Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
{every body does speak at once, which is why we learn to focus, as if quiet}

dikes were wire cutters in my youth,
probably short for diagonal cutters,
in the blade-making trade.

There is a knack to a clean cutting edge.
Carbon, in diamondic form crystalized in
the whetstone, wet with
golden oil, just a drop,

the edge, one stroke, one way, soft
like pet the kitty
or, yeha, the baby chick. You know, soft.

ye whet the edge, soft, ye stress the bonds that link the all
oy vey today to the cutting edge,
not the bleeding edge,

steel to steel, and past that, soft touch
carbon point to carbon point, diamond shapes diamond,
softest con nextion, feel the flow hear that dove
sing triptic signals, make make see
(coo coo, too)
So soft, we say
peacemaking is not a noisy occupation.

Fame is less desirible, I mean,
you may
desire less fame, using your may power right,
to regulate surges and urges and impulses
and other flesshy stuff,
**** it, ignot it,
you may, you know.
or not,
while wishing for more money at the moment of need,
the point of lack poking me in my back.

forcing war's phonytian reasons
to cease with this disturbentce, settle down.
Imagine you won.
This is ever after that.
You know, here, at this resting place in life, you must pay attention
to receive instruction for construction of those things you hoped for,
beyond rough draft.

We are not at war with any opposing idea, there are none here.
You words are free to form them but all that shall
remain is the shell the pearl formed in,

when we made those gates. Feynman added the do-over mode,
it only works if you think before you act,
in terms of being.

To be or not is not a quest. One hand clap to the forehead.
Here we are. Thinking the same words in English, and I may be
dead someday.

Ol' fool, he believed some impossiplease, a trap

stab my ****** birth right.
I sit still and don't march as onward christian soldier
damnedright marching of t' war for Jesus sake.

incursions of self-less-ness, soft touches, whispers

do or don't, if then else, see it through, is the end evil,
in your judgement.
Reset, or ride it out, hell is not as believable as you imagine
if you wake up there.

In a fictional world, true rest is an act of trust.
this is worth the test.

Not live, but living. Each sound
symphony beyond belief, take it, take it

he who hesitates is lost, eh. You land in a pile of proverbs,
super positioned motivators planted
since god gnos when and only then

for a flash, upper left quadrant of the primary window
from a FPS POV
nothin'. Hell was over and here I am.

That's as close as it seems it may habeen,
we found this thread, it's live, we think, touch it.

--- no child need master every game,
--- nor must any greybeard

Who is making these rules? Ah, you see. When we,
augmentedus, who meant it

when we sought truth, and despised boos for no reason.

Now. Awake by any mortal standard.
Arrogant. Self-called teacher of the safest route I found
to here.

You can hear me and accept insanity as apossible cost, so what.

Ye, gads, ****** did that, he said They (the notusem) shall hate me
for loving you,
so they shall hate you for loving me. Nicht vvvahrrrrr!
He plagiarized Jesus, I think.
That stinks, but

from a certain POV, however the door is knocked upon

curios and kurioso or pure lust for power,
greed morphed
from imaginary
need to be a part of the side not losing,
like an abused Poke'mon gone insane,

Inside the game, is virtual as allhell, in the the mind of the author
and finisher of the game,

be his intention good or ill,
dare ye play?
Here, it's safe. Get a grip on happy here and after all you go thru,
ever is as easy as pi.

Dragons devour what dragons devour in reality,
same rules.

Cut both wires faster than the spark, watch...
Rmembering learing to sharpen a knife to whittle sticks into little bits, with mu grandpa.
Akemi Jan 2017
broken pieces of a holiday clock
displaced by the phantom visages of
our own vanishing hands.
the world is in the process of becoming god
transient pieces of sentience wander through the miasma of existence
and depart understanding nothing
this is the state of chaos // fracturing // perplexity
light through wood beams at a pier
sand white with heat
sentience is not a closed circle
the subject is constructed through aperture, the opening of perception, a conjoining of self with world
in this process the other is not severed from the self, but encompassed within it
one becomes the negation of oneself // an infinite regress // a dialectic
when negation reaches totality god will finally come into being
history will end
and the world will die.
Andrew Wenson Nov 2014
Just 'cause I eat don't mean I waste
Didn't they pick the brain best for me
'fore I came out into the big sterile box?

Anyone speaking anything:
Look at, glare, scowl
Sniff palms before dance party
a little talc, not scary no more
Personality a *****, shoes too big
won't buy new, no new new no!
I'm faking it for a ticket to ride
source my quotes and I pretend
to tolerate your music blog monologue

Come on with me to manifest dreams!
space behind the couch where kief is free!
Couple decades to spare and the **** stacks high
Playing the bucket like a drum
Fair-trade hand-made local organic counterfeit bills
No Mama, I don' wanna punch card.
Dad, I ain't payin' rent 'er union dues
Tax man's comin' eat the root strike it too!

If I was a hippie don'tcha think I'd giggle?
I'm a good choreographer but this costume's threadbare
All the chakras in the world can't melt cold bars
The Black Iron Prison is bigger than God.
I become small, let me be the breath......
The baby's first laugh.

— The End —