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Ryan Bowdish Dec 2010
I want to tear you away from the clouds
From the ballfields way away from here
To scream right at your face in violins
And swelling horns and drums crashing
Choirs crying out a deafening triumph!

You would be blinded by your own tears
And your smile would light up this passage of time
Galaxies would burst open with our hesitation
We come closer and closer, clouds explode
Three suns are yours, eyes and mouth
Enwrapped in snow, we'd clasp and dig holes
In each other's backs.

I want to grab hold of your ribcage
I want to open my door and fly under six feet
At the force of your body totaling mine
Your lips breaking my teeth
Our tongues tied.

Bones bleeding into one another
Color receding...

Your initials in the sky
Title biting
Fall into my chest...
Seraph, succubus,
Everclear angel.
Emission of Massive Art Allah
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Hello Sayer May 2012
Ben Kowalewicz (spoken): Hi, my name is Ben Kowalewicz and this is Billy Talent.

Well I tripped, I fell down naked
I drank from a cup of lead
I hugged a skunk, it peed on me
Yesterday I joined Scientology

Steal a Camaro, then **** Jack Sparrow
Try stupid ****, try stupid ****
Jump in a dump truck, smell **** and get stuck
I cannot read, I cannot read
**** on computers, then drink some pewter
Die sanity, die sanity
Marry a cheapskate, gain ninety pounds weight
I'm really dumb, I'm really dumb

I'm stupid, it's my fault, so daft
I like to play in the garbage shaft
The best sport is Parkour, **** straight
I arrive at work five hours late

Drink a deep fryer, eat some barbed wire
Try stupid ****, try stupid ****
Sleep in a fireplace, burn your entire face
I cannot read, I cannot read
Cinnamon challenge, go on a chalk binge
Die sanity, Die sanity
Bike into traffic, pose pornographic
I'm a *******, I'm a *******

I ate some poo!

I'm stupid, it's my fault
Try
I'm stupid, it's my fault
Lie
This bad song don't make sense
Pie

Get a Prince Albert, snake blood for dessert now?
Drink some Everclear, cut off your own ear now?

Go back in time to, forties as a Jew
Try stupid ****, try stupid ****
Do *** and rip off your right knee
I cannot read, I cannot read
Find the KKK, put on some blackface
Die sanity, die sanity
Locate a pervert, then take off your shirt
I am a twit, I am a twit

I am a twit, I am a twit
Try stupid ****, try stupid ****
I am a twit, I am a twit
Parody of Billy Talent's song "Try Honesty."  About people who do really stupid things.  The first line was added by me to poke fun at *******.
Kate Elise Sep 2011
I long to drink, to numb my pain, to ease my sins from the day.

The more I drink the better I feel and my thoughts begin to come ever so real.

Monster in the mirror sends loved ones to fear,
I scratch, I claw, destroying my all.

Attacking without cause, I paint with my claws,
a picture of pain while splitting my veins.

When Im sober I fear,
telling you “Im dead my dear”,
Just give me another bottle of everclear.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
and all i ever wanted, was to work in a music shop, to compensate my fancy moving away from Stendhal's scarlet & noir, and into the domain of Nick Hornby's high fidelity... well... that died a very Belgian death, very much akin to euthanasia.

at least i don't
bleach people to mere
pronoun usage.

and yes,
i treat the tetragrammaton
as a superlative,
esp. given
i am akin of Atilla -
and the Visigoths...
such that i am:
of the invading "horde",
because of he
the so-called culture
i see no civilisation on the horizon...
i see no Baroque...
            i hear no Bach,
and will never hear a stance
such that the music be composed...

because what is happening
in no circus of nouns...
people are being bleached,
they are being leash bound
to walk into a pet barbers to get their
hair "done"....
         i am not the one
regarding them as sole
pronoun exhibitors...
   there they are: merely pronoun bound...
and should i call them black,
or care to call them copper skinned
akin to the Indus peninsula...
                       i have forgotten
the agitating "they"...
            
i don't have a cartesian dualism
to mind...
i simply have my own dichotomy
to attend to...
   as Voltaire said: each to his own
garden; and a pair of shoes.
    
once again...
  geometry will never scope beyond the orb...
there is no geometric study to
suggest a shape for the universe...
now we know: there's no thinking
outside the box,
  even if that might ease your "claustrophobia".

  and i rather call a person by their
self-identifying characterisation
that reduce myself to a liberal
censor clot of only managing other people
in the pronoun category, auto-suggestive
of a *we
vs. them...

       i don't see how that makes us
liberal, that having forsaken descriptive
approaches, we incorporated
the additive approach carte blanche
as a guide to treating everyone akin
to being dubbed albino.

   i like talking about ******* a brown-skinned
girl...
    i like talking about ******* a Thai girl...
i like putting cardamom in my curry,
or my cinnamon...
  or my everclear - heartspark dollarsign -
and thus about the time i
gave to flying the kite of full, manly,
****-refraining autonomy...
to the wind itself.

  just when we were about congested,
and lated constipated...
        i wrote this, like a clerk
might, in the bureucracy of the failing
Roman Empire, akin
to the reminiscent W. H. Auden...
      on pink'oh paper that turned boredom
into the origami of paper-aeroplanes...
  neat, folded, against the envelope
requirements... thrown right into
the lap of don quixote,
       recycled, shredded by a windmill...

as if about just apparent...
        at least this dream, this utopia
didn't originate with me...
    oh sure, i believed it...
that we could house the entire ethnically-diverse
populace under one roof...
   i believed it, the world told me to believe it...
i'd love to believe it thrice over...
   i mean, i'd love to have
    duo-ethnic children,
        who spoke four languages...
in the least three...
    but **** how that gets swept under
the rug and forgotten along
with Aladdin...
   it just gets boring, all that masochism
of being an anti-racist social warrior
but at the same time calling oneself
a white-trash stereotype transcendent.

that's me about to puke,
and write my name in diarrhea ink,
followed up by doing the same in
gonorrhea ink.

what happened at the end of the 20th century
was a very well believed
in dream, even though it was a butterfly...
and lasted no more than a few years...
it was worth it... it's when i had my childhood...
and i could have even been a roofer until now
should there be someone who said
they were overworked in a supermarket...

