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#capacity
Depth is a single dimension. It measures only how far down. Not width. Not breadth. Not how much it holds. Horizontals stretch to infinity. Connection is not a span. It is a fall. The vector between two bodies that choose to occupy the same uncertainty defines its own gravity. We trade in layers we cannot touch, in signals that flicker without weight. It can contain everything, yet it cannot hold anything.
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Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 8:47 AM UTC
Capacity
Fri, J 10 l, 2025    12:20 NYC walking for flowers                 ~~~~ the steely irony is not bittersweet, nor is it white horseradish Passover stinging, yes, the slow perfunctory defunctory, measurable in cc’s and centimeters, drip drop drippings frittered away by the brains self-destruction of cycling and recycling, yes, and dying, that occurs all **** day long, daily between the sunrise and sunset Yet, here, right here, poetry words somehow fall freely, no hesitation, from brain to page, no coitus-interrupt-us, as if I was composing, am decomposing, mine own psalm no need for proofs, it was lying in wait for sweet release, a trigger pulled to assemble & stand and deliver the freely given, albeit stolen goods but in the ordinary course of human living, I, fumble, stumble, anger from my gut rumbles up in actual screams of frustration as the individual word sought is sight unseen in a forest of hedgerows purposed to interrupt free flowing verbal animation, invading excitations cannot remember ten digits of mine own cellphone number, but the address of my residence from early childhood trips off the tongue, lightly and fantastically and uselessly the name of what’s their names is a rock star be a solid stone, large pebble, s t u c k in my gourd, or the little strength needed in your fingertips , to grasp the individual coffee beans you just dropped, scattered over two rooms, strength that arrived snd went, and the cells of your body parts, ask you what’s going on, going wrong? making lists is inoperative, for the whereabouts of said list is curiously gone to the devils on my back, cut out to the dead cells that were once a warty grey, now a withering deadening and deafening, deadening, defeated black hole ******* in data for destruction) seven generations of accumulations erode, chip chirped & chipped away now so oft, onto those ***** city sidewalks they fall and to dust, to down ground, by steps of passer-overs who care not a whit, what's that word that rhymes to writ? it is imprisoned on Devil’s Island with what’s-his-name took out the fixings to make an antipasto salad, placed all upon the counter , but couldn’t locate the fig goat cheese, and no it was not on my nigh-table,   nor hid in the fridge, grrr, that fridge that I fully emptied, twice, for twas sitting on the counter, snickering the very first item removed, and also to be the first forgot high to low, and reverse course, having not left the abode!?!, where is my watch, so the hunt for the Red October smart watch awaiting my lovely wrist, is not to be found, for it was well hidden from searching eyes, alr eady on my wrist, hiding upside down, beneath my shirt cuff, announcing publicly it’s smarter than its cuffed up owner admire a painting upon a wall, but say nada to the world, for the word mural has evaporated, an evaporated not no more subjective Objective I, intentionally cut, rip off the pockets from every coat, leaving in each but   one, so I can be comforted when wallet searching, that endless patting repetitive of pockets visible and hidden, has now but a singular solution thus, may yield resultant missing object sought and more quickly found, maybe a thousand poem bits o’ honey fully finished, or just a phrase, needing a body, heart and head, lie in a dank and dark dungeoned file, Former Memories but the where when and the critical tickle, the why, formation is still needed for them to be despatched to their fate, unless it’s “just because” a better reasoning, other than my own guilty diminishing capacity “is no longer in service” p.s let me save poor yocum complaining this miss/ive is too long, SO there! I’ve done it for him, even though it is highly unlikely, for that! is the one thing his memory has proven infallible...
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Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 10:30 AM UTC
For Yocum: The Curse of Diminishing Capacity...
