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Ken Pepiton May 2019
Who, me. I don't know,
I'll ask We, the people.

How has the world,
the one we share, you with me, I with thee,
how has our reality
come to today
surrounded by hooting proud warriors lauding their leaders
made kings by the magi and the tax collectors and spenders?

That's the question.
I think it's a test, or a temptation, knowing the answer might **** us.

Do the math, or believe an expert who says
he knows he knows, an
experienced thinker and weigher of big ideas.

Choose an expert, Yahoo, Goggle experts in interesting time one.
You choose.
Only for now. These teasing toy journeys are only real
in your way of thinking.

An expert in words at play or
an expert in words of war
or work or woe or
joy and
use-ery compounded into stone
an expert in dark, full-on absense of light, al
right, al
ready -- the expert
you let be smarter than you, by God, or any other witness,

that expert better be having more than historical authority, okeh.

Gears used to grind, stick-shift,
yoost to lever m'thematically synchronized
wheels in wheels,
lesser gears, experienced old grease monkey knows,
between those,
is where m'monkey wrench goes.

Bring wheels in wheels to a screeching halt!

Like by the River of Tebar, very hard to write such thoughtscenes,
he trys, um-phailure, deep breath,

look around, selah.
Kiss the son, taste the son, know the son as brother, as gotchabacker
friend, who is the way, the truth, and the life.

No lie is of the truth. There is a basic algorythm in 2019.
AND in 2019 I have an idea that works for me,

the null set can hold any evil any mind, mortal or otherwise,
can conceive.

Napoleon Hill seeds sometimes sown as weeds to choke a crop of lies,
"What the mind of man can conceive, it can acheive."
Ah, so:
Man as a whole, he is thought to have meant, mankind, wombed and un;
but he may have meant man as in, any one man, wombed or un.

--- end first course --- recycle all utensils
an exexcerpt ussurpet my stuttering muse has returned, Any interest in a novel written in this style?
Brent Kincaid Mar 2016
I don’t believe you!
All you say is a pack of lies.
If you tell the truth
It will come as a big surprise.

You’re unaffected by the truth
You lie, each time you speak
If you could find a way to do it
You’d lie about the days of the week.
You’re as crooked as a helix
Just as dishonest as any thief.
Your warped view of reality
Is totally beyond all belief.

I don’t believe you!
You turn the truth inside out.
Making up tall tales
Is most of what you’re about.

Your every word is fact-free
And every action is a crime.
You steal when you don’t need to.
If you could, you’d steal time.
You’re the poster child indeed
For most kinds of dishonesty.
Telling the truth, being truthful
Is not part of your chemistry.

I don’t believe you!
You’re a gold plated charlatan.
If you get caught lying
You tell another lie and start again.
I don’t believe you!
All you say is a pack of lies.
If you tell the truth
It will come as a big surprise.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
I'm standing in a massacre
the sky is streaked with red,
we took the hill, we won the day,
but most of us are dead.

We fought to save each other's lives;
We fought for mom  and dad;
now all of that's been blown away,
I'm weary now and sad.

The bankers took the houses
and Wall Street still stands tall;
we only took this ****** hill
that matters not at all.

I've been a soldier all my lives:
Shiloh to Vietnam,
from Valley Forge to Gettysburg
to bleak Afganistan.

But I am through with fighting now
these wars for gold and oil;
I'm falling back, I'm headed home,
to win my native soil.

You politicians better fly,
you bankers run away;
For I am home and angry
and that's how I'm going to stay.

You've never seen a battle,
You've never smelled the dead;
you shipped us off like cattle
to do the work instead.

Take back my broken medals,
Take back your shining lie,
for Armageddon's coming
and it's time for you to die.

I'm standing in a massacre,
the sky is streaked with red
we took the hill, we won the day,
but most of us are dead.

The bugles all are silent
as the night begins to fall,
but the living have a purpose
to go home and **** you all.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
It is useless work that darkens the heart. - Rumi*

And what is work for,
beyond survival or
occasionally joy?

It produces surplus
which is bartered,
traded and sold
until it becomes money.

The dark alchemy of usury
piles it into the hands
of the few who use it
to oppress the many

who created it
in the first place.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
They swim the cesspit
of greed and usury
mouths wide open
hungry always
for more
and deserving it,

~ mce

— The End —