it was very nice for a bit,
great to believe in... how suddenly 2000 years
of history could be forgotten and
let us live in a togetherness...
    but like today, Syria and a civil war...
civil wars are unique...
  a Syrian barber tells a Syrian butcher
to *******...
     and would it be necessary for
     an English politician to get involved?

unless they're selling both
  Israeli uzis (the country where the ***
originated, yep, Israel)...
          i'm not a Syrian civilian...
so what the **** are all these tourists
talking about?! i don't care if they come
from Westminster, what are these tourists
talking about?!
                  i'd like to be a Syrian civilian
first, before i give my opinion...
        i'm not giving a single opinion
as a tourist that was ever in Syria,
or a one: waiting to visit it in the "near" future.
******* tourists...
     you have to use a blunt knife carving
this piece of history...
not point using a well sharpened knife
cutting with eloquence and absolutely
no profanity... given the excesses of ****...
   i say: oaths! oaths!
heavy bored Feb 2013
packed house
so many faces
your's didn’t stand out
but your hands did
as they found their way into my pants

please don’t look at me like that
I know what you’re thinking
I am quite aware of my appeal
because I’m not pretty but I’m pretty enough
and I’m not skinny but I’m skinny enough
and I’m not innocent
but I’m vulnerable
enough

you said you saw it in my eyes
that I’m really good at fake smiles
and ringing laughter
however this green glass screamed sadness
sadness which you ignored
as you helped me up when I fell over (drunk)

you left and I threw up in my trashcan
which is okay because
the boys that ask to stay scare me more
than the ones who don’t

did I mention
this is my least favorite time of the night?
and no one really knows
that everything festers at 3:37am
it’s not the alcohol that makes my head spin
(I can do that on my own)

while I’ve never been lost in the light
I have drowned in the darkness
so I try to sob softly enough
that the thin walls won’t give me away

my friend told me to deep breathe
in situations like this
but my breath only reminds me of yours
hot and sticky on my naked neck

so I shove the melatonin down my throat
because my Xanax prescription hasn’t arrived yet
and I congratulate myself on not doing coke tonight
one small step at a time right?
Cardboard Grey Jan 2013
I am the emotional ostrich that you have made.
You have bred me to hate
To trust no one of flesh.
Vain outlets you will never read.
The sun will never see itself rise.
You are a list of let downs
And post-its of false promise.
Compulsive like the moon
Spinning through everything and nothing.
You are the core of my being
And remain the sand in my ears.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2020
.had i not come across the tironian ⁊... my my... what is a 7? did tiro invent a counter to VII? it was not all borrowed numbers from the sankskirt wielding hindus?! tironian... now that's someone you don't hear of much these days, it's all aesop and spartacus... if even that... tiro formerly a footnote in the life of cicero... for a B and a III - stenography's 3... Q and R or IX - stenography's 9... yes, we europeans didn't invent the current numbers... but just imagine... the details of +, - x, ÷ hidden within the jazz hands and counting with your fingers and the abacus... and how you will not find roman algebra... or that the discovery of calculus took both: numbers, and letters... etc. etc., but that we didn't invent numbers... as the slave Tiro... and his stenography of letters... i ascribe stenography as the original proposal for modern numbers... perhaps they would have "thought": II (+) III (=) V... or... oh i forget the cliche of Rome and the seven hills... i see: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... seven hills or what? who needs 10 digits when you can do just fine with... 7? the seven headed beast of revelation... i call that bait... but they built a... ******* coliseum working with: a year is bound to "spelling" rather than counting... CCCLXV... then again... with letters as numbers perhaps all of mathematics was once upon a time only practical, practical architecture... beautiful architecture and what not... glass shards would fizzle out: because of their proportions... imagine geometric-algebra with: letters and letters rather than superscript numbers: yet to arrive from the Raj of india... or otherwise found in ol' Tiro's stenography of letters... tender waiting buds of welcomed may... because we really borrowed numbers from: what was not already in letters, bound, waiting for a steographer to revise the matter of "counting"... all of ancient mathematics was without a hypothetical... without an algebra.... concrete evidence suggests that: a mathmetician was someone who had enough spacial awareness... numbers drafted for taxes and building coliseums... beauty marked by IX + XI = **! quiet odd... i see the 7 headed beast, the roman numerals beside the seven hills of the ancient resting place of papal bones: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... that numbers came to us from the Raj, from Persia? we had a 7 in the form of the greek gamma Γ... all that was required was codifying a looking into a mirror... might i stress the importance of narcissus in this affair? the unconscious of narcissus: Γ | ⁊... aren't i the lucky one... with a leash on the baron of the talk of shattering of mirror: never sounds like the shattering of glass!

as ever, opening a bottle of ms. amber and sitting down
to a sudoku...
to ensure this sponge of a brain slurps up
some wet concrete...

//
   \\
                      __   (⁜)      "oop" □ here
                      ⁁  †               ‗
"oop" □ over
here...   focus points...
the kaleidoscopic eyes...

words to abstract words are not enough...
anagrams are: "abstracts" of words using words...
i'm too tired to play games of this
nature... i want to return to...
VI + IV = X... somewhat daringly... return to...


a box over here: ◰ (yes, like so...
with the isolated number missing,
e.g.
or an ◲...

                     a line of 9: ――――――― here and
now "there" |
                      |
                      |
               ­       |
                      |
                      |
        ­              |    in vertical
                      |
                      |

i've seen how people lock their smart-phones...
•   •   •
•   •   • and whatever ✭ pentagram "zigzag"
•   •   •

   opens it up... a sudoku puzzle, can very much
be a bunch of stacked pentagrams:
                            ✭
                       ­  ✭✭✭
                      ✭✭✭✭✭
                   ✭✭✭✭✭✭✭
the eyes will always wander to-and-fro...
again... what sort of i.q. does the darting eyes?
i'm not that good with crosswords...
as a bilingual i already have a crossword
in my head...
i don't play games of anagrams...

you want to write a cascade poo'em... write this...
otherwise peer into...
this will never make a study of geometry...
this is a 9² "problem"... more like a canvas to
relax in... sudoku says the hiroshima pundit...
i say... it's a 9²: niner squared...
in the UN approved phonetic alpha-beta...
why isn't it the alpha-omega...
choicest of wordings...
i guess an alphabet implies a cascade that...
cascades?

