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Carlo C Gomez May 2023
~
stationary now
duct tape loves
mouth and hands

inside removable interiors
heliocentric discontinuities:

the racket club
and the backstroke
the rabid club
and the hallucinogenic backchannels

swallowing too many placebos
on his balcony
facing away from the sun
blank diary entry
open on the table
'from despair to where?'

stationary in the trunk now
he says it will all
make sense soon

~
sleeplessnxghts Dec 2013
I wanted to come home to a riddle that has already been solved, and crush the snow that has already fallen
I wanted to draw a picture that has already been outlined, and eat the meal that has already been cooked
I wanted to love the boy that has already loved me, and wipe away tears that have already fled
I felt selfish in voicing these frivolous wishes to even myself, a desire of continuities
A yearning for ease at everything in life
The emptiness of a freight train houses nothing but fallen whispers of an angry wind and the immaculate darkness that hides the emotions
The loudness of the one-track mind, suffocating wishes with plastic bags in hand
Swerving on and off the tracks like in your worst childhood nightmare, where it never ended
A purgatory of life- living while dead, or dead while living?
I tied my shoes at age 5, ignorantly crafting a fantasy world inside of my head where everything that required a struggling effort fades, and fades quickly until it skips the obstacles and leads right to the reward
A self-entitled structure of my cerebral cortex where I find them all sitting around waiting for it to take care of itself
And I cannot fast forward anymore because I am 17 and failing at life
The crackling essence of my entire nervous system breaking down at the mere thought of futures
Where I cannot wrap my wishes in pretty bows and let them come true
They do not listen to lazy 17 year olds with bambi eyes and mascara-run cheekbones
They salivate to little girls catching shooting stars in their hands and begging for the ease of life to rest at their fingertips
Now, all-knowing, wise, they let the yarn of dreams come undone until the visibility of easiness vanishes right before you
I want to come home to a story that has not yet been written, and watch the snowflakes that have not yet fallen
I want to draw a picture that has no direction, and eat a meal that has not yet been cooked
I want to love the boy that has not yet loved me, and wipe away tears that have not yet fled
I feel open to this new idea of uncertainty, a desire for discontinuities
A yearning for adventure in every part of life
The bustling aspect of the city burns my feet into the ground, holding me with nothing but the uneasiness of the cracks in the sidewalk and the illuminating lights that never fade away
I sprained my ankle at age 12, conclusively believing I would not make it through, but discovering the true talent of healing
A humble version of a once perfectionist attitude, I become accepted into the world of **Reality
Dennis Willis May 2019
Quick sheets and
     threads of tomorrow
     under my fingers
          some smooth and soft
          some coarse and cutting

I'm stumbling on surprises
     of sudden silence

     yesterday is always underfoot
     and too slippery to stand upon

So I sit
     myself down here

To wander in small spaces
To wonder in inky bits
To one day in a series
     of discontinuities
     of land receding
     of time curling up
     of days
     with crispy burned edges
     and quickly cooling tea
     for one



Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Derek Bascombe Nov 2016
Slender reeds sway gently
in the cool breeze of your passage.
The whispery songs of dusk
carry across the placid waters.
The trembling shadows of clouds
skim lightly
across the liquid mirror of the pond.

A flock of young geese
is pecking hungrily
at the waterlogged and bloated corpse
of your tutor.
The axe wound
in her eyeless skull
gapes darkly
in the dying light
of a perfect summer day.

As you glide back
across the dew-glittered meadow
toward the house,
the first tremulous notes
of the nightly choir of frogs and cicadas
float up into the darkening sky,
blanketing the thin and muffled screams
of the tutor’s daughter.
Her head cracks and implodes,
like a coconut wrapped in a wet towel,
as I lean on the handle
of the big vise
in our toolshed.

