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"oscillates" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
My neck is a nest The warmth in it an ever present creature that Oscillates and breeds and collects And attracts creatures that do not My neck is a nest That doesn't just need to nurture but To be nurtured and Touched and kissed and electrified In order to keep that warmth My neck is a nest That rests on an unsteady beating branch And hangs under a filament-ridden sky Neither of which can ever agree But to disagree on whether Niceness or smoothness or alcohol or hidden agendas Should have anything to do with How the warmth is kept My neck is a nest Full of hatchlings that have already Dropped and soared Dropped and stopped Dropped and swooped at the last second Where they are now I have only an inkling. My neck is a nest That wishes to blend with the Twigs and leaves and eggshells That become it and Be humbly content with who It wants to attract and collect and warm.
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Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
My Neck is a Nest
sitting here but not my insides        in a twist my organs blooming, their flower landscapes rising in my solar plexus like poetry expanding its cellular shapes into         light frequencies I need way more. I need the pulling off       and stripping down of souls I need to meet in a depth of falling I need to be pushed off the silent gates of madness into endless sea no looking back senses piqued from slightest brush of oral butter pouring on hot cream my mouth, a searing crimson wound oscillates in contraction radar pulses ripe for intense tongue exploration          aching to be filled up with your distinct flavor My essence molecular is overflowing with fluid giving me life in throbbing, raw electric vibes whipped organic, in                  rolling tides Somewhere, out there                   our volcanic impulses                           meet in steamy ebbs                      and send energyflow to a new and ancient universe, magnetic and I am a raging heaven's child       wrapped in            a tight little               tourniquet      blood pumping through these veins              my longing for                  dark stretches    of intimate caresses to soothe   the spikes       of snaking pain Give me those airwaves that let me breathe freedom into the fields of our skin Let me run like wild herds of the animal within and as I find myself hanging off my       own   edges my many-braided loops          in zigzag split, a-fray my skin rips open, parting fibers that expose my very       DNA helix swivel      undulation hips grinding into                      soul reaching in to pull out fresh rebirth from between my folds O help me to allay this tender affliction undo me, already so I lose control one little shove and I am over the cliff deep into ocean **** over spliff I am beyond ready so grind it to the hilt Give me your tender-ripped heart, spill your honeycomb milk I am here, ravenous in the pan uncooked yet ripe saliva and breath steaming my own innards flushing out strife I am piquant hot pepper ready to be broiled my blood is already                              boiling my tender meat oiled mull me over in your oral cavity like sacred wine until I drip through your bones and down your spine Just meld with me                         and flow into that light tunnel of dark time and space so I can stake out my rhythms and claim       my new sacred       place
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Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 12:20 AM UTC
ravenous
sitting here but not my insides        in a twist my organs blooming, their flower landscapes rising in my solar plexus like poetry expanding its cellular shapes into         light frequencies I need way more. I need the pulling off       and stripping down of souls I need to meet in a depth of falling I need to be pushed off the silent gates of madness into endless sea no looking back senses piqued from slightest brush of oral butter pouring on hot cream my mouth, a searing crimson wound oscillates in contraction radar pulses ripe for intense tongue exploration          aching to be filled up with your distinct flavor My essence molecular is overflowing with fluid giving me life in throbbing, raw electric vibes whipped organic, in                  rolling tides Somewhere, out there                   our volcanic impulses                           meet in steamy ebbs                      and send energyflow to a new and ancient universe, magnetic and I am a raging heaven's child       wrapped in            a tight little               tourniquet      blood pumping through these veins              my longing for                  dark stretches    of intimate caresses to soothe   the spikes       of snaking pain Give me those airwaves that let me breathe freedom into the fields of our skin Let me run like wild herds of the animal within and as I find myself hanging off my       own   edges my many-braided loops          in zigzag split, a-fray my skin rips open, parting fibers that expose my very       DNA helix swivel      undulation hips grinding into                      soul reaching in to pull out fresh rebirth from between my folds O help me to allay this tender affliction undo me, already so I lose control one little shove and I am over the cliff deep into ocean **** over spliff I am beyond ready so grind it to the hilt Give me your tender-ripped heart, spill your honeycomb milk I am here, ravenous in the pan uncooked yet ripe saliva and breath steaming my own innards flushing out strife I am piquant hot pepper ready to be broiled my blood is already                              boiling my tender meat oiled mull me over in your oral cavity like sacred wine until I drip through your bones and down your spine Just meld with me                         and flow into that light tunnel of dark time and space so I can stake out my rhythms and claim       my new sacred       place
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126
If you're tired of carrying such weight, that droops your shoulders and skews your gait That you feel numb from the pain of the past, and every new problem leaves you aghast If you think you're one of the condemned and shady, because your troubles come and never leave, listen to the story about this young lady, and then thank me for what you shall receive She comes from I know not where, and she goes I know not when, spell her name, I know not how, and speak to her, I know not what Be not deceived thou yet my friend, for she does not hide what others conceal, she lives her life like an open book, and every page has something to reveal But what makes her unique and what makes her rare, is how she oscillates between fun and care, she looks at black and white in the same color - red and that, I guess, is enough said You may think she is born of privilege, but let me tell you that is not true, she gets her share of joy and pain, trust me, she's just like you And just like you she's afraid of insects, and ghosts and ghouls and all that stuff, but unlike you she doesn't run away from fear, and unlike you she's pretty tough So next time you feel like it's too much to bear, and you feel engulfed in fires, just read this poem and once again, think about the girl who inspires!