          A                  B                ­  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

but what if the following narrative...
took place... with the numbers being replaced
by letters... better still, something more simpler...
what it A1(1) - the bracket implying
the number placed in the square A1:
which consists of 9 numbers...
0 is never part of a puzzle... nor should it be...
0 is a number that acts as more a function
of (x) and of (÷)...
you can deem 0 to be involved in addition
and subtrtaction...
but... not really...
0 acts as a prime multiplier and divider...
it's so clearly omitted in addition and subtraction...
that... ancient romans... said 1 = I...
3 = III... while 10 = X....
while 9 = IX and 11 = XI...
and 20 = **...

but what is a 9² (sudoku) puzzle was to replace
numbers with greek letters?
why not greek letters?

however much i put into these scribbles...
maximum effort... minimum return rate... so i will not
do as i anticipated myself in doing:
reaching into a dimension of ambition...
i'd only say... it was much easier calling it a...
A1(1) rather than a Aa(1) narrative...
don't ask me why... perhaps the whiskey has...
"muddled" me...

but...

          A                  B                  C
­   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

was more simple to solve than

          A                  B                  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
a x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
b 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
c 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

  borrows from puzzle no. 11,337...
to solve and explain puzzle no. 11,341...

but in between... let's watch the optical
schematic: ▣, ▤ / ▥,
              ▦ / ▩ and ▨ / ▧...
while at the same time: squadron-✭
                       mein gott:
this over-inflated nihon squat and square...
as donal rumsfeld said: the known knowns,
the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns...
because he's not just like...
the bullet-point and the next target practice
of: **** bad... **** all good...
the war criminal Slobo Milošević from
Yugol you-go...
the english isles would know know...
as to why... a mongol invasion would never
set them back a century...
or as to how the ottoman turks teasing...
was only a romance in romania...
because... even if Finland is the quirky odd
kid in the whole bunch of the Scandinavian
sandwich of rar herrings and gherkins
and rye bread...
well sort me out oh please sort me out...
tell me that listening to
these debut albums... or near misses...
silverchair - frogstump...
everclear - sparkle and fade...
stone temple pilots - songs from the vatican gift shop...
it also made sense to be a pre-teen...
listening to these albums
with an uncle with a car... eating cheap
chicken wings while he washed the car
from some next-or-no-other *****-circus date...
after that... it didn't make a sense to own
a car... if there was the bus...
and a dream of riding a horse everywhere...

this little moi: this solo experience...
of the long hair of gods
and the long beards of men...
and the of the sikhs and the devils...
and how it didn't make sense to grow
both at the same time...
long hair in my youth...
while playing, slumpt in...
catch-up-baghdad...
i too thought it was going to be that
simple... a demigod grows long hair...
a demi-imbecile of the most basic
infernal hides the scythe moon
and the chin behind a turban of a beard...
the god with long hair...
the devil and his... beard and itch...
eden of ***** having migrated from
the cushion of underwear:
fully exposed to... not tended to...
or the scrub of stubble...
or what's not... the venus glory sheen...
smoothed or smothered skin
that still belongs to the buttocks of the newly
born...

yes... in between the songs strawberry and
heartspark dollarsign - from everclear's debut...
i too wish i took drugs...
fortunate as i am unfortunate: words and letters
are in x-ray black and white...
what good would licking some mushroom
do for me, or for you?
excesses of colours, among these dams and bridges?
among these sputniks of  precursor numbers?

even if the blanks, were to replaced with a 0
for the other algebra unknown...
tier above... hyperscript a 1 - 9...
i.e.

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     9     1
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

mirror, mirror on the wall...
who isn't a charlize theron 0 = negation
of them all?
abigail mac is not a *****
doppelgänger of alicia vikander?

no better need to drink...
nonetheless the sun still shines on the question...
sudoku 9²: what it the cardinal numbers
were to be replaced with cardinal letters...
notably greek...
the alpha male the beta male the gamma and
the omega are all covered...
so is pi... given xi (11) is 0...

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     0     0
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

thus? Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 4, Γ = 7, Δ = 3,
rho (Ρ) = 9, Π =...
B should equate itself to 8 in the stenographic
origin of numbers...
depending on which stenography you decide
upon...
Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 8, Γ = 7, Δ = 3, P = 9....
no lower-case, please...
intuitively: zeta: Ζ = 5...
what's missing? we have: 1, 2, 8, 7, 3, 9, 5...
4 and 6...
                     Η = 4 and Σ = 6...
rubric, please!
1 = I
2 = A
3 = Δ
4 = H
5 = Z
6 = Σ
7 = Γ
8 = B
9 = P...

and how would a sudoku look like... thus?

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     I     0     0     0     0     P     I
a 0     0     0     Σ     P     0     Δ     0     H
   0     0     Δ     0     0     0     Z     I     Γ
   9     0     0     0     I     Γ     Σ     0     0
b Δ     Z     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   Γ     0     0     0     Z     H     B     0     0
   0     0     Γ     0     0     0     A     P     B
c B     0     0     B     A     0     H     0     Σ
   0     0     A     0     0     0     0     0     0

notably when the following narrative unfolds
and

          A                  B                  C
  ­ x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

becomes

          A                  B                  C
   4     8     1     5     7     3     9     6     2
1 2     7     5     6     9     1     3     8     4
   6     9     3     4     8     2     5     1     7
   9     2     8     3     1     7     6     4     5
2 3     5     4     P     Σ     8     7     2     1
   7     1     6     2     5     4     8     3     9
   5     4     7     1     3     6     2     9     8
3 1     3     9     8     2     5     4     7     6
   8     6     2     Γ     H     9     1     5     3

via B1(1) C1(6) C1(8) C1(2) C1(9) A1(9) A3(9) A1(5) A1(6) C3(7) C2(7) C3(1) A2(1) A3(1) B3(5) A3(3) A2(6) A2(2) A2(8) A2(4) C2(4) C2(5) B2(3) A3(5) B1(5) C3(5) C3(3) C2(1) C2(9) C2(3) C2(2) B2(2) B1(2) A1(2) A1(7) B1(8) B1(4) B1(7) B1(3) B2(8) B3(9) B3(6) A3(6) A3(8) A3(4) A1(4) A1(8)... post-script in greek numerals...
B2(Σ), B2(P), B3(H), B3(Γ)...

