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#supply
unsure, uncertain, of the laws invested in the realms and reams of poetry ingested, am i addict, or supplier, retail consumer or wholesale supplier, a mom & pop candy store, or a metastasizing intelligence that takes any thing, and all, a solitary letter, an instance of a sighting, a gasping palpitation and reformats it into a hehe literary madhatter^ piece you supply, I demand, I supply, boy oh boy, do I ever, but you never, come to me directly asking, write me a poem, thick or thin, witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol) yet the trade goes on and om, the marketplace never closes, except when periodically the gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills, and the trading centres are global scattered, young entrepreneurs try to sell a single piece, as if it was breaking news history, and tired old men, review their lived, eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget, in retro!spect perspective, the mirror who cannot lie, states affirmatively, you are both ****** and dealer, a corporation scientific of ancient biblical origins, a psalmist, a deacon, a lyricist, but thankfully not a singer, an essayist who writes best when ****** by tawny port wine, who snatches inspiration with equality of equity, (wait! that's wrong, the equity of equality,) where he can find, ***** city streets, the deaths of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas, by estuaries brackish, and streams of watered purity, the riveting bays, the individualized glisten deflected into my eyes, that each contains one pure blessing within….                                                 nml
0
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
Supply & Demand, Demand & Supply
unsure, uncertain, of the laws invested in the realms and reams of poetry ingested, am i addict, or supplier, retail consumer or wholesale supplier, a mom & pop candy store, or a metastasizing intelligence that takes any thing, and all, a solitary letter, an instance of a sighting, a gasping palpitation and reformats it into a hehe literary madhatter^ piece you supply, I demand, I supply, boy oh boy, do I ever, but you never, come to me directly asking, write me a poem, thick or thin, witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol) yet the trade goes on and om, the marketplace never closes, except when periodically the gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills, and the trading centres are global scattered, young entrepreneurs try to sell a single piece, as if it was breaking news history, and tired old men, review their lived, eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget, in retro!spect perspective, the mirror who cannot lie, states affirmatively, you are both ****** and dealer, a corporation scientific of ancient biblical origins, a psalmist, a deacon, a lyricist, but thankfully not a singer, an essayist who writes best when ****** by tawny port wine, who snatches inspiration with equality of equity, (wait! that's wrong, the equity of equality,) where he can find, ***** city streets, the deaths of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas, by estuaries brackish, and streams of watered purity, the riveting bays, the individualized glisten deflected into my eyes, that each contains one pure blessing within….                                                 nml
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57
The world has a problem, Hope is running out, And love is in short supply. So lets start a charity, Giving out free hope, And all kinds of love.
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Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 7:59 PM UTC
Poetry Charity
~ for the grandson of an extraordinary man~ <> the supply chain, which unless you’re a logistics aficionado, is   alot of ve-hicles, planes, trains, ocean going monster ships, & shaking hands of humans, of a Heinz variety of colors, who give nary a moment to what it is they are moving across a planet all miraculous in the ordinary schema, but when you slump in the recliner, and think about chains, and the reach extraordinary you issue a curse of admiration and lean back and think, with luck, I’ll never have to move ever again, and more moment’s preserved, to serve and be served, for all us deserving, to let words and visions get passed around, and the supply ***chain unchains the human soul for the best thing us you~mans can truly produce, the art of new creation*** 4:07am
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Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 4:12 AM UTC
logged 6 hours, then contemplated...the supply chain
Funds are low Food is low Prices are High everywhere we go Gas is on High So, is the Supply Products on Low It makes you wanna cry Products on Demand This makes No sense Were trying to make a Dolllar out of Fifteen cents We're Dealing with Struggles Everyday We some po folks Lord please make a way! We're Dealing with the Struggle For, things have gotten Tight We're Dealing with the Strain Lord Please make it Right Rent is on High Utilities on High Everything thing today has gone sky high These Struggles are Real All we could do is Try LORD PLEASE TAKE THE WHEEL!!! While these Days go by!! B.R Date: 10/23/2022
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Sep 4, 2024
Sep 4, 2024 at 6:49 PM UTC
The Struggles
Hi there, I'm Jeremy's insecurity Perhaps you've heard of me If you're ever lookin' For ammunition To use against him, Just talk to me I'll divulge everything willingly I won't even charge a fee I'd be happy to supply it all for free You can even call toll-free Just dial 1-800-555-6663 And ask for me specifically ©2024
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Jun 6, 2024
Jun 6, 2024 at 5:15 PM UTC
~•§•~ Toll-Free ~•§•~
A short quiz for you Check all that are true Expand your view Of this novel breakthrough Bitcoin is? A neutral system of value transfer for humanity The most secure financial computer network A money based on energy that can’t be counterfeited The most reliable monetary system yet discovered A protocol like TCP/IP that can be built upon Making isolated power sources useful and valuable Allowing people to think and plan long term The first truly sound money with a known supply A censorship resistant medium of exchange Hope for those living in authoritarian regimes A transparent ledger for clarity and accountability All of the above
