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Bryce Jul 2018
And I will make sure that if anything were to happen,
It would do little to affect you.

It's not everyday
You find a goose that lays eggs
With speckled jewels and golden flakes

The world is full of incongruity
And there's no doubt about the certainty
That something bad may happen,
And we don't want that, do we?

So listen carefully.

The world is a giant carboniferous spicule
Hanging in a nest of hydroxic gas and particulae
Spinning within the gaps of a blackened dome
Of limitless space and out of control
There is no telling what way it will go
There is no prediction that has fortold
Any number of moments in this tumbling slumber
Between the darkest hell and the further horizon

I so deftly advise you with all certification
To please place your bets and fly by echolocation
Your eyes will mislead, your ears will displease
And there is no way we can refund divine warranties

This machinery
has a half life of quarks
And energies that vibrate into other orbits
Retaining the spin and informative piece
Of that golden goose let loose amongst the canopy
Of dark,
off into neverland, straight on
Till new morning,
Beyond the stars

So please good sir don't migrate away from me
I have so much to give and such pain I have seen

Those that fatten their goose with **** till it quacks,
Those ravenous souls who ate their gift for a snack,
And when life finally cuts them down to their last,
They will howl and yowl and pray that goose back.

This is a game,
Have a good little laugh
Don't waste your time or your money
On a daffy Aflack

Policy that keeps you policed to the earth,
No way to fly,
Stuck in the dirt.
That is no way to live in the dream,
That is no way to let death trickle in

So please, pretty please, make sure you have coverages
And a couple extra dollars in the pocket of those jeans
Wander freely, you great big atomic bomb, you.
Do catastrophic damages and I'll pay your dues.

Ride the road coast to coast,
Fly a bird 'round the world,
Take a truck till you're home,
Find a love you can trust.
Find a place where your egg
And your legs seek nowhere else
Lay down those roots,
It's Eden or bust.
Dev Aug 2018
Wet nose, four paws, and a wagging tail
follow right beside me on an uncharted trail.
We're exploring, but just what for?
National treasure or maybe folklore?
He doesn't know and neither do I.
On a day like this we don't need to ask why.
I stop for a break and he looks right at me.
"C'mon Dev. Let's make it snappy."
I can't disappoint those big brown eyes.
He never complains, frowns, or tells lies.
His only intention is to insure I'm happy.
So I stand back up and give him a patting.
We march on in search of who knows.
Through the highest highs and the lowest lows,
There is always an adventure just around the bend.
He's not only a puppy - he's my hairy best friend.
marvin m brato Sep 2018
Medical Technologist you will be by next year,
As you do your best part then success is near.
Realization of your life's dream is not impossible,
Zealous dedication is what you do to make it possible.
Act now be a keen diligent intern to claim your victory!

Dawn has sparked so make the most of the opportunity,
Accept the challenges don't quit fight all the negativity.
Winning is not easy to achieve as it requires determination,
Nobody but yourself alone can justify for your own action.

Plan for your future and do it with the highest attention,
Insure that whatever outcome will help realize your ambition.
Zest you have will inspire you to perform well with integrity,
Allow no negative vibes to degrade your courage and dignity.
React professionally to whatever trials that may come your way,
On whatever duties you do always follow the protocol don't sway.

Be tactful in your actions follow laboratory protocols,
Read and understand fully the procedures before using the tools.
Avoid mistakes in running the tests so you won't give false results,
To the patient's doctor such act is a taboo and you will get insults.
On to your internship my darling do your best and make us all proud.
Ken Pepiton Aug 20
genghis knew two food groups.

red and white, look it up.

Many Genghis genes remaing, tut tut tut,
no error yet, wait

in time the idea, the reason for so simple a sorting
is lost
and food laws arise to insure the purity
of progenity
"man ist vas man eats, nicht nur brot, y'kin, hear-ken"

destined to rule the world in the

after all the others are killed by our wisdom and
dietary rules.

--- toxic masculinity
--- I heard first hand, a hipster-seeming voice tell me
--- Jordan Peterson is the source of the poison

Ah, am I to reply?
Am I to add a layer onto each pearl I feed the swine?

laque of knowing growing pains for what they really are,
we, the people,
blooming, bhering weight, finding worth

feeling ing ing the squeeze,
glory in the pain for gain, gain is good, grow, grow grow
ic magi
bent and bowed bansai-wiseman, fed for years mere humble PIE
chanting more enthralled-folk songs
words bubbling to the surface of spaceship earth,

blistering the deserts and the forests with black tar sludge
seeping from the fractures

to form mortar
to re
build the tower... that was Sad'am's idea,
it fell short in shocking offal from the rusting empir-
ical rule of laws of matter,

dis integrating to dust, leaven in the winds...

