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Paul Rousseau Jun 2015
(The page is torn on the left alignment)

...And then they would place their pistols beneath their chins and pull the trigger. I would see it as some cylindrical spatter of blood escaping from the tops of their heads, like over exaggerated gore from the adult movies. So what would happen next for them exactly? Blackness? No. That is still something. Perhaps just empty. No. Can't be. Empty has potential to be filled, rendering it not quite nothing. I suppose it would be like before you were born. Do you remember it?
Sam Temple May 2014
twitching muscle above my right eye
signifying stress and unexplored options
reminding me that something sits, unresolved
bouncing as a child in an inflatable wonderland
neurotic nerve-ending, ending my peace
pieces of broken mirror lay at my unshod feet
maximizing rage, a scream passes chapped lips
spittle gathering at the corners
while lunacy takes hold
10,000 scenes pass by my inner-eye
each with its own special irritant
seeking to disrupt the easy-going nature
put forth by sandals and elastic-waist(ed) short pants
wasted years bothered by triviality
sitting wasted, wasting my time
and that of the government agency
which employees this sorry ***
gassed in class passing with class
recoiling from the derailment
I try to regroup
but the short pants line
has the tears too thick to type
pitch black god8 May 2019
~

dark early pre-dawn

body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance

but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try  tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary

“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods

this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods
5:29am April 24th
Inkveined Jan 2017
I find myself saying things

About how stupid it all was

But I'd be lying if I said I really believed so
June West Oct 2012
The time goes by, (bye)
But I am still here

Or maybe from another’s perspective, (yours)
I am still there. (ignorant,)

Whether I am just pondering (stuck)
lingering, or dreaming

The constant numbness (disassociation)
The intake and outtake on each breath

searches for you.
John Darnielle May 2020
New rivers forming on the surface of the world
I mean to say that it's raining
Otis Redding tried to tell me there'd be days like this
But I didn't believe him
Yeah Otis Redding talked about this kind of thing
When I'm only semi-conscious and I hear the phone ring

Let the dogs come out
I'm ready now
Let the dogs come out
I'm ready now
                                                                                
And I remember where I was the last time that it rained like this
And I remember where I was the last time it was raining this hard
And do you remember where I was
And I know that you remember where we were last time it rained like this

Let the dogs come out
I'm ready now
Let the dogs come out
I'm ready now
Cyclone Dec 2019
Mask my expressions with this ski mask, can't use my poker face cause my smile is big, my smile is pretty, I'd rather you not see me than let me deceive you, I give you minutes to escape. This is why I only strike when the freaks come out, they overshadow my intentions; I'm scared of watching my shadow do wrong and I'm in for a long night. Wish me luck, I might pay you a visit so be prepared. You'll get to know me; I'll say remember me, and be distictive from the others cause I'll give you a chance to take your **** back, and leave the scene on a cliffhanger, can you hang?
Star BG Oct 2017
A journey to and through the heart I go,
moving as the intake
gracefully travels to outtake.
As moments slow and energies rise.

The journey into the heart I go,
a singing to match beat.
Singing like birds that echo divinely.

A journey to and through the heart I move,
dancing as the intake
elegantly travels to outtake.
As sun shines and energies vibrate.

The journey into the heart I go,
where there are no limitations.
Where love of self lives forever.
That is my life path to live in the heart regardless of what life and my higher self throws me. :)
they last as the birds chirp in heavens bound
dangling wires thy reaching to touch
grasping thy reality you profound
massive outtake he has not yet done-
launch.
trying a little diff writing style :)
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2020
to take no compensation for competing
with words:
   with no need to allocate therefore
to even summon rhyme -
or for new measure -
                     but a spontaneity:
uninterrupted -
                    on a whim of a cat's whisker...
on a promise of rain from a crazed
solitary cloud hanging antiques of greenery
above an epoch of desert...