Equations and asymptotic curves;
Variables and discontinuities –
I Subtract Thee From The Sum of Humanity…

The eels down at the murky bottoms
will have thoughts for food tonight.
This is actually a lyric to a song I recorded in my home studio. You can listen to it here: https://soundcloud.com/coolgatch/the-joys-of-math
CharlesC Dec 2017
East and West cultures
embellish spiritual truth
with color and decoration
and with shadows of
creation's duality..
These confounding covers
produce sleep and
resistance to calls for
new recognition..
Religious texts hide
their single truth
in their stories and
discontinuities..
We need to find teachers
ancient and new
with a balm of simplicity
to uncover..untangle
and burn all those
burdens which hide
our own Truth...
zebra Dec 2020
all my life
i spent waiting
waiting for the words
i should have said
flapping the desperate wings
of conciousness

                           a drugged pig

waiting for some ineffable her
with wendigo lust
and my ship to come in

                           a woman grinning with a knife in her hand

waiting for a new transformed me
that could do math
better than a decapitated dolls head
and write obscene poems
in plyometrics
of self-presentation
to **** by

                             catching up with a future that will never
                               come
          

and not do it all wrong
so disgusting becomes beautiful
in the portico
of some gothic ***-mare
dripping imagination
that bankrupts reality
in a fashionably pretentious way

                             the devils ***** flirting    

maybe disgusting is beautiful
in a fierce burning of ethical piety
and praising moral turpitude
where islands of *****
tuck in sweet wet mouths and ascend
under ***** glittering moons

                                   dancing stiletto's in a savage hula

i wait to understand myself and others
in dumb silence
but my shadow alludes me
without a private moment of the heart
and rigid architectural order
to give a pathology of poems
sparkling language

                                    to find the blood and guts of words  

my fumbling
a catastrophe
as i wait to get up the nerve
imagining myself smarter
taller faster bigger
writing better poems of unrequited lust
in wild cherry red asymmetrical verse

                                   hoola hoops and dragons

waiting to get older
and wondering why i always felt
like i was waiting for others to die
and finally to die myself

                                time flies when your dead

could i handle it
in its juxtapositions
and fatal discontinuities
as if i get to decide
so called
master of my own ship

                                 Andromeda crashes the Milky Way
its unnerving
so lets get this over with
although i hope death
doesn't happen too soon
even though i make frivolous ******
and slippery associations  
with her as she welcomes my
galoshes wearing
Trojan horse
over the moat
passed widened thighs
into her grand **** courtyard

                                           ****** feet with pointed toes    

Venus is never
completely happy
unless she feels
Pluto's edge
forcing her submission
in willing chains
from out of proms' blazing date
into a congenial poem
passed a cliché of grunts

                                        *** slave grovels to be corrected

but the waiting
for a fanatical delusion
of waking tongues
and self-destructive fury
is only sacred
when it burns like hell
on creaking beds
that rattle about the room
in this grove of infelicities
and tapestries of flame

                                             prehistoric clitori indulge ****** politics

a performance
in a rearranged reality
we can not understand
***
I hear the sounds
Telling me change are coming.
I see a different breeze,
It slowly drifts me
Into an unexplored place,
Calm, fluid, balanced.

I never saw it earlier,
Never been there
Although the coordinates
Were always known:
Any map can lead you there,
Any compass points there,
Every single being can feel it.

Every change is announced,
Even sudden ones.
Our time is sometimes insufficient,
But warnings always exist.

To be present and steady
Is to absorb detours,
To apprehend discontinuities,
To live in ambiguity
Is to live at all.
Michael Marchese Jan 2023
All I know is
Nothing
Ever changes
Stays the same
We just revert
To we are worth it
We deserve
To own the Earth
And from rebirth
Temptations
Praying
We are thee
Foundation-laying
We aspire to eternity
Empires of modernity
Like spires in the skies
Re-deify
Its vast absurdity
Just blurring
Its distortion
Geospatial
Disproportion
Of its vaster still
Delusions
Of a prophet
Perpetuity,
Annuities
Reboot
And mass produce
Discontinuities
No please!
No please don’t shoot!

— The End —