But every hundred years or so,
some one sees the problem
accused of causing the laquering of peace that seems
to be
to shine on
the rub,
the itch,

the cause celebre of this warrior mind, this
masculinity, but in the end

times change, nue and new and aljadid genii arise,

winds converge in great gyres and plan the melting of
the frozen one,

the great gyre in the north, the up-end of the spin,

locked these twelve thousand years
in de-salinated ice,

the salt squeezed from the very molecules of frozen ocean
once free

to spin
clock, lock, lock the POV, see it, see it, see

the direction of the spin,
does it **** or blow?

You could know. Such things are not hidden now,

our simple sort of men have visionary tools,
eyes in the sky,

we look from the moon and see immediately,

there should be six spinners spinning currents
returning, turning turning
as winds return on their circuits on an un flat earth,

as Solomon noted in the sayings of Thoth;
we see the ice, as ***** Gibson said it would be seen,

cybernetic, tic, you, tic, know, tic
what i mean
confidence in uncom-fort-ible

--- it was them ****** cow boys
--- imagined forever afters, based on guns for Christmas
--- appearing areal, Asreal can be, if one stared,
-- starry-eyed, Uriel appears to grant a wish, stare

staring in hope and prayer.
for all a child's prayer is worth

--- long-enough, at the wishbook from monkey ward
--- I'maxin' Please, Ma t'tell Santa I'd wear my guns t' school, Ma, I'd be cool.

hour-wareness of war;s worthlessnesses, winking eye sign;
pure floccinaucipilinihility, winks 'n' nods

manifestations of the imaginings of men,
wombed and un,

for money, not its use, just
luv o'the stuff it's made from in minds so inclined,

which tend to destruction from the mere knowledge
of a missing something, a meaning,
a hole,
a place of nada-zil-chic spells re re re main al and  
analible and
allathat, uninalienable mass of meaningful things...

name your God same as mine, shibbol-ethical as allhells-gnownstinki

eh? Fini? Uno fini, allathestinki? Bad-wind or kami-kazi?

it's a wish,
come true.
this world containing life, an air bubble to pre
our inventions
from drowning in the fields of far-flung, far-fetched

god ideas gone sour,
for lack of a proper fungus. We can fix that now.

From now on,
we can listen to Lex Fridman sing "Simple Man"
a bubble remaining inside the lost disco years,

we can listen to Richard Feynman make plain what he meant
about life's locks all having keys in
a bubble remaining viable inside those Leave it to ****** years,

or read, since when in ever writing for ever began
and Google can translate, and
we can read by listening, now, we can read asif blind, and

there's more to this than that, why
settle for the simple, when

you step beyond, one step,
you find treasure
in truth
kept for you in the heart of your hiding child.
Aitia Macaronic Poet-try mused at a comment I heard in passin I began to imagine a toxic masculinity hiding in a child's closet waiting to take his guns to town, in 1957 the International Geo Physical Year, Hersey was researching The Child Buyer... those were times we got through
Jordan Hudson Sep 2018
(No brakes, barely awake, for goodness sake
Yeah, get ready for story time, except this one happens everyday)
Rain, and soon snow will drench me as I ride away
From home to school along the trails as the sky is gray
But I will keep going despite the color of the sky
Yeah it isn't great, I won't deny otherwise
But it is better than other choices as I am trying to finalize
These months that pass slowly but surely
I am independent and can handle them maturely
The trails are soaked and so am I when I'm there
But that is me going for goals setting my future
Despite the consequences outside I can insure
I will be there on time everyday I have to be
As I ride the tree leaves fall alongside me
And I make it home equally to the others who go as a group
As I ride through rain like a military troop
Exposed and all, no rain coat, no roof
I don't need it though, I am virtually waterproof
Brakes make sounds, brakes don't work
Only I can stop myself from crashing in the murk
In the atmosphere while the rain falls and the puddles grow
But my strength grows too as I ride on the slick surfaces below
Wish we luck as I make my way pushing through the perilous snow
Me riding my bike before obtaining my license
andru Jan 3
A circle speaks volumes.
Revolutionize and tidy up.
Instruction manuals are read automatically.
Privacy parts the talon and now,
how the sky blinks a feather ever so unusually.

Ever wake up in your sleep to your head fully stuck in the sixth sense
stomach of a pillow, and thought to yourself in bed about how much of
a dream it must be to be stuffed turkey?