all of this and perhaps some more...
rejuvenated from an older concession -
to have drank and have words
as ship and oars come crashing and whirling
before an altar of the shore...
drunk and with an absence of music
in this silent grotto weave a charm
of laughter...

or a return to music and soberierity...
something more architectural:
                 with new yet the same old eyes:
a critique of...
the old new postcard and handwritten
scribbles...
             yet less of this carrot and stick
donkeying about the place...
            what('s) new from this mud-flinging
corpus of the ******...
         by the gallows of tongues...
this pavlovian measure of society...

  now that they advertise what the gob
once sold... apparently there's no use for it...
             what ate the mirror and the privacy
of a photo-album...
                  this pavlovian measure of society...
oh grand words,
    empty cans kicked down the same
trodden paths...

or perhaps a new study in wording -
      an imitation of colour and stretched
if not merely imploded geometry...
          trigger for trigonometry what once
was the revision of cubic?
        
              if only i wrote to measure:
or wrote as imitation (of) tailoring -
                     soothsayer: if i wrote for a waggling
for oration -
              dress me up in a canvas of
quotes and borrowed down-beaten brows...
still not enough:
until my own comes wriggling
from teasing a labour for amore's myth...
or a better, modern gargantuan levy
to obscure the tightly packed formal trust:

coincides: none here...
                             elsewhere... everything
that doesn't have to match-up-to-standards
of: interrogation - quo vadis(?)
  
                 σε εγώ ο ίδιος...

but now that it does: so it is.
preservationman Jun 2023
Bite taken out of the negative fight
Darkness into the marvelous light
Being tough was reversed in out
Replaced with everyday spiritual while moving about
Spiritual Gangs are now spiritual brothers
Inspiring words
All spiritual being heard
The motto, “Spiritual Brothers Outtake. Surround and be found. Give thanks and let praise be the sound”
Spiritual gangs with a word for you
Are you ready to pursue?
Men Of Faith
Going the length
There days were rough and tough
The spiritual brothers finally said enough
A new aim
Heaven’s target
Bulls eye on the mark
We are the Ready Set Go Gangsters
On the move with a message to prove
Goodness in heart with appreciation on high
The reason they have an eye on Thy
From beginning to end
No pretend
Spiritual Gangsters all the way
Praises up
Star BG Nov 2017
Inside a meditative vault,
I ponder.
Breath being key
Intention the catalyst.

I sit allowing
intake of breath to move
gracefully to the outtake.

Eyes shut hearing heartbeat.
Mind is on hold
as light filters in
vibrating words.

I find peace
as vault opens
and the riches
are my own voice.
Inspired by seema
Star BG Nov 2017
In upper regions of air beyond clouds
I drift, inside ethers of breath.

Breezes catch senses, feeling its gentle hug.
Sun expands vessel, within dormant mind.

Formula of breath opens heart,
as intake moves gently to outtake.

Liftoff fuels sensations successfully,
while worries crumble for
consciousness to soar.

A grand moment ensues, as body functions slow,
and full divine visions graces eyes.

Landscapes revile,
barrage of angels in grand formation.
Angels who carry unconditional love, I feed upon.

Moments dissipate, for gateway to open wide.
For self to align with energies of love.

Compassion and joy brews to beat of heart,
as OM chant plays while wisdom whispers.
Blessings circulate inside vortex to be infused in self
by winged beings.

Gratitude becomes undertow of thoughts,
as soul in human form
begins to return to 3D reality
while meditation concludes.

Concludes, with a full backpack of love received
to continue in my own constructs of life.


StarBG © 2017
Star BG Sep 2017
My thoughts become clues to master
to evaluate inside breath
that spirals.

Pockets of air
with volcanic energies erupt,
to be transformed into writers words.

Expressions,
that like footprints with shadows
become fuel for the poet to investigate.

The magic of moment leads,
as the intake inhalation
rolls gently into outtake.
As my focus carries me
to a rainbow sky
filled with adventure.

