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jeffrey robin Sep 2010
softly
pornographically
the image
of DAY
presented to us
vibrates
and resonates
and informs
and creates us
making us such
cute and ****
personalities
shaping reality correctly
that is
into a world
where everything
including people

ARE MERE COMMODITIES

commodities we may
"enter into"
if we ..
..."PAY"
that is
if we prove
we have done
whatever is necessary
to get from the rich man
his money

so soft
so
pornographically
.....safe

NOT REAL AT ALL

we *****, we f--k
we ball
whatever we call
the wasteful
"spilling"

OF ALL
OUR

SACRED SEED
jeffrey robin Jul 2010
the random onslaught of
typical words and
topical themes abounding!

sustaining the conventionality
of thoughtlessly living psuedo-life
to the  full extent of our inability
to communicate truth with eachother

all the real words have been erased and  debased
as we accept the abuse
heaped upon us by professioal thugs
and the ad men they  hire
to keep us addled brained and
thoroughly confused

a state of mind it seems
that we find
most comforting
safe and of course
family oriented
pixar people insted of  those of
flesh and blood

or driving stock cars
round and round and round
and round and round
etc

******* instead of love

yes!

pornographically presenting
bare meaninglessness to
the un-world of  the dead

un-words being un-said

day after day after day
jeffrey robin Dec 2010
morning yields a clearer vision
of our sense of total unclarity

we pose, we peruse
eachother
insanely drooling

aghast at our  innanity

------

she naked-ed my vision with pure
indecision
amid the confusion that we call "f--king"

i thought to throw her on the bed
and beat her up
BUT
we had done that already
so
we just stood in the middle of reality
listening
to the children wailing

--

it was good

------

pornographically induced prostitution
seems to be the key
to a higher education

we play with ourselves
we play and play

til the "toys" are broken

and we are broken

and then we face

with utter clarity
and incission

the true nature
of our prison
Olivia Dec 2019
I've grown aware that my brain
is tuned incorrectly.
The antenna that detects frequencies
(art, truth, and death turn things to marble)
of screams and whispers and noise
sticks out obscenely. Pornographically.
Sometimes I give in to it
and thread myself along its wires,
intertwining with the sharp ambiance.
My heart beats faster
An unholy fusion
And I contract, deliciously,
Undulating with the compressions in the air.
They light up the silent ******* scream
coursing through my veins.

Would he have liked it here?
Or would he have sat
Unobtrusively, as I do now
and longed to feel the surf lap against his toes?

— The End —