I haven't.

Or thought to your self made bed how making the bed as an edible
symbol of thanksgiving
is like taking a stand
on a landmine,
for eternity?

I haven't.
I also lie and lay awake to myself.

Although a traveler tends to do all of the above,
below the radar.
A farmer tends too.
Eats an earthquake,
aftershock, rattled rim, pacific clarity, clear the oceans, tremors, tremors,
Noah's ark is a humpback funeral home.
Noah riding a hearse by the hubcap, clean teeth grip.
Noah in my mouth, reciting odd numbers on my taste buds.

Noah licking a polished nail, course matte for me,
three by three, the poor
poor bones of a humpback whale singing sad on a mountain.

You have to wonder about coffins when it's death out.
And water among amidst when your lungs are thirsty.
And since it seems the tried and tested walk has all but run away,
some metal wood rubber leather latex silk wool boxes spit out tickets.

A materialistic downer on uppers levels off at acceptance.
And yeah, smoking will **** you, but this is about me and I need to inhale.
This is not about me, but about you, or was that nature?
The nature of nurturing seems as good a point to start this conversation.
But it's dead end talk to talk in line segments, and well, ****,
it's time for an advertisement:

This cylinder tin is full of everything your life is empty of!
Forget the cost; be content with the contents,
rehearse the ingredients, unload the all and do it again.
Infatuation is hot-air gas inflated in the belly of outer space.
I love the way those stars look and those stars love looking at me.

The cut and paste of our human race is unfairly lopsided.
The northern blade has a tumor the size of misdirection,
the scales are tipped, the whips are tipped, and the weapons are gripped.
Sudan doesn't own scissors; Angola is the axis of axe-less
but their ******* skyline is incestuously bright,
their constellations all make sense,
and their astronauts haven't lifted off, to jump and jive in the very
same sky we share with them.
No, not yet, there are animals to be slaughtered sedimentary still.
Ones with tribal names that come off the tongue like mouth sound effects,
they are almost people, without horns hammered in their heads.

Eating on all fours from a license plate.
Dig in, Donesia.
How is life in amnesia, brain pulp square?
Psychologically disturbed map and memory loss, southwest Asia?
Your address is a long walk, but the **** citizen on the roadside exhibit
is a refreshing remix to our boring, bragging billboards.
And your suffering is art to the skull and cross-bone pale cube galleries
that we call home sweet, home sweet merchandise.
And rest assured, your lack of rest will insure western survival,
North America will steal your toddler corpses
and sell them at the front gates of your orphanage ghettos.
It's the least we can do after gouging out your eyeballs.

I didn't even write this, it was drawn by a blind boy in India.

The black market pencil case people are going to a blow-out sale.
The sales on them and the jokes a bomb.
The jokes on them and the sales a bomb.
The bombs on them and the jokes a sale.
The female holds her breath and suffocates a male.
And the genders collapse in heaps and heaves, recycled and broke
like natural leaves caught in a mythological fighter
jet's propeller.
Like aeroplanes, several even, oddly amount conclusive crash-like.
Like, like, like, if the globe of green and blue were to still be alive
I would colour co-ordinate accordingly, and wear whatever hue
the big bang theory wasn't.
Dust particles getting it on and such.
Finger painting *** with a rag and pan pencil case.

The black market Darwin drawin' is on fire in the pockets of our youth,
elderly lint in same corduroy bent knuckle nameless, places
an introduction to i.v. and a never un-shook from his hinges
living room magazine holder.
So the flinching milli-metricks betwixt our beloved booklets brings
gratification, satisfaction, and eternal life.
And gravity with a runny nose.
Oh, oh!  My first ever and last edit: Make that ******.

So I'm infinite pass-time, tedious rusty grime
and dead llama on the zoo-way.
"Look Ma, a dead llama!"
"No dear, she is just sleeping with her blood out
and cage on".

No more rides for the unknown, let it be known.
Call your superiors, mega-impose their posteriors, an emphasis on
brittle lives.
And chew the fat, chew the fat, **** the marrow, narrow
weight-scale bound in chain-mail, accidental prediction protection,
magnify, mortify, modern sill overdosing on wake pills, horticultural hi.

I am coherent when the setting is all tens, when
the plot is all tens, when the characters are all reaping tens.
The catch is in the ******, looking scared cloth-less elevens.

Judges, what verdict gives you
the right to wig wear an oak arm chair
with an all too obvious worn-mallet-beating-desktop syndrome
bashing your would be innocent until proven rich-boy lashes, err, guilty?

Was that even a question,
or merely a stir-fried rant?