and if this is bingo... then bingo more... B2(x) and B2(y)...
and B3(y) and B3(x)...
my god... the fun time i'm missing when having
to raise children...
esp. among those superior intellects
of men... who... upon being married...
upon raising children...
return to the manosphere and talk to other
males without harems as if they were:
either constipated... circumcised...
or needing a father figure for that all encompassing
shorthand:
i didn't go to university to study chemistry...
i went... to the university of life!
a supermarket cashier clerk...
was the sort of cocktail shake-up required
for my bottled shampoo!

a ring a capturing a female is enough
qualifications to overlord the conversation
whether by topic or "feel"...
among ones... the la's nostalgia regret...
that would never arrive at blur or oasis
when it came to growing up in 1990s cool
britannia...

coming home to little town Poland...
is a carnival better than landing in Warsaw...
i can't say the same should i come,
and arrive in Loon'don's queue...
or the tubes under tarmac...

but of course drinking would get in the way...
to raising children...
perhaps drinking will allow...
a cameo father-figure role with a ******* child...
akin to: john wayne oscar winner for hard grit...
or: i'll **** my trousers because it's:
gonna be a rainman sort of day...
to start licking windows...
because: fear... prior to the mirror...
and the tongue that would no dare
to usurp the phallus in the serpent analogy...

yes... i noted "wrong"... i made a siamese blunder...
a siamese *** myopia...
two puzzle boxes... "the same" postal box...
the same university level education
of a non-high-school tier drop-out...
esp. because there's still no honda civic
worth a 33 year old to user the tinder app
to bother the wasp hive / harem... or some whatver
future of: this scenario never made it into blade runner...
or the inspiration for blade runner...
the one twin dead talking from the grave about
the future...
perhaps it was original for philip k. ****...
but perhaps... like any poet...
he's the host... and it was jane charlotte ****
speaking playing peek-a-boo from the grave?
there's no future in my writing...
i guess if this isn't "me"... then it's my
maternal great-grandfather and me talking about
shadows and dentists...
last time i had the foggiest...
i had a tootache...
so it's settled...
senior "chopin" and quasi "chopin"...
an internal joke...
how's the family?
family beside the atoms and the period table?
oh fine fine...
after all i heard the myth:
he didn't have any of his teeth pulled out...
but he also threw a tonne of coffe into the river
because certain people in europe even in
the 20th century didn't know what to do with coffee beans...

the spirit of adventure and exploration...
notably prolific in a landlocked
experience of the czech republic or moldova...
or... idaho... or...
i see water i want to see waterfalls...
i want to turn the anchor in a pumpkin carriage
and call the waves my horses!
to call an island a ship!
to call a continent a yawn and backward peoples...
and branch out... like a phototropism...
leaving all these continental europeans
living the nocturnal life of:
growth on **** sort of fungus of a past...

there's certainly a mistake in here...
but... unless you're just watched: shock & awe movie...
or still retain: the times weekly subscription...
what's a pedantry's "safe space" of automated
complications:
oh the joys of not having to cling to passing
a telegraph of genes and keeping it a minimum
of: two adults ******* better produce at least
two replicas... rather than that chinese
1 child per couple failure of ******-short-circuits...
oh the burden of reading some french thinking,
some german thinking...
nothing of a locke mea culpa as
the current phrase: pilate washing his hand
like a o.c.d. sufferer...

Tiro the new Aesop!
🙉 🙈 🙊
           monkey branch, busy cousin
of the follow-through deviation from gravity
in the upsillon - the parabola of a banana...
called the canary dip...
otherwise: my! what a treat!
what greater ambitions to write...
in order to write something
that would never become so quickly screened
like a stephen king novel...
obviously the contra comes from...
the loitering dean koontz...

it must be a curse of the surname...
i have a ****** surname...
well... unless you add... no...
adolf had a surname...
that germans must have found funny...
stalin had a surname...
that the russians must have found funny...
ghenghis simply could: in a present-participle
of: can...
and future present as a pop. surname
in pakistan: khan...
which sorts out the "problem" as to why
there's a stephen king and a dean koontz...
the answer is self-evident...
as i'm sure every smith and handy
becomes a plumber or the better part
of anyone day when he's struggling
with sightseeing and tourism...
of what might become...
the better part of a Thursday burrowing
from Hades into Tartarus.
Joshua Haines Feb 2015
My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My ******-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.

Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."

Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.

Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."

Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.
ShFR Nov 2013
Her shallow waters, I dove in
head first trynna be someone
I shouldn't sin
suicide
if she wanted I would jump again; terrorist all she needed was a turban with a Taliban as a wristband
chants written on her body they were lyrics then
tattooed, and I was thinking more like angel wings instead she brought a dress from the devil on the ****** sands
tainted, glasses even tinted, everything Instragram everything vintage, everything is everything to her im just a witness; a blast from the past, a mistress of a mistress Killed it.
matter fact **** me this not what I wanted and I not who I should be; you say the sky's the limit but my limit is a frisbee my sky is a ceiling of a feeling of what could be
I don't think I want you any more!
MTA
stand clear closing doors
gasoline
burning bridges to the floor abandon ship ***** you don't wanna fall alone
but it seems im stuck in Davie Jones and swimming in her waters is the only way to roam,
grown
daughter of the music angel so; burn
Sean is the only way to go; swerve
I had get up outta there but no one elses water taste like Everclear and no one elses water I could jump in bare
matter fact there was never water there i could jump in raw, the rain coat was never there
Hold up, but what was I thinking
I knew her whole song she never had to sing it
I knew that it was wrong, I couldn't stop reneging
***** after ***** after *****
cut after cut with a blade
clubs I would cut cause of shame
I knew her whole hand so who is up for blame,
Or is this just a phase but maybe I was wrong, to think theres something better and maybe Im alone in thinking that there was palm trees and maybe nicer weather after I was giving up but I cant forget her.
so I
jumped in again, head first
she was wet all clear, slick roads
traveling full speed on her **** curves words slurred vision about to go
I'm bout to give it all up to this girl
my mans like I don't really think you know
cause once you go in raw you already sold your soul
and once you eat her fruit she already took your clothes.
© 2013 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Alexis Garcia Oct 2013
I strive to remember when white powder
was the flour
that we would bake mom cookies with
instead of the list of bookies
I keep sin in
and ring in
when I need 'em.