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May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Keep Spreading Happiness
I The stars are double-weighted tonight. bulging, beating, they sink from their proper lurches. One by one across the murky evening they sputter out. What natural light remains seeps from that subtly gaudy bauble of a moon. II Peeled eucalyptus, ice-plant, new-mown summer grass, dandelion, sloping hill, carved stone bench, the view, the reflected city-light off the bay water, white-washed near-tenements. I am firmly locked up, chained in a bone cage of chemically manipulated cranial plates; serotonin, synapses, dopamine, dendrite create a web like seaweed constricting the sea; this computer of a head calculates, oscillates, and processes the sensory. III My body is a tattered jib sail flowing in the light sprinkling rain: the simmer of the gale: a hollow cathedral abandoned by the believers: a vessel for my marrow: an imaginary catalyst for profundity: an incarceration: a hull of particles arrested: some part of an experience.
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Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
Kate Sessions
   My woman is the essence of being, she gathers the ruin of the day to offer moonbeams. Her touch, geared to moods of the moment, oscillates between slap and caress.... is always, though, kind, considerate, caring and layered betwixt lavender levels of love. Mother of my boys, protector of the clan, matriarch and Monarch. My Janet, the very love of my life. M.
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Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
My Woman....
**It seemingly oscillates from The realm of practicality to that of blatant absurdity A fearfully bold doubting Thomas of sorts Embroiled in self-esteem issues In constant conflict with itself Sitting on the fence always A pleasant consolation And being a daredevil a fantasy Nurtured in the remotest miniscule part of the brain Tell me this aint fearless cowardice**
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Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
An austere heart.
*A serious danger threatens the Stability of our country; Democracy dangles upon a thread & oscillates to every poll. Today we wait at the crossing Of two paths; which way will we go? Will we pursue spite and ignorance? Our way of life hinges upon The prudence of our countrymen. Will they rise to the occasion Or flounder at the voting booth? One or two impetuous votes Could change the course of history. Will we be on the right side of history? The tortuous months soon to come Will shape our fragile destiny. So many important questions Remain unanswered as of now, But I can only hope that we Will avert a catastrophe.*
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Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
At The Crossroads Of History
Alien to me, is this falsity, Always in difficult straits, My mind oscillates between states, Of rotten conscience and loyalty.
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Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
The WHITE LIE.
