisses /
Of The Sovereign of Songbirds /
Will burgeon within, /
Will descend upon you as The Holy Dove. /

Unfurl your third eye, /
See with an indefatigable clarity /
All that you were meant to be: /
Strong, Wise, Just; /
Love; /
A luminary fulminating /
Radiantly, resplendently upon /
The Denizens of the Terrene. /

(—Se' lah)
Your heart /
Is an impearled grand piano: /
Every word, /
Every thought, /
Every utterance, /
Is an ivory key emitting /
A sonic, an aeonic testimonial; /
A reverberation of spirit./

Awaken your senses, /
Trust your intuition, /
Burgeon in the beauteous /
Molecule quenching, /
Rays of the Feuillemorte, /
Hiemal, Vernal, & Estival Sol. /
In truth, our Mother Lodestar /
Transcends the seasons./

Evanescent, /
Though life may be, /
She is worthy of every /
Onerous breath, /
For all is a quickening; A preparation /
For the auric-ascendence, the platinum self-transcendence /
Awaiting us in /
The Realm of Greater Eden. /


Excelsior Forevermore,



Sanders Maurice Foulke III, AAS


09-06-21
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