Fri, J 10 l, 2025    12:20 NYC walking for flowers                 ~~~~ the steely irony is not bittersweet, nor is it white horseradish Passover stinging, yes, the slow perfunctory defunctory, measurable in cc’s and centimeters, drip drop drippings frittered away by the brains self-destruction of cycling and recycling, yes, and dying, that occurs all **** day long, daily between the sunrise and sunset Yet, here, right here, poetry words somehow fall freely, no hesitation, from brain to page, no coitus-interrupt-us, as if I was composing, am decomposing, mine own psalm no need for proofs, it was lying in wait for sweet release, a trigger pulled to assemble & stand and deliver the freely given, albeit stolen goods but in the ordinary course of human living, I, fumble, stumble, anger from my gut rumbles up in actual screams of frustration as the individual word sought is sight unseen in a forest of hedgerows purposed to interrupt free flowing verbal animation, invading excitations cannot remember ten digits of mine own cellphone number, but the address of my residence from early childhood trips off the tongue, lightly and fantastically and uselessly the name of what’s their names is a rock star be a solid stone, large pebble, s t u c k in my gourd, or the little strength needed in your fingertips , to grasp the individual coffee beans you just dropped, scattered over two rooms, strength that arrived snd went, and the cells of your body parts, ask you what’s going on, going wrong? making lists is inoperative, for the whereabouts of said list is curiously gone to the devils on my back, cut out to the dead cells that were once a warty grey, now a withering deadening and deafening, deadening, defeated black hole ******* in data for destruction) seven generations of accumulations erode, chip chirped & chipped away now so oft, onto those ***** city sidewalks they fall and to dust, to down ground, by steps of passer-overs who care not a whit, what's that word that rhymes to writ? it is imprisoned on Devil’s Island with what’s-his-name took out the fixings to make an antipasto salad, placed all upon the counter , but couldn’t locate the fig goat cheese, and no it was not on my nigh-table,   nor hid in the fridge, grrr, that fridge that I fully emptied, twice, for twas sitting on the counter, snickering the very first item removed, and also to be the first forgot high to low, and reverse course, having not left the abode!?!, where is my watch, so the hunt for the Red October smart watch awaiting my lovely wrist, is not to be found, for it was well hidden from searching eyes, alr eady on my wrist, hiding upside down, beneath my shirt cuff, announcing publicly it’s smarter than its cuffed up owner admire a painting upon a wall, but say nada to the world, for the word mural has evaporated, an evaporated not no more subjective Objective I, intentionally cut, rip off the pockets from every coat, leaving in each but   one, so I can be comforted when wallet searching, that endless patting repetitive of pockets visible and hidden, has now but a singular solution thus, may yield resultant missing object sought and more quickly found, maybe a thousand poem bits o’ honey fully finished, or just a phrase, needing a body, heart and head, lie in a dank and dark dungeoned file, Former Memories but the where when and the critical tickle, the why, formation is still needed for them to be despatched to their fate, unless it’s “just because” a better reasoning, other than my own guilty diminishing capacity “is no longer in service” p.s let me save poor yocum complaining this miss/ive is too long, SO there! I’ve done it for him, even though it is highly unlikely, for that! is the one thing his memory has proven infallible...
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163
An ordinary river is continuously flowing, Where different water species are roaming, But none of them are really surviving, They stay for a while and later end up dying. Until one day a master came in, Everyday he is deeply staring, He noticed a fish that is not dying nor moving, That made the river realize the fish is not leaving, Together, the river and the fish began blooming, People started recognizing, visiting and appreciating, From then on both the river and the fish live to be seizing.
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May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 9:35 PM UTC
One's Greatest Thing
I've accepted my reach Rejected thoughts of beseech Internally I seize Control over my capacity The world merely is Fulfills my every wish For tonight, I am free And tomorrow, I still shall be Whether stranded at sea Or at home with my tea Alone: I am happy Foralways, I am me
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Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
I Am: My Capacity
He has eyes that tell stories Irises brandished in Starlit wonder and constant adventure It is inviting as it ever is And sometimes the stolen glances I dare Leaves my heart hammering Right under his nose He is ever kind and gentlemanly For he catches my aloof with his little smirk And though my feelings are bursting bright He closes an eye and holds me dear With him around my head’s a spinning As I mirror cliche with things unthinkable Even so He chortles my heart away He has spirit that radiates Against my light heart -edness When his flurry of thoughts spark I see the moment in his palms He pours his soul With things only I thought I fathomed And in those moments Filled with electricity that buzzes I want to delve into his delicate stature To explore the fragments of his complexity That thrives in the corners of his Half smiles and reddened cheeks
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Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 7:03 AM UTC
CAPACITY
Never think that something in life will change on it’s own, since nothing happens on it's own and everything that happens in life has got a reason of it's own. Never think that something in life will change on it's own Never does it happen on it’s own Never did it happen in the past, nor will it happen again in present. Life changes according to what you want, how you want and all that you have got in your mind. Life changes according to how you have thought, carefully planned and all the things that you have got and done in life. However, the world outside is a fast changing place So it’s always better to be who you are, especially when it comes to dealing with everything in your own life, which as of now in the present has a concern. Do what you want, in doing so always remember, future will hold the consequences of all the action taken in present. Desire and dreams will remain in present and also in future, however, over a period of time it’s always realized that future remains uncertain. An uncertain future has got all the potential capacity to keep the present on hold; however, the same thing is true in case of odds. The desire to get something done in a certain way must also be followed by the drive to achieve the same Once the thing that is desired is achieved, then it is realized that the world outside is pretty much different and that life is better than what you had thought prior.
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Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
Consequences and the trouble that lies ahead
O Lord, stretch my spirit and soul, for I can handle the pain of growth; teach me the proper words to speak; I’m ready and gladly take the oath of serving You with my humbled life. The value of relationships require patience and wisdom to be employed; while knowing You, I have inquired about my identity, found in You. Having the gift of a poetic voice, I teach others spiritual lessons; my spirit climbs, soars and rejoices when new connections to Your Truth are realized by Jehovah’s children. We need each other to fully mature; hearing testimonies of overcoming sin and bad situations, we learn more at accelerated rates- ordained by You. With my experience and understanding, let me help others with breakthroughs. When the latest opportunities arrive, please enlarge… my capacity for Love! . . . Author Notes Inspired by: Isa 54:2; Luke 5; Eph 3:14-21 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
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Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
Poem: Capacity for Love