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Tree Dec 2016
Celery and cigarettes,
We're running towards death to prolong our longevity.
Not knowing where I'm headed,
My confusion comes from brevity.

We face our fears
and hide our tears behind masks of
sad disillusion.
Is this reality or abnormality?

These thoughts are aren't brief,
and they're
turning my passions into a new disbelief;
he tries to proceed but I
stop him with the thought of good grief.

What's so good about grief?
The indian chief never wanted to part from the land.
The band never wanted to part from the the groupie
and the groupie never wanted to part with ***.

What's the next best?
Asexual-ism?
The stolon of a strawberry holds this capability,
but the strawberry itself has
never truly a been a berry, botanically.

Mechanically this mechanism of
self destruction is much similar
to common day construction,
tearing down only the worthy attributes of land
only to build an empire
made of worthless sand.

Last night I dreamt and I have
yet to decipher whether or not it was real.
The way I feel is quite perplexing;
I strive to live in the now
but I'm always looking for the next thing.

In time I
think I'll remember
just what hasn't happened yet.
****** poem. Just thinking
Jasmin A Dec 2016
O pleasant one
staring at the sun
ruin your eyes and bloom sunflowers
from the pupils of your idiocy

make friends with the girl in the marching band
tell her the sketchers bring out her heart
bring tears to her eyes because she
likes the sound of your heartbreak

show mother that her beauty is more
than her makeup
and her tears at night as she tries to
give you a father

paint the laughs of the people in Dubai
when you visit in the summer
after college and make the rain
your favorite because you can't stop it anyway

share the warmth of your pretty skin
with someone who will leave in 2 minutes
to board the plane and leave a hole
forever in your heart

make everything alright in your last
breaths and let your children
who cry beside you know they are extraordinary
and you forgive them for the mess with the blender
when they were twelve

you're grand so let them feel your grandness
leave every last bit of your heart
in the quiet streets you walk through
love... endlessly
j.***
It's been two years since I left you
Here you are
Again
Kewayne Wadley Nov 2016
Today before it rains, I'll big a big boat and sail away in irregular sleeves.
Big floppy ones that hang below my wrists.
Cut little slits to slide my thumbs in.
Then I'll buy a telescope and peer through the wrong end,
Thinking far left when everything seems so right.
Sailing in a pool of rain on the perfect day.
Of all the things I brought from the store.
I still find myself being the main ingredient of a certain stew.
For each drop that will fall I will smile.
Maybe a tad bit old fashion. But who else can see things exactly as I do.
Splashing my shoes in odd shaped puddles.
Today before it rains, I'll think of something a bit more subtle.
Something a bit more complex.
Hell I didn't have anything else better to do so I thought of you.
Wondering exactly what you'll look like from the other end of the telescope.
So far today has been strange.
Buying a boat for no particular reason.
Seeking kaleidoscopes and telescopes,
Waddling my wrists around in odd fitting sleeves.
Climbing aboard my boat waiting on the rain to pour.
By chance if I were to see you on today of all days, and you were to ask why.
My reply would possibly be the most simplest thing I've ever said.
Taking nothing odd out of context, Or the extra length added to my sleeves.
I'd simply reply.
Hopefully sail away from you.
The telescope was just to distract you
oui Nov 2016
Roanoke is like webbed toes; really weird but in a way that makes you wanna cough or throw up if you look too close
A bored Poet Nov 2016
One day a bee
Was flying happily
By a meadow curiously
He saw a sunflower
Shone brightly

Bewitched he flew closer
To the beautiful splendor
Of which was simply was
An elegant little flower

They chatted all day
With no obstacles in their way
Until night came
Then everything changed

The peculiar flower had to go
But with no goodbye to go
She just closed up where she was
And not a single stop or pause

Sadly, the bee left
Leaving the flower he just met
Thinking to himself that time
I'll try harder next time
Julia Jaros Nov 2016
Patas macias acariciam a grama há muito não cortada
Enroscam-se em espinhos
Tropeçam em ninhos
Tão perto da estrada.

Seus narizes são ímãs
Indisciplinados e impulsivos
Um alarme rosado de caos
abrasivo.

Alaranjada, repousa na faxada da rua
Seca, bronzeada
Nua
Sua.

Três patas e uma planta
Nada ela sente, silenciada por dentes
Mastigada, digerida, excrementada
Por fim
Em adubo virada.
Sarah Nov 2016
I was made from the same batch
and everyone was cut into cookies
fun shapes, all different sizes
and the leftover pieces
took no shape at all
and so I didn't get to join them
in their journey to become
what they truly are.
Dirt Witch Nov 2016
We strolled through converging pathways spilling with synchronized chaos, finding our own space amidst the rumpus of the crowds on a small hill overlooking an endearing muddle of humanity. The grass was wet with evening dew and we were colored with the aureate light of dusk, watching everything swim by with novel delight. The city erupted before us, vibrant, apathetic, and amoral and we swelled with its magnitude. Round and enchanted, we rolled down the hill and fell into the peculiar happenings encapsulated in the windows.
We stood before a man with no eyes and worms coming out of his fingertips in a room with no floor. He smiled at us, carious teeth bending into slight parabolas under the pressure of its sweetness. We excused ourselves quickly, escaping into a opaline kaleidoscope that had opened up before us. I could taste all the lives we tumbled past as a mix of bitter almonds and grapefruit with the occasional shock of decomposing fish heads.
We squeezed our bodies into the melody of a madrigal sung by a girl with four heads and sonorous hands to find ourselves in the rafters of an old cathedral. Below us contorted souls filed into wooden confessionals screaming sins of their fathers into the ear of a deaf priest who gave copacetic blessings in the form of an orange pill bottle. Distended and bruised, we fell from the ceiling into the baptismal font. Bioluminescent algal blooms effloresce above our heads and resplendent stingrays whisked by, casting soft, amorphous shadows across our cheeks. Lulled by the etherial tenderness of the liminal world, we fell asleep with your hand on my neck and my fingers tangled in your seaweed hair.
We awoke to the sound of falling peaches and splitting skin. I pulled a small fish out from behind your ear and inhaled the brine of your tongue before stepping into the open window beneath your pinkie finger. A man in a suit who was really a box jellyfish greeted me in the center of a opulent office building that had no purpose. I politely declined to shake his hand and instead lost myself in the map of the city unfurled beneath the wall of glass in front of me. I pulled a small seashell out of my pocket and threw it. Everything shattered.
I felt you next to me, falling through space and low-lying clouds to find ourselves in the present.
We are saturated colors of mustard, earthen green, and midnight blue sprawled on sloping grass without hesitation. Buoyant and expectant, we meander through song and chatter to find ourselves bright and shining on a warm green bench talking in improvised harmony. Our skin is a new composition of window light, yellow and breathing. A synthesis of memories pool and flush our cheeks with affection and we inhale the world. Flags pirouette and fall, a refracted constellation glimmers on glass, and you taste like honey and rich smoke. The moon is ebullient, so full and round that in a gasp I pluck it from the sky and place it in your shirt pocket. We’re effervescent, with giggling fingertips on a euphoric investigation into novelty of human sensation. Somnolent and gentle, we fall asleep with the memory of our water soaked bodies burgeoning under softened hands.
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