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Ken Pepiton Sep 5
The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!

The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N

Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients

the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche

by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.

meta reason, reasoning about reason

Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity

pre Elon's musky exuberance

explore the tree of possibility without ever

when can one imagine that after now?

no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.

Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.

Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt

was another kind
of intelligence..."

If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.
If ai can translate it can relate reason to ratio and  make rocks stuck in mud, sing for help. I've fallen on hard times, would ya gimme a shove, said one Neutron star to another at the bar. addendum: while highly recommending lex fridman as a source of ispiration past the edges of my bubble.
Poetic T Sep 4
I may have tripped
            over my own feet.

But at least when I stumble.

I know its my own steps that
                      got me here.

Laughing that the shoelaces of life,
               made me dust off..

And not watching  my step,
           but make sure if I do

trip again

its my own fault.

          And not someone else,

getting in the way of my walk.
B D Caissie Aug 30
Take those stumbling blocks and ****** build something...
you make my body quake
leave cracks in my esteem
and invite doubts
to harbor and fester as you
send a shiver down my spine
to drown my fire.

you soak up all the syllables.
that I was to mutter
so I stumble
and stand there mute
with my stomach heavy with nausea.

I take guilt bites
as I am lost in panicky howls.
while you lay out procrastination unevenly
and drink from the reservoir of my energy.

you trick my potential
wipe out my credential
leave nothing but
raspy and rough remnants for me
to draw from.

you rule the beats of my heart
pulling me out at the first hello.
you grip me,
whisper obscurely
whilst darkness grasps my sense
and wraps my dreams with dark matter.

with you my my soul
remains parched like the desert,
and my brain wrecked with nervosity
as the sensation spreads across my body.

But Fear,
I want to be one step ahead
of you this time.
I don’t want my fate to collapse
beneath your decisions.

I want to spell courage louder
than your stifling whispers
as I embrace opportunities
regardless of how daunting and risky you paint it to be.
Dawn Jupiter Jun 5
I wanted to lean in
At that moment
I hesitated

My heart hurt.
It pulled towards another
But stumbled over you.

You let go,
I didn’t want you to
But I knew we had to
Perdue Poems Apr 8
I sit beneath the willow
As all my thoughts run free
Skipping through the meadow
Of true tranquility

I sit beneath the willow
As winds begin to blow
I feel the stumble of my thoughts
Into the valley's low

I sit beneath the willow
As rains begin to pour
I hear the gurgle of my thoughts
Till thoughts I think no more

A cloudy sky is all I see
A mind of dull torpidity
I sit beneath the willow
I sit beneath the willow
Ahnaf Apr 4
The characters I have sired over the years,
Are layers of a ground that still isn't mine

Time runs,
Rupturing the shells as the days crumble.
And I stumble,
over and over,
over myself
Ken Pepiton Mar 31
Old paths never cobbled

float stones, over the years.
Through the winter each day I walk
or drive this trail,
I moosh down the mud and deep
down ought or else pushes back and

water takes the waymaker function,

path of least resistance,
coming up.
Hydraulic pluerosis pops a stone into my path.

An old stumbling stone, new position.
Kick'em out the way, see watcha find

Certain con
coils of oughts thought steps as
rungs from
Bethel to where Jesus says the Kingdom
of right use right-e-o-us

come hell or high water
Lor' willin', if the creeks don't rise
you trust your kenotic self to flow, least re

sist dance

A. or B. Either opens the gate,

t'm'yaad, eden bydemnation namin' imps.

Clouds of could'ves push-crash

dis ap
proven re
proven re
al itynessification.

judge you, I judge me and we judge each
the other,
I am first reader, I and my muse and the manual dexter/sinister
skill with the maigi
(I key far faster than hemingway two finger typed,
if he did, like on tv)

I correct me, I was trying and, by trying doing.
Earlier in life I magined one sneaky lie true
because it came from
wise entity telling Luke,
there is no try only do,

maybe for Alienated Jedi minds, not mine,

mine works if I try to do and do, so trying and doing
is done at once.
Okeh. An earlier exploration was tainted by my wish

to be seen wise in relation to an imaginary
depicted fiction seen as the source
of base level words chock full o'
wisdom... nuts... Yoda was never real.

C'mon, gimme the old American

Try again. Emulate Socrates and Jesus,

sorta comboish,
Old Ben says it worked for him,

Kenosis-like. The thirteenth step in
In Ben's
experiment in thinking as an
American might, in the future,

relative to then.

People still read the
Auto-biography of Ben, right?

A proverbial treasure buried long ago
for you.

Kenosis pluerosis and such, who knew such words held such depths? I love the Global Brain, and your part in it, dear reader.
Ron Gavalik Feb 10
There are people who love
what you do.
Others will always hate
what you do.
The majority have no idea.
Those are the souls
I observe on sidewalks
and in restaurants.
They are confused, angry, lost.
They stumble beautifully
through the fire.

-Ron Gavalik
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