I strive to make clear water, ever clear again
instead of the Everclear I decided
to drown myself in.
Andrei Mar 2010
You need sunglasses when your staring at me
Cause the light I emanate scars the retina of my enemies
There is no cure for the blindness you will endure
A pain perpetuated by the ignorance so perniciously procured
Squared against an inevitable death I easily steal your breath from the barrel of my Smith and Wess
Watching your hollow tears bleed on the canvas I project
a cataclysmic disaster wrapped up in a dismal death

We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
So as we kick back and sorely reside
I’ll be the change in the coming tide

Caged inside tortured flesh I search for rest to keep the human condition suppressed
But all I find each time that I design a new quest I become a servant of death
Invigorated by the test I stretch my consciousness to tear the limbs off your chest and beat you senseless
I won’t stop there, I’ll slit the throat leaving you without hope and then drown it in Everclear
While I may seem like a cynic
I’m not through with these gimmicks
Lacerating your heart with the bones I striped from your tendons
I’m not an advocate of violence but
Sometimes the pilot of peace needs to be reached by setting loose the destruction we inherently seek

We sit here at the pinnacle of our lives speaking in shadows
Masking our mouths from what we oblige
Stop and listen to the earth as it decries
The subtle architecture of this worldly demise
And I’ll hide my words with silence
And I’ll no longer become violent
Just another subservient machine lost in a sea of tyrants

I won’t be blunt here I’ll keep dropping metaphorical bombs onto your ears
Until all my peers understand the imminent plan that needs to be adhered:
Stop short cause change is impossible to purport
Don’t dream cause it’ll get shattered with a corporate hammer
Stay sinking in a world that raises a stagnant banner
Assimilate with the overzealous overweight materialism that manifests in the minds of the poor and is perpetuated by strip malls and ******
tread Nov 2012
long hair long johns of sad happy
clear fog is the dog god doggone dog

kind of you to kind of listen
kindling burns like Hong Kong midnight brightlights
whose birthright, or birthwrong

down-under daggers for flags
flagged
flagulation
creative sensory compensated penitentiary
forward lad landing laughter for the last log on the fire
the last day for earth to say
please plead for plaid shirts to pay for themselves
otherwise there will be ****** for you to see

summer in the winter if I sprinkle a little bit more wood on my splinter
sink or swim, sink and swim, sink to swim
swim to sink
ah
um
oh
ehhem
undo your dress and undo your last mistake

please retake the photo so I can stay awake.

don't, I mean, yes
yes

hands could be cold
but
then
a
g
a
i
n

I just call it what I must
plustwo double yous in a zoo for the future flu's to cruise like truce
11/11/11 armistice
missed the list when you kissed my wrist
I extracted bliss from the Buddha's jist
just
cause?

just call for the muse music

don't mind me
I mean
yes,
yes

motorcade king of spades I got laid to the silence
of a forest in the poorest richness I've never ditched this
**** zip
zap
my zipper is a little critter crawling through the litter on the city's twitter account
doesn't amount to much but I sound like I'm salted in breath
dead like MacBeth, the challenge was the shaken speare
sprained everclear of the diamond tear or the shattered cheer of ancient seers

truth
is greater than fiction.
recorded performance
http://soundcloud.com/kyran45/fractal-pattern-fiction
Jonathan Feb 2021
Maybe one day I will share Everclear and orange juice with a stranger. Perhaps it will be at a bus station or in a backyard south of Rio Grande, hell, it could be tomorrow on my smoke break by that one dumpster; the one that nobody notices because it smells like forgotten space and unwashed feet. Regardless of where it won't take much to warm the belly and cloud the chaos. Maybe a small splash into a glass would be all I need to look over at the stranger, who happily shares it with me, and say what I can't when sober. A splash for us both, so we can hear our naked thoughts and see we are the same in mind, body, and spirit. We are no different. We are but two fleshy hearts sharing forgotten space, looking for love, and finding ourselves; but as to how? That is never clear.
This is not a poem.. oops
AJ Jul 2018
Came and left
gone and dead
give me life
upon this hearth
I cry

Give me chance
give me death
I’m just a poor man
looking for my life
to save

All my days
I’ve tried
to validate
my own existence
so the pain would
steer away
into the ocean
so blue and everclear
don’t tell me I’m saved
save myself in the meantime

Free my head
free my heart
free my hand from this
bloodstream rolling and collating
down my sideburns so
hot hot hot
burn burn

Stop

Knocking behind my eyelids
like magma underground
but hell is a place above ground
Jeremy Duff Jun 2013
I guess the reason I text you drunk at 3 in the morning is because I have so many things to say to you and I don't have the courage to say them without the aid of 151 Proof Everclear grain alcohol.

And the boy I was sharing the ***** with didn't mind me talking about you.
The Boy with the Sunshine face didn't mind hearing all about that one time you and I danced.
He didn't mind hearing about the one time you kissed me
and he didn't mind me texting you.

In the morning I laughed it off unlike my hangover.
Just like the day before,
the first thing I reached for was my pipe
and after that it was my phone.
And at 11:30 in the morning I read the text you had sent at 9 the same morning.

I guess all I really want is you.
And that's dumb to say
because I want a job
and a ranch
and maybe a dime bag.
But out of all these things I want to hold you most.
And I want to kiss your face
and touch your waists.

As much fun as I had receiving this hickey
it would be nice to have one from you.