Fittingly meticulous, finicky Precisely mitigating routine Tracing excessively Over cornered mezzanine Stray penciled lines Candidly contrived Archaic dossier Balanced centers Unavoidably erase Guiltily lost the way Confused compass oscillates Irregularly unanticipated Perpetually transitory Tender heart insecurity Ego sensitivities in vain glory Sacrificed arrogance dignity On the day of defeat
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Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Muggin'
The darkness the chuckling expectation static on fire the strings shake the leather oscillates the ebony follows the ivory the saucer vibrates hands reach for the sky piggy backs jostle beams search out crowds go wild ears open wide the voices converge booming tubes coma inducing throaty in unison musical ‘in same nation’ together in the moment words are visualised mindless contact in soulful understanding the rhythm goes on the pulse rises the adoration becomes I am transformed into my idol
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Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 11:10 AM UTC
Lovers telephone
my spirit wends the woof and warp ~~~~~ appreciation ~~~~~ the aperture of my eyes apprehend an amalgamation of subtle ochre and olive ~~~~~ the shuttle oscillates into the oblivion of a henna hued horizon ~~~~~ cacti in clusters huddle under "Mother Trees" and other larger spiny denizens of the desert ~~~~~ moisture is maintained by miniscule leaf and maximum storage ~~~~~ saguaro still sanguine with water ~~~~~ what a tenuous tapestry is knotted in this temporal craft ~~~~~ awe inspired by the wheeling of hawk even vultures have elegant eloquence of place ~~~~~ i floated all above this macrocosm higher and higher til I was only only a mote in the eye of EAGLES
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Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
woven through the desert
And the ships were fogbound for three days Their hulls split smiling wide by the spray of the channel We're hovering with them in the dimness of a drunk sun crawling under A dusk devoid of color Welcome rainclouds follow countless bouts of bleakness Slate-gray miasma of refinery exhaust swirls Mingling skyward with the overcast scene and all it's gulls and cranes Cawing in the dampness toward their roosts under jetties Those frayed hurricane tarps on dilapidated rooftops Laid creased and faded by morose Texas suns Epitaphs blotting dismal landscapes of copper and olive And smashed concrete begging to be reclaimed by nature As all of it is when the seasons heave Our interim footnotes disguised by the power of purpose The notion that one day our role will be to make life better for each other (Oh, how we loathe being found out) Instead of grimacing, sage-like, naked and angelic in our blindness by the mirror While each shred of truth oscillates into blue ruin and we shake, shake, shake Mesmerized by houses where we once lived and stories we must have led in them In varied and skewed alternate realities, and in dreams we once had Some of which paint homage to our own grim summers here Some in which where my roads leading home were less obfuscated Instead being laid out like the chemtrail creases drawn solemn on our brows (We won't notice them until our thirties) This far south, everything is the ageless vacuum we've known since conception Thusly we're bound to the irony of it all by dull tradition and the will to break it Among all other shams bred real by the ambitions of confused white men Their warring remains reigning evident within my crooked heart Under whichever corner of earthen floor it may be buried Your guess is as good as anyone's
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Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
First World Artifacts
And the ships were fogbound for three days Their hulls split smiling wide by the spray of the channel We're hovering with them in the dimness of a drunk sun crawling under A dusk devoid of color Welcome rainclouds follow countless bouts of bleakness Slate-gray miasma of refinery exhaust swirls Mingling skyward with the overcast scene and all it's gulls and cranes Cawing in the dampness toward their roosts under jetties Those frayed hurricane tarps on dilapidated rooftops Laid creased and faded by morose Texas suns Epitaphs blotting dismal landscapes of copper and olive And smashed concrete begging to be reclaimed by nature As all of it is when the seasons heave Our interim footnotes disguised by the power of purpose The notion that one day our role will be to make life better for each other (Oh, how we loathe being found out) Instead of grimacing, sage-like, naked and angelic in our blindness by the mirror While each shred of truth oscillates into blue ruin and we shake, shake, shake Mesmerized by houses where we once lived and stories we must have led in them In varied and skewed alternate realities, and in dreams we once had Some of which paint homage to our own grim summers here Some in which where my roads leading home were less obfuscated Instead being laid out like the chemtrail creases drawn solemn on our brows (We won't notice them until our thirties) This far south, everything is the ageless vacuum we've known since conception Thusly we're bound to the irony of it all by dull tradition and the will to break it Among all other shams bred real by the ambitions of confused white men Their warring remains reigning evident within my crooked heart Under whichever corner of earthen floor it may be buried Your guess is as good as anyone's
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30
falling into subterranean sleep, I notice such blackness    bypasses a pinprick of light; dreams are avenues    to enigmas presenting themselves as someone forgotten. sleep laves labyrinths with incandescent sequins.     everybody is strange here, interlocutor commune, still yet nothing I can understand – better be braille, or     contrapuntal dance, but still you uttered nothing; your locutionary silence seeks no contentment.                                            i have never heard such riot of laughter toss me out of sleep. perhaps it was our undoing,    our deepest, secretive entrails unloosen us in such fashion    worth depicting as obscenely courageous, the width of arm-span the size of outstretched islands, and stepping into    that particular wideness, are my small feet traipsing    swiftly throbbing in the heat of choosing: to go      or     to stay – cyclic spectacle that eschews             dailiness that I know I may have forgotten you in faces of lampposts, the pared skin of onion, the gleaming washlines,      the white feral on the rooftops, a blank piece of paper,             a munificent Bulacan sky, or any sky at that since they are all bleached and they arrive not with wind but     with lashes: the color of white that flagellates, that blinds,         that oscillates in space which is then reduced to the      back of my hand: I know this. I know all of this.                                                 we were not naked, yet something          buried in the skin reveals itself disarmed, mumbling              an earnest palaver of questions I have no answers for.                      what happened? where are we? should we just – die?                                    an echoing reverb, or simply a song – a metronomic           carousal of swan-song I have heard before persists                             and maybe all this time,                                                        we have been awake, in separate cities.
