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"agglomeration" poems
i place my head beside her thigh as if to sleep in her warmth, I say Twosday, she says,what? I repeat, Twosday, Yes, she say, it is, pausing to consider and connect my dots: Ha, you’re writing a poem! “head connected to my thigh bone, drawing from within me, the necessary ingredients to inspire, perspire,-and respire this agglomeration of the in and out of your surroundings contacting pulses” I think, ah, she’s got it, but all I say and state with definiteness, by repeating, and  breathing out Toosday, Twosday!
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Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 11:09 AM UTC
Twosday
An agglomeration of accomplishments Trophies enameled with false hope And worth their weight in insignificance They keeping piling up endlessly Scatter them around this ice-cold structure we call home So we can marvel at the sight of them In our blissful illusion Let the realism invade our psyches To claim it’s rightful place. Tethered to this pedestal The highest I have ever seen It is a long way down this precipitous slope I want to descend Then smash it to smithereens Finger nails peeling off As I scratch away at the wall To tear it down so I can flee Out Of this womb of perpetuated cloistered existence.
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Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
The Womb
Decade of decades thru’ Crawled, walked and ran amuck Flied, cruised, dived n’ delved Stumbled, fumbled and tumbled Blithe, he, the centenarian! Transited and trespassed All seasonal fare and furor Of quirks, quacks and quakes, Of chaos, canards and concords Of fun, frolic and foolish Neither did his debilitating diabetes got him scared Nor hyperbolic hypertension placed him scourged Death dared not break his breath; he is fit to the core But the day is not too far for him to rest his oar Fantastic phantasmagorias reeling Through the clumsy chip of his mind Century past was his prolonged sanctuary, Reminisced he in awe, what he saw; From rude n’ rustic paths to roadways, From wading to waterways and skyways Blowing cannons turning into zooming rockets Swords and knifes on to guns n’ pistols Heels of horses over to powered wheels Wars broke into battles and battles unto wars, of course, Anarchy of monarchy tamed and tuned to democracy Candled kingdoms switched over to electrified nations Electronic wizards brought life easy, cozy, busy and rosy All was well that went but not so well as it wanted The glitter of stars vanished in horizon In the gutter of urban agglomeration Greenhouse gases displaced the granary of greenery None bothered of the smothered mother earth Human values sunk in exchange of currency Poor like him left their prayers unanswered since “Does it carry any sense for me to hit century” he surmised
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Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Centenarian
You— Beautiful life-form, or abomination— Are a culmination, Agglomeration of a life’s worth of Experiences thus far. All of them, The good and the bad, Have resulted in you— And here you stand, A unique entity of the atomic form, A breathing, living creature At the height of the current moment. You have The power— Whether it be to trust fate, Or to follow your intuitions— To ultimately Forge a path of your own.
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Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Crossroads, Dirt Trails (An Ode to Monumental Turning Points in Life)
Fallacious masks embodied with despondency and pessimism; Darkened notions of subconciousness painted with an agglomeration of colours and shapes. We are too naïve. A plinth of porcelain holds an emptiness full of blasphemy, As if it were an ornament of the prodigal son. Our insides turn from white to crimson, And the outside world maintains its tarnished brass colour, Counterfeiting gold. We are all covered in the inordinate dirt of our sins. Wash your body well and let the blue lead you home.
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Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC
Kalopsia of the Annulus
You may own my water but you can't drink my distance I brew my coffee far too bitter Makes mornings Mellows the litter blowing along a curb in the shadows of houses worn by winter I see you off-- in some warm cottage Watching plantations grow the beans for all the world it seems has been a subsidiary of some agglomeration Little brown people busy owning nothing work the soil while I die without moving the earth
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Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Watching the Ticker