To the Girl who Gave Me This Hickey:
Thank you,
it was fun.
Faeri Shankar Oct 2012
Inspiration arrives in the wee hours of the morning

Like a fresh snowfall that won't stick

Teasing, tickling my brain

Inducing a rumbling hunger for snow cream and chapped cheeks

A floating half-cadence

Stinging like the stale metallic aftertaste of the cavity I can't see

But I know I need filled

Like the hole you left when you were digging behind my back

Smiling beneath my feet and I fell a little deeper

Like you did into me under the Everclear

Night sky after we dropped

Altering our minds in a place we called home

In the company of our tribal community diving head-first into pursuit of personhood

By the hand of a tedium spring and temporary cushion

Where the new members must've watched behind closed lids

Before another night like the previous nights consisting of little sleep.

There's an assignment to complete

Suppressed by the urge to go for a night run to strengthen those thighs

I didn't intend to open, I swear to God

I never intended anything to result in this

Unresolved half cadence in the i-V-i progression

That I didn't compose on the theory test

I didn't pass today because I didn't finish.

There exists no focus to the wisps of ideas slapping these cerebral walls

Like lingering tendrils of broken thread and splattered paint on a drunk summer night.

It's too chilly now on the off days and perfect on the on's

So I will wait, patiently, more or less

To avoid dropping the wisps and distasteful run-on sentences

Into your feigning palms willing to grasp me again

Because what the hell else would I do?
Dexter Portalis Apr 2015
I was a ****** to the taste of alcohol for 18 years until the day I lost it to you
My first drink was a mix between reality and denial
This glass consumed the toxins from this relationship that I fell addictive too
I guess that makes you a double shot of ***
No, I guess that makes you alcohol poisoning
Because it felt as though you broke into my liquor cabinet and wrote your name on each bottle
Just to remind me why I am drinking in the first place
You shattered those empty bottles against my heart until I bled our memories
I guess that was your way of breaking the bad news
You used each shard to pierce my ribs
Becuase you never wanted to see us as one
Each shot of Tequila reminds me just how our relationship tasted
Sweet when drunk, but bitter when sober
Your name ran marathons down my esophagus anytime I found myself swallowing the sharp cracks and dents from this Crown
A puddle of Crown sat stagnant at the bottom of my stomach
Normally, Brown is the only thing that sparks a fire in my throat
But your attitude was more flammable than a full bottle of Everclear
And not even Bacardi 151 burns as bad as the feeling you left on my lips
I yearned for the nights where it was just me, you, and Hennessey
But now I spend my 2 am nights in the deepest of conversation with Jim and Jack
But each sip brings me closer to the bottom
Reminding me how we hit rock bottom
We hit rock bottom when you drove this relationship straight into a brick wall
You allowed our love to ride in the passenger unbuckled
So I guess that makes you a murderer
Because you killed everything we had
And now that you’re gone I subconsciously drink slowly
I drive slow
Hoping reality won't hit me so hard
I was hoping to eventually find you when I swallowed the last drop
Searching for the paradise I tried to give us while downing this Long Island
But instead I was brought back to the realization that you and alcohol go hand and hand
Both giving me the best feeling one night
Then leaving me numb
With the same emptiness I felt before I picked up this bottle
And the last thing I want
Is to wake up tomorrow morning
With the remnants of your taste still sitting on the tip of my tongue
You are my hangover
PK Wakefield May 2010
a cluttered fragrant death
(stark garden
a valley billowing with apathy
sweat scented flavors richly bloom
an
aspect consumed with the tedious
graves accurately graying in verdant profusion
as riven plaited dusty erosion
beckons the touch ofINFINITE drops:

this cloudy cowl drawn taught on
everclear translucent whiskers shorn
from rough bubbling lilies
rivuleting heady green stems
onto the tender hillocks of rocky *******
jut so silently into finite

                                                      ;)
Shane Jan 2017
Electric despair
Just a fraction
A hit of desire

Supply and demand
Trading peace for the land
Starting fires

It's nothing of news
It rots and pollutes
It mocks what you do
It's ready to shoot
Doesn't care who was there
Media covered the truth

No mans land
*******

Snuffing the come up
I live for the underhand jobs
I'm a mob boss
I need a cough drop
Choking on the reasons
History repeating stand down

The stench of division
Clouding my vision
So loud indecision
Surrounds my conviction
Rendering me as a corpse
Send all my hobbies up north
Where it's going down
So poised
With a corpse to throw
Self love
Plus more room to grow
Oh so bold
Must be snorting that pale moon glow
Must be chugging that everclear
Must be clutching that heart so dear
What a life
Yet I'm gonna get it right
Peers

Oh god
Can you hear me out
Question
From whom did you learn all your lessons
Tested I figured you ad libbed the message
I'm out to find what the silence is betting

So petty
So don't test me
War ready
With the goal on flexing
I run the patience of clocks
Outliving haters a personal hobby
Spited to death
**** cam is lit fam
Ex lady thinking
***** I don't really give a ****
Never made a baby
Always played the run around

Heh

Sorry about that
But what am I to do
When that *** so fat
Got me hella in the mood
When you let me see it clap

I got an eigth of shrooms
I'm tryna make it bloom
A blunt to match
Some room to move
Stratosphere blazing as we cloud the room
Last year faded off the ought to do
While I sit here waiting for my star to shoot

Topsy turvy
Match the gloom
In a vile plume as I engage the noose
Hopeful boy taking polaroids
Everlasting days
Never lasting joys

Come on

Just blast away
Growing pains from my defeat
Burned at stakes from past mistakes
Ambition bathed in flames

Ascension know my name
Lotus petals
Unshackled
I craft on broken glass
This ******* built to last

Sitting in the drivers seat
Laughing at my lack of drive
The taste of irony
Hinting at my suicide
This right here is do or die
Scared of heights
Grit teeth and fly
Copped me some stolen wings
Deceit no thang to me
Yet I still can't sleep
Relax my mind
Third eye still crooked why
Bad batch of LSD
What the hell you want from me

Lamentations of the soul
Cascading broken notes
Wretched lessons I provoke
The wailings of a lonely ghost