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Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
Subterranean / Transatlantic
falling into subterranean sleep, I notice such blackness    bypasses a pinprick of light; dreams are avenues    to enigmas presenting themselves as someone forgotten. sleep laves labyrinths with incandescent sequins.     everybody is strange here, interlocutor commune, still yet nothing I can understand – better be braille, or     contrapuntal dance, but still you uttered nothing; your locutionary silence seeks no contentment.                                            i have never heard such riot of laughter toss me out of sleep. perhaps it was our undoing,    our deepest, secretive entrails unloosen us in such fashion    worth depicting as obscenely courageous, the width of arm-span the size of outstretched islands, and stepping into    that particular wideness, are my small feet traipsing    swiftly throbbing in the heat of choosing: to go      or     to stay – cyclic spectacle that eschews             dailiness that I know I may have forgotten you in faces of lampposts, the pared skin of onion, the gleaming washlines,      the white feral on the rooftops, a blank piece of paper,             a munificent Bulacan sky, or any sky at that since they are all bleached and they arrive not with wind but     with lashes: the color of white that flagellates, that blinds,         that oscillates in space which is then reduced to the      back of my hand: I know this. I know all of this.                                                 we were not naked, yet something          buried in the skin reveals itself disarmed, mumbling              an earnest palaver of questions I have no answers for.                      what happened? where are we? should we just – die?                                    an echoing reverb, or simply a song – a metronomic           carousal of swan-song I have heard before persists                             and maybe all this time,                                                        we have been awake, in separate cities.
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32
chewing each sound like a dusty paint chip; they don’t sit well, dark, wooden stairways wrapped around my throat, banisters sherry carpet running down the middle. trial steps, you buy with each motion swollen bones. “sturdy windowsills,” that’s true. we peel off raindrops, closing the canister. i sneer outside; that sun oscillates, with its blistering pirouette. costume design left it naked. yet, this sallow creaking in my attic is a conscious decision. possession, not ownership.
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Jun 11, 2011
Jun 11, 2011 at 2:41 PM UTC
Symbiosis (A Love Song)
Caught in the maze Of amazing veins ****** cells excel Tunneling thru’ Vessels and vestibules Mind oscillates vacillates In chaotic amplitude Like a pendant in pendulum Of wishes and vices Divine and devilish Wise and unwise Pride and prejudice Dual mind is in duel Behind the temple Brain at home in skull Will and wit seated well in skill Rein, rule or roam and ruin Embroidered and embroiled Embodied and emboldened Meditate, mediate, Cogitate, agitate Churn and spurn Nurture the soul within Explore the radiant light At the end of the tunnel Mind, the deity on duty As mysterious as its Maker, The Brain behind the brain
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Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
Mind Blowing
She appears a determined stare or the other, a drop of tear, he oscillates like a pendulum, between her changing moods- that take him by surprise.But he is blissfully at ease. His swing every moment, spans between love and an empty space, ebullient life and dark forgetfulness without any end. On the periphery everything appears to have a symmetry, in the river,water rushes towards the sea, watching it from the bank, one thinks everything goes fine, but to see what happens in life one needs to look deeper in to the current, keep ears closer to the ground to understand. Love has more power than even tempered iron, you'll see, if you understand how it works on every situation, even surpassing your own estimation.                  "Come hither" her  eyes plead without even words, he quickly responds,                     his heart allows it to happen even without a thought.                    The wind, not giving any hint, swiftly moves and caresses the flower,                    Love is blind, plays it's games, without even logic, would you believe?                    Let's just flow together, forgetting everything else.