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Sep 9, 2022
Sep 9, 2022 at 11:41 AM UTC
All of the Above (Bitcoin Poem 026)
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand, *all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know, I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones when no one was about, I scribbled many notes, transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage to fallow beaches for sandy seeding no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped, ****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions, no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed, all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot, the point I broke once more before my commencement, inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad, waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear, know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words, scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!” ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^ fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,*   “why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”
0
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand
poems are cheap they say, the supply exceeds the demand, *all are product of criminal mischief, and Lord, I know, I’m one of the most thieving, most mischiefing ones when no one was about, I scribbled many notes, transplanted from my eyes, for a bottled voyage to fallow beaches for sandy seeding no matter IF these poems are from your womb ripped, ****** red concoctions of life’s cute cutting edge inscriptions, no one cares re your titanic love’s labors, your children’s betrayal no one cares from whence and wherefore they birthed, all words, low class and progeny, not prodigy, of demeaning circumstances, best tossed back without much foolish hesitation writ with pen tip of broken green glass from a parking lot, the point I broke once more before my commencement, inked from a wicked witch’s melted green spittle pooling alongside poets of no way, falsely prophesying falsehoods most singularly bad, waste not-want not, time better spent than reading rhymes of stolen disrepute and cloudy ownership and ignoble authorship unless you among a blessed few, who see a full blown poem in glassine clarity, birthed fully formed Elton songs in a mouth full of amniotic fund, you, put down thy laboring eleven instruments if words you claim of new parentage, you as the mother dear, know there is nothing new under the sun, even these very words, scripted by Israelite king whose tomb gone, he, too, poet forgotten join me in a needle park of junkies who tried and failed, nickel bag smoking budget dope words, in cigarettes of mostly discarded seeds and twigs, hallucinatory inhaling the same vision again & again you refuse, naturally, glamming in notional newness, your arrogance, a plentiful commodity of wood-be writers by thousands buried in wooden caskets, under wooden inscription-less crosses and of the trillion readers possible, to coloring picture books and instant grams, all have gone to the labor-free glancing look-see of a seconds-short, lengthy meme, 10 second videos, 140 limitations of the greatest, of Shakespeare and Coleridge, reader’s fast-dying, sunburned neurons reply; “free ***** of his Love’s Labour’s Lost, and the Ancient Mariner, overdue, free him too!” ancients mock you aware that there be no verbal combination yet to foretell, what Lear said, that’s the the idea, “When we are born, we cry, that we are come to this great stage of fools.”^ fools we are, for there be no fore, the tale already told, once before & more, vaingloriously does this poet’s false vanity speak, so, so boisterously,*   “why my tale, why my tail, is as new as the oldest fossil”
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29
check in at the library, my card scanned, per the terms of my sentencing agreement to the poetry shelves dispatched. row after row, book after book, all blank awaiting my affections, all demanding my sensei sensations, seeking a creme filling of honorations, words of all shape, roots and origins, the occasional new combination some, never heard before, timelessly awaiting expulsion from the birth-vocal canal where comes origination, but for me, death by enforced creativity, that’s what the judgers desired, a punishment that fits the crime *my misdeed record unsealed, intended for world envisioning, the ego audacity to imagine I could write a single good poem, thus the punishment fits the crime* may1 9:19am ‘19
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May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
exhausted from the inexhaustible supply of poems available
10 to 5, Job Of a prediction game Investment, Always a half way to goal Uncertain market Let’s bet over Green and Red A thin balance, Tracking ups and downs With a colour change, Every complexion turns, dull or bright A calculated ****** expression Almost ready to express With some losses, some gains. Rumors airs, A political unrest, Sign of regressing opaque sense Digital formulas, Almost rests in vain There is, Tug of war, between Supply and demand A growling Bears Vs. A grunting Bulls.
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Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
Bulls N' Bears
an office trove packed plentiful travels today with a fast clip their pens and refills on swivels for a techie to browse afternoons for ergonomiety and nearby as a wayfarer needs a coffee break
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Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 10:38 AM UTC
a modern
Dabble baby, I'm your supply, You'll never know a guy who will get you Quite this  high. Smoke Me, Drink me, Snort me too. Slip me onto your tongue, Under  the sun, You'll  trip, it's true. The longer you use me The more you'll see No one's abused  the supply Quite  like me I'm dead and cold and dark and blue I've sold my soul for a fix you know it's true So now nothing makes me happier Then poisoning  your mind, Don't stay in my life too long baby I'm just a fix, you'll find For all the broken things inside you You know you'll never fix I'm just the duck tape To stop you loosing your mind
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Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
Dabble