Praying karma takes me home
Been wayward from the start
        Been wayward from the start
Chasing shadows thinking stars were mine to handle
Dismantled
I've learn reality's a gale of sin
And I'm the candle
Now watch as I unravel
Andrew Klein Sep 2010
It smells of soco in the air.
She gave up her body to preserve her dignity
But in the end, she lost that too.
There is nothing dominant in dominance.
Only preservation
And perpetuation of a dying era.
Unless dominance is dominance.
In which case, bring your pipes.
Pipes, pipes, pipes, pipes, pipes,
A thousand and three pipes
And not a single one of them on key.
You say it doesn't make much sense,
But frankly “*******.”
No one's got a gun to your temple
Praising the ivory role of the natural order.
That theory died out with hanging paper clips
Clinching yellowed notepads in their skinny fists
Shouting praises to Everclear to the heavens.
Just ask Salinger what it means to be expected
And I'll tell you my opinion on life.
I don't remember when this poem was written exactly, but it was never written to be presented in front of a crowd.  Something feels like it may be lost in translation from the pen to the open floor.  I do, however, hope you enjoy it.
hey hey

I tried to write a song about you today
It wasn't very good so I threw it away
The words were scrambled they had no rhythm
There really was nothing I could do

I was going to say I loved you
Then I second guessed myself
My eyes opened and I realized what was broken
I've be questioning my brain ever since

Chorus:
But it's alright, hip hip hooray,
I have finally seized the day,
Who cares if I throw it all a way,
One more Song
One more Kiss
What the hell is there to miss
These are the last words I can give

What really happened in your mind
That made us broken, with no rewind
You're stuck in the past,and I'm in the future
I begin to wonder who is the loser

No it's not fair, things never are
I pick up drugs over the bar
They promise me you'll disappear
With one more drink of everclear

(chorus)

We are all falling, down an empty hole

(r)No more goodbyes this is the last one
The next time we meet I'll already be gone
Under the sheets so white and brown
Here is my blood that's staining the ground

...

One last song, one last kiss
I know I'll be missed
(r)
A song that is a work in progress, any suggestions towards rhymes or words will be greatly appreciated.
Damon Robinson Nov 2019
It’s was very clear
The purring of the turbine kept us awake
As the dew settled into the drying shale
Becoming what it’s not

Perhaps the men, fantastic
Misconstrued across the dimming ceiling, being blown about
Reminding you of those who you wish for
Rather than the *******

To justify the means
Is to understanding the ******* as no more
Than the tap to which sap leaks from
For the one, insecured.
The ability to read the room is what truly opens your eyes to things, unsecured.
M Lundy Mar 2012
your clothes are scattered on your floor.
my eyes glaze over at the thoughts that come.

which of these clothes did he take off of her?
did she lift them off for him?

i know he leaves you feeling ******.
you told me on the phone he came inside you.
my teeth grind.
eyes water,
lips tremble,
hands shake.
Mary Beth told me to be strong,
"you always take care of us, but this time lick your own wounds."

i'm too proud to say i feel it--
too proud to say i don't find sleep 'til 3 a.m..
all i think of in bed is you *******
for him.
i take a few hits of everclear,
write some ****** poetry,
and replay your laughter over and over
and over again.
Copyright 2012 M.E. Lundy
Jordan Frances Feb 2016
My worth is not found
In thirty tablets of Tylenol Extra Strength
Chased by several shots of Everclear
Or inside someone else's body.
I used to immerse myself in this lifestyle
Until I realized I was going to waste
The feeling in my bones went missing
My desire to find that passion sank like an anchor
No search party, no Amber Alert
I was on my own
Missing an integral part of me.
I like bridges now
And I never used to.
I like flying now
I used to hate it.
But now, I look down
I don't want to plummet into the blanket of water beneath me
I don't want to hit the ground without living first.
My mind still takes me to the ruins of my past sometimes
It still holds me hostage with a gun laden with dark thoughts
But I will stay alive.
I have every reason to be dead
I have one reason to be here:
I deserve it.
Now, I drive over the George Washington Bridge
Keep my hands steady on the wheel
Sing my heart out to my favorite X Ambassadors song
Now, I sit strapped in on Delta airlines
The pilot talks about ascending
And I allow myself to rise.
He says,
"We are at fifty-thousand feet"
I smile
My spirit is now immersed in my own body
I let my tears wash over me like a monsoon
Because I am alive, darling
I do not want to jump, or fall this time
I deserve to stay soaring.
bindings beg to be pulled
from glyph-gorged stacks
to temp risen laps
finger grasped
spreading pages

indecisive craves
begat overdue fines
so many times
for lackluster endings
and characters not
worth the crack

so many stories
heroes and heroines
man vs. mechanisms
(of mind)

these rising acts
will parachute down
into denouement nets

but our parallel strands
have already been sewn
in galactic hammock

and I know we both
just know

there will
never ever be
another story
as wild and mystical
combusting magical
as how
we

came
into being

only timelapsed
soulvolution will tell
if we get happy endings
on repeat

get to spin our tell-worthy yarn
to a sea of wide-eyed disbelief:

heartstart firecracks
luminous on India ink black
unlikely alchemy everclear
writ by hands parallel

on the most
pivotal

night of my life
Julian Delia Apr 2019
No one ever told me it would get so lonely.
That there would be no one home, waiting to hold me.
Is there another way? Can someone please show me?
I look like I’m swimming, but I’m drowning, homie.

No one ever said that everything is a lie,
That wars should be waged without asking how or why,
That we all live in a corporate-sponsored pig-sty,
Where protesting nets you a Colombian necktie.

No one ever mentioned the predatory interests,
Nor the dimension of mandatory contingents;
Never thought I would hear of “peace-keeping” armies,
Nor of these deceitful, political parties.

What we were told as children was very different,
Like a testimony that’s too inconsistent.
I remember hearing about true liberty,
That the world aims to eliminate poverty.

We weren’t taught to understand, digest and think;
We follow the invisible hand to the brink.
We did hear that anyone who works hard, gets there;
Then why are we starving whilst working our bones bare?