The master chefs are coming after us all in our under garments,
over bridges and mountains and tiger stance wisdom and
we need a Messiah like we need horseshoes on our foreheads.

Mule yoke split on the frying pan of till death do us cook.
Separation nation; a river plain, a barren abstract.
And the artists are painting droplets on their toes,
kissing themselves after a game of Chinese checkers,
determined to squirm sweet nothings while riding
question mark shaped seats from Sweden.

And under a hail of Mary's, Jason's, William's, Susan's, and missiles,
they touch their ankles where they know
nails should be,

A circle sounds off,
a sky sounds awful,
a bomb sounds right,
a body sounds circles,
and a circle speaks volumes.
Sea Aug 25
As a child, I took an art class at the Brooklyn Museum of Art
We’d go to different exhibits and the instructor would explain the context of pieces of artwork
Once us kids stood together,
Looking up at a large canvas polluted with ambiguously painted circles
And the art instructor told us that there was some deeper meaning to it,
Though to our uninitiated young minds,
We couldn’t see this

We went to an exhibit one day full of gods made of stone and wood
Idols, the evangelicals would say
There was a god with a protruding belly and a folded face like a shar-pei
And the instructor pointed to it and uttered its name
I was floored.

My mind raced—
Surely, there couldn’t be other gods besides the one I grew up with,
And yet here I was, surrounded by hundreds of them with names and identifying traits and even faces

When I arrived home I demanded an explanation from my mother,
Who being only a nominal Christian at the time
And not well versed in scripture
Couldn’t give me a satisfactory explanation for what I had seen that day,
She couldn’t provide an explanation that could seal the crack in my perception of reality that had been made

When I badgered her demanding to know God’s name,
Since now I knew God isn’t a name but a title,
And that there were at least hundreds of gods throughout history with names
The only answer she could muster was “lord”
So I continued on in my perplexed state,
Though I stopped inquiring about it

Until my mother became involved with a cult,
Who spoon fed us answers that insure certainty and seal up all the cracks in our perception of reality
With a glue that we aren’t allowed to question
But had to apply liberally to our minds everyday

They provided me a name for this God I thought I had known all my life: Jehovah, they called him
And with God’s new name they provided a personality too:
Jehovah is a god who’s sick of everyone’s **** and is going to destroy everyone in a horrific fashion in Armageddon,
except the true Jehovah’s witnesses plus a few good hearted unbelievers who never had the chance to join the “one true religion”


So all my questions were answered...
Until they weren’t
Certainty is a drug like any drug,
It only gives temporary relief
And it wears off and you run out of your supply,
Your body convulses violently
And you can’t stop the screaming in your mind
This certainty was a antidote that could control all of your existential anxieties
But in being exposed to reality,
My false beliefs founded in superstition
Withered in reality’s limelight

Reality bites
Because with reality comes an undeniable truth
A truth that doesn’t have to be rationalized
But is inherent and honest
In an unforgiving way
But honest nonetheless,
And I think I want honesty in my life now,
But not the “truth” that religion purports to own,
Giving me the “truth” as long as I adopt its rituals, rules and customs
But the truth that belongs to both **** and beautiful things,
And how in life there are endless, painful contradictions
And how it can be over anytime for any of us
And how no one really knows for certain when we leave our bodies of flesh if there is a continuation of our consciousness
But I want it anyway,
I want the painful, ****** truth,
And not the lies of certainty.
Max Barsness Jan 8
If you've had a drink
If ya had a few
Or if you had to think of what ya knew
It's on the brink
Tounges of youth
Tons of truth

Oh where the wayward go

If I had to guess
What would it be
If I had it dressed
in nothing to see
It's on the desk
Naked physically
Caressed tears form
Each one a nominee

Oh where the wayward go

If I found my ships lost
Where do i invest my lumber
The goods have been tossed
Livings the new plunder
I belong to this boss
Calling out my new number
Tithe to the cross
Counting sheep for an exponential slumber

Oh where the wayward go

If I heard your song
If it made me cry
Would the captain be strong
Would you know why
The best & worst wrongs
May deserve to die
But the rest of this route's long
We deserve better inside

Oh where the wayward go

If every page turned
Another plot thickens
False casting endures
Another old man fishin'
Into the depth of the pure
A well of wealth made for wishin
New babies insure
An old one is sickened

Oh where the wayward go
Where one dreams it will
But desires to never know
Happenstance will
Have it's dance
You will have your horse
You will have your show
You will have a friend
You will have an end
Please understand
The wayward just want to know home

— The End —