Today, I shall ride
the wave of clues,
to dance with clarity
inside love.

For chance to feed
the mind and body.

A chance to align
with enlightenment
so I become whole again.

StarBG © 2017
Inspired by Suja Gunasegaran
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
please! i need this reiterated!
what's so wrong with "subjectivity"?
is that a feminine trait?
is the "masculine", "suddenly"
fizzying out like
a soft-drink infused with
carbon dioxide: the breath of the dying
composed of bubble?

what is a spem ******* into
a tissue? a genocide?
what is a ***** *******
into a female?
the next jesus christ...
the abortion scrambled egg?!

at what point to i disown...
disavow the coming
of the Serbs slaughtering the Ottoman
muslims in former yugoslavia?

i ******* into a tissue...
i disown i disavow...
hello the vatican mafia
of: why not simply cut my ***** off
like i'm the third *****
gas chamber conscript...
because the new wave dodos
are about to flock, settle down...

when the ***** is mine...
but when a woman comes
into contact with it...
vampires... aren't they simply romances
told of familial relations
associated with lepers...
aren't vampires the sort
to breed a.i.d.s. -
that lost acronym...

aren't vampires the romance
associated with a blood-disease?!
romance... my ***...
call him either hey-zeus or bat-fixation-allam...
jesus and balaam...
two donkey riddles among
horses... and broken spines... of the jockeys...

   acne... an excess of my body producing
too many white blood cells..
right, major major....
understood! standing uptight and on
privy!
i have mushroom of these dead
white blood cells pouring
out of my ****** pores
            (when squeezed or forced
under a pincer of the nails seeing
not manicure)...
like belzeebub taking a ****
with readily available eager maggots!

mosquitos i'd **** for fun...
flies? i'm rather bothered with my new
faith: the plethora of doubt...
faith should never become
the antonym: negation...
islam abhors the unbelievers...
un- is a negation...
non- is a doubt...
islam should pardon those in doubt
as it embraces those
"with faith"...

   i doubt because... i've seen all
the other cul de sacs of expressing an anchor
to an already sinking ship...

the arabs do not like the turks...
last time i heard, from that random...
lawrence... the camel jockeys abhor
the turks... after all... the quran came unto
the arabs... as did the oil...
the turks are the lesser nomads...
kazakhs... or that other rugga-muffin tribe
from the belly of hunger that's
siberia... the tundra hinterland...
not exactly a saharan fata morgana...

i like doubt to be:
the combined negativity of emotions
with: how can one conjure a positivity
of thought? how can anyone even genesis
a binary of thought?
does... a non-binary of *** even "work"?
i also like doubt to be:
the motive for cogito per se -
it's an open and the end:
scenario of words...

             turk is the primo muslim...
heard the arab...
said wha'?!    the turk was to dwarf the arab?
what about all that sunni and sh'ite islam
debacle?
clearly it's not merely an iranian "terminology"
lost to xerxes beating the waves
of Thermopylae...

the man thus... i guess i must also be...
no... back in the day only men were literate...
i was also inclined to be a favourite
of the spoon and fork...
i must be a woman to write!
i must be a woman to write!
as was Horace prone!
               as was Dante prone!
****'s expressio! muschi alles das ist!

wasn't an immediacy of schism apparent?
the persians would not bow before
some arabs - even with their now apparent
gold... these camel jockeys...

nor a turk... in a suit... a muslim is a turk
or some dirt mongol -
the lament of baghdad?!
no wonder the persians would deem
themselves...
protestant or catholic?
i don't think it matters...
we're still waiting for the one true monotheism
to reach Lebanon and the protestant guise...
the catholic primates of Tehran...
and the orthodox ball-crushing origins
of a Mehdi in waiting come...
Mecca under ibn-Saud...

            look to the east...
what is east of Mecca? Riyadh...
                                such are my eclectic concerns...
a turk a muslim...
unless of course...
       some **** entered the notre-dame de paris...
left undistrubed...
like mehmed II... entering the hagia sophia...
almost immediately wishing
to contract building a replica...