No one ever prepared us for this **** right here.
No warning about how life hits like Everclear.
At least, now I know how ****** we are.
Drinks are on me; let’s **** up the bar.
'No one ever' - coming to a beat near you soon. I've found my flow, now it's time to find music to put to it.
Sam Temple Mar 2014
endless miles of dark pavement
hours of white knuckle horror
illegally transporting pounds
processed into oil
curing her cancer –
new age family doctor
with a medical card and an interest in chemistry
distilling Everclear creating hope
1 gram a day
rear-view mirror road-rage
only wishing to be safely home
14 hours to go with a life on the line
watching a plant heal all that ails –
networking growers into family practitioners
dropping the bottom out of Big Pharma
one human being at a time
freely functioning as philanthropists
looking only to see families restored
Robin Hood as a pothead –
nothing could be simpler
than curing cancer
just grind up ****
pour 191 proof over the top
strain and keep the liquid
low heat cook it down
until only oil is left
5 drops of water
and a coffee warmer
decarbonization
then eat it
a grain of rice at first
then increase
to a gram a day
60 grams in 90 days
just try to die –
watching her gain weight and coherence in front of my eyes
seeing it again
knowing the truth
living in a lie
saving lives as I cross them
modern day travelling physician
carded
but unlicensed –
Some poems are just poems, some are personal journeys, others are forced out while others still seem to be birthed... but once in a while there are those which are secret messages meant to change lives... you decide which this is  ….…  I live the truth presented here daily and have witnessed what some call miracles, but what I call taking control of one’s health
Invocation Apr 2014
Come witness the death of a young star, crippling flares bursting from the retinas. Succumb to her madness. A deformed creature of habit - unintelligent, misguided scoundrel ravenously craving the one she can't have. ***** breathing. Sanguine drippings run down white feet - she tears the rampant emotions out from her skin. Hush! She can hear you...


Wander uselessly through the South. An old acquantance becomes your sole purpose. A waxing!
A wedding. A waning... weeping. Wanderer, you are banished back to the ice.
Learn to obey, or learn to become creative in your rebellion.
Hold your heart just close enough to smell the metallic tang, but not too close or you'll ash on it.
Breathe in little Wanderer, you have so much potantial.
Cut out the poison
Cut out the poison
Cut out the poison

Drench the wounds in Everclear
Burn away your doubts

My eyes can see nothing safe or sound in these days
Take me back to October
Take me back to my old life
I want my little nest with my mate and my young
and my potholders and my clutter
I want to sleep next to something
I want to die

Crying little children, all of you. I am just one more.
I left my small comforts. I felt such pain
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Downing whiskey that isn’t mine
The bottle’s owners’  
angry gives me a black eye
Crack it over his head now it’s a fight
You got to admit it’s a funny sight


Lost my papers, roll a blunt
Don’t call the cops you stupid ****
You can try it all you want
But you can never control us

Pound one down
Light one up
Take a tab
Now it’s time, time for the 2nd round

Acid, molly and some bud
Certain things we use for fun
Looking for kicks, thrills and shocks
Maybe we’ll get laid with some luck

Pound one down
Light one up
Take a tab
Now it’s time, time for the 3rd round
There’s an ******* rave in my head
I’m hallucinating again
I can feel my heart race
As I watch angels fornicate

Full of loathing and the fear
There’s something not quite right in here
There’s demons devouring little kids
Let’s go again

Pound one down
Light one up
Take a tab
Now it’s time, time for the 4th round

Shoot another Everclear down
We can do this coke I just found
Puke all over your girl’s night gown
Then wake up .up on the cold hard ground

Pound one down
Light one up
Take a tab
Now it’s time, time for the final round
Snow Feb 2015
Running outside under a quiet moon,
Moments stolen in a crowded room.

Gentle curves over table edges,
Absolut-ly visual perfection.

You long for a touch more intoxicating than everclear,
Because all you want is whoever is near.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed culty.

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, your bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH!

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin' invadin; he, was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place,
as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future, then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and
the meaning of every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE
the every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me, drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Heather Rice Dec 2013
Finally this week is through,
What is there to do?
I think I will hit a party or two.

Ready to get turnt up,
Grab a red solo cup,
Sure as hell won't throw up.

***, *****, Beer,
Wait is that Everclear?
It's about to get crazy in here!

Mixing ***** with tea,
Oh ****, gotta ***,
Hey, hold this for me?

Walk into the hall,
Trying not to fall,
Let me hold onto the wall.

Make my way to the dance floor,
All the boys lookin' to score,
Tryin' not to be a *****.

2 am time to go,
Probably should've said no,
But home with him I go.

You call from out of the blue,
I was tryin' to forget you,
The only way I knew how to.
Kida Price Aug 2014
Drunken rhyme
Regardless of the time
Things on my mind
Tag a swig
Make them dissapear
Another shot
Another joke
Take a moment
To Swallow the bitter choke
If it's meant to relax
Why do I grit?
Heart flutters
Thinning blood
Warm sweats
Take another one
Everclear
Left me blind
Had to quit
And resolve to lighter substances
Previous scars
Of un remembered drunken endeavors
Leave me lifted
In my own inebriation
I'll catch up
I'll have pace
Just keep me safe
In my little space
Takes a minute
To make me ok
Let me see
Another side
Of where I don't care
Being sober takes it's toll
And so does the drink
I wish I didn't care
What you really think
Just give me another one
Maybe join in the fun
I may be strong
And the liquor doesn't last long
But as long as I'm here
I'll have another shot
Or even a beer
As long as I'm not alone
Shane Carmichael Feb 2012
There he is, asleep in his house
There you are, asleep on my bed
just waiting for me

I smile because the sweet fragrance
of sweet lilies and passion
that lines your neck has already
permeated the room and it hits me as soon as I walk in

I lay behind you and wrap my arms around your
far too familiar waistline that my fingers
know far better than my logic should allow

You scoot farther into me knowing I’ll protect you
Protect you from the thems, hims, and occasional hers
You know I’d never let anything harm you because
my warm body behind you tells you

I reach for my Panda and when I turn back
I come to the harsh realization
that you put Everclear in my drink last night

It’s ok, it was a good dream anyway

— The End —