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Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Making sense of a flow without any rules
Caught in the maze Of amazing veins ****** cells excel Tunnelling thru’ Vessels and vestibules Mind oscillates vacillates In chaotic amplitude Like a pendant in pendulum Of wishes and vices Divine and devilish Wise and unwise Pride and prejudice Dual mind is in duel Behind the temple Brain at home in skull Will and wit seated well in skill Rein, rule or roam and ruin Embroidered and embroiled Embodied and emboldened Meditate, mediate, Cogitate, agitate Churn and spurn Nurture the soul within Explore the radiant light At the end of the tunnel Mind, the deity on duty As mysterious as its Maker, The Brain behind the brain
0
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Mind Blowing
And it weaves, and breathes you can’t see it Capitulates and oscillates you can’t control it Floats as subdued whispers you can’t mute it Gently brushes, supple touches it’s not textile Fluctuating ever pulsating it won’t be stilled As a reticent billow it cannot wither Surging, swelling, never telling the Delphic poetic
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Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Delphic Poetic
the instant, the instance, is that your body? the clear cleansing storefront windows ask for clarification. is that your body, presently? is that your body presentably? just in that secular instant, again, over, the body’s inquisition clarifies, asking, requesting in a babel of foreign languages, repeat after me! each window pane that follows repeats the query, the themes in each, tiny variations, the variables of rhythm, timbre, harmony, engine timing minute minutiae alterations, in that passing milli-instant, each a separate instance for each separate pane. in every instance.   in every language. the accusations tonality oscillates in wavelength pitch. quest nonetheless similar,      is that your body? all the replies are mirrored reciprocal. that was my past. this my present. the next, a future vision. the here, the now, all of it, each a flashcard. the insistence! *when your body falls finally upon the sidewalks concrete filthy city Persian tapestry, the shameful answer tastes always the same.* always the same.
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May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
the instant, the instance, is that your body?
youre bringing me down not to the tank floor where your image above seems distorted and oscillates between grim and precious but where you deflate me below where my ego floats me feet parallel third eye perpendicular like you and yours bringing me way down not below the bed (unless you like that kind of thing) where only the darkened image of your lowest extremities are in view only your most base visible but you enfeeble me beneath where my height normally is measured knees grinding clutching my claws into the ground down down down (man) not still, submerged within the earth where thistle and clover block my view of you your tears watering my marble marker but you pacify me buried beyond my anxieties placidity settling astride my bone to envelop my quintessence
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Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Bringing Me Down
A lone quanta, adrift in the vacuum, drawn by an invisible force, yet bound by no field. It oscillates, collides, dissipates— fragmented into uncertainty, its wavefunction collapsing before it can be known.
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Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
Unrequited Love
Quantum grave robbery corpse bride stood up acting as a grotesque sign post warning but that tragic sideways glance splits seconds and intersections spatters concrete bodies Pathological investigation and morbid dissection bears the heaviest weight of horrifying and paralyzing eternal return when time loops breaks you upon wheels Tethered in bad faith reminiscent of clamped surgical invasive insertion Ouroboros chasing the dragon only to find the dragon is itself taking shape as endless mass fed media distraction Nativity naivety engaged in misstep of evolution smolders like oaths broken from talking heads revealed as trumpeting propaganda warlocks and even in an infinite period of time they are still liars No longer concerned with if it curves oscillates stays flat explodes is empty Only want to know when it all ends.
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Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Wormholes
We don’t have winds like this Here in the shire Right now the world is screaming Squirming on its axis 'I am here!' it shouts However much you **** me A deafening rush The trees could crush me The battling branches break, fell me The low clouds lumbar onwards Indifferent, closing down The last sneak of blue The west-south-westerly whips All grass and grain flat Against dark earth Freshly turned by the blade Autumn comes abruptly this year The leaves are torn to the ground The path ahead a boil of branches Lashing at me The dry-gold giant Hogweed Oscillates with insanity The tall beeches mope and weep above The wind an inferno Its sound like steam is cleansing The earth is separate today It says 'fuck you!' The wind can hear me It Shrieks at me My heart beats a little faster Once again that thought of oblivion Like diving under waves 26/8/20
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Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 5:15 PM UTC
We don’t have winds like this...