  whatever the name is / was...

for all their riches beneath the sand...
their yachts... boredom from wealth
is a fickle bedroom demon to tame...
    sooner or later... Moldova laments:
why are we not part of Romania
and not given st. petersburg's window
into the world: with an access to the seas?!

why do egyptians or any north africans
need to be invoked in this affair is beyond me...
well... the moors...
i once knew a people that made pyramids
by ******* into the sand
having retained hope for mountains
by having ivory moulds to replica
that sort of ambitions...

the pyramid is the never before seen
mountain... among the dunes...
what is a desert? what a mountain range looks like...
if you have... the sort of dodo patience
necessary...
genesis *** ape? really? that's it?
i can look further afield than:
just becomes it looks similar to man...
just because...
you stated the categories...
a whale is a mammal!
                  
           and, thus, somewhow,
coming back to time via journalism?
seriously?!

                    i'm out of "it" quiet literally without
any constraints of consentual time ref.:
consensual...
                   what the **** happened to:
i consent to?
                  
again: what's wrong with subjectivity?
am i not assured being: being subjected to something...
don't i have to be: a priori: subject to "it"...
before i can be: a posteriori: objective about it?
what's with all this, modern,
objection to subjectivity "sensibility"?

on the basis of objectivity per se...
sorry... no...
you have to be subjected to algebra-A...
before you can spew retrogade objectivity algebra-B...
for no greater purpose other than
to peacock on the "logic" spectrum...
first comes subjectivity... of being subjected to...
then... only then comes the desired
objectivity... you can only be objective...
a posteriori... when you have been subjected...
a priori to "it": as ever... always the most elusive "it"...

subjectivity is "b'aaah... b'aaah bad"...
objectivity is: cul de sac "logistics" of perfecting
gwam-ar... or grammar: in velsh...

but how can you become objective / be, objective...
if you haven't been the / a... subject of...
something to... object to...
subjectivity is the terra firma...
and it tends to "hide" when coming across
a non-schizoid non-bicameral
non-bilingual... binary...
                           to harvest objectivity...
i guess you first need to be subjected to...
what you'll later object to...

in the safety of an "objective" 1 + 1 = 2...
is the subjective a priori...
and the objective a posteriori?
well... no... or no: i hope...
i hope but i can't hope...
since i was so ******* naive...
          
             nonetheless... this suppossed superiority
of objectivity over subjectivity...
binary in some circles...
                zeitnahsprechen...
berliner: schwer-auf knifflig-stück...
         do i look like a ******* gypsy-king
diet-prone on solely: makrone?
looking for alcholics among the arabs...
and... caffeine and sugar addicted norwegians, too?

objectivity: alles gut!
beginning from... where?
   nothing requiring you being subjected to:
in order to object to a furthering recurrence?
even a crow listens in on what i type...
he has to be the sole insomnia prone
bird in this vill-age...
unless of course... hoarding odin is listening...
and that wasn't just any crow...
it was...      ᛗᚢᚾᛁᚾᚾ...

to hell with ᚻᚢᚷᛁᚾᚾ...
         i'm with my memory... somewhere else...
and it's certainly not a seat
in... playing role... for some cameo cinema
outtake!

there we go... a croaking in the night...
mind you... you always have a pornographic
seat of viewing pigeons trying to procreate...
right before your eyes...
hard to spot one crow courting another
crow in ned (yes, not need)...
of a desperado ****...
                pigeons just love voyeurs...
crows: still remember the mother woods...

and will not: **** or pretend to **** in
public... pigeons on the other hand?
**** anywhere **** anything that moves...

so much for a new or nuanced god...
iconoclasm drifter...
like C is supposed to represent
the half-lit moon of death's harmonica
played into the whistling scythe...
or some other wordly load of *******.

— The End —