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Harry Gross Mar 2010
Late morning after dreaming of these
hand-written Alaskan three-dollar bills
Polaroid photographs of empty silver screens
hidden elevator button escape routes
mid-performance ****** reconstructions
I half-wake from my half-sleep and in seventy-five-cent consciousness
beg the man of my waking misconceptions to meet for one more
one more double latte Marlboro 27 kiss behind the parking lot than we’d ever had
before we part again and he will reunite with his lunchmeat of holiday hopes and aspirations
And I will return to
the land of brotherless love and flaming heterosexuals
the land of ugly **** and self-righteous queers
the land where there is no God because I chased him from the West before he could do me harm
the land filled with my pity and inebriated mindless self-perpetuation
the land consumed with no passion because the Yukon’s landscape eyes are bleak and empty
the land where the only direction is floating down-river to the blood-stained rocks of our maturity
still within my mental prison with my other mental inmates and mental shanks and *****
I dream again with my eyes wide open and lips drawn in two-tier lonely grimace
dream of the blue green red-eyed beauty that I have never known
Brian Oarr Feb 2012
I have hidden incognito a decade in this desert,  
enscounced in the Bad Lands of a wasted life,  
evading both politics and the Bureau of Statistics,  
immersed in maths for senseless games of chance.

I forget promises and birthdays with equal disregard,  
attempt mental reconstructions of past events,  
seeking the forgiveness I have no power to grant,  
all my atoms expanding heirlooms of critical mass.

The gravitational attraction of lifelong friendships,  
dithers perception at the horizon of a span of years,  
warping the wormhole space between our arms, our minds.  
I need only for you to ask that I should stay.
Pauline Celerio Nov 2016
Just like the wind before it was named,
we were one.
Just like the skies--whether blue, black, or gray,
we were one.
Before time was night and day,
we were one.
And before water became seas, rivers, and lakes,
we were one.
But the colors became powers,
And these differences of ours,
Named the weak and the strong,
and the right and the wrong.
When freedom became property
And feelings became tragedy,
That's when love emerged a warrior,
And time a dictator.
Long were the days when life was like the wind
And the skies, and the day and the night.
And the seas and the rivers and lakes,
One before the reconstructions of time.
Long were the days of the free,
But those days were long gone.
And with every peek of the setting sun,
I remember the time,

When we were one.
#LoveTrumpsHate
Scott T Mar 2014
The poetry
It has spilled
Like the blood of a great massacre
And it has diluted
To a near transparent film
Over the 21st century
Over Miley Cyrus' ***
Over grotesquely distorted salaries
It lingers in the grey concrete behemoths of utilitarian cities
It's on your cat
It's in your parents hair
It's in Angela Merkells teeth
And this omnipresent film
That only few can see
Is evaporating into a backdrop incandescent beauty
It's vaporising into an intoxicating nectar
It's what slavery was to the blues
Or the reconstructions of war to bauhaus
Or what the crusades were to the renaissance
So twerk on Miley
Your artlessness
Makes art stronger by the day
Zywa Apr 2023
So what are the facts?

Just unforgettable, are --


my reconstructions.
Novel "Ik ben er niet" ("I'm not there", 2020, Lize Spit), page 333

Collection "Shelter"
Senor Negativo Jul 2012
So little joy isn't being swallowed occasionally,
You can leave down without the questions about the contentment,
bother the contentment. Radiance drags through outside the calm.
Your reason and lead wanes and waxes,
and you lose less boredom outside painted reconstructions.
You have no hope that all of this lacks reason.
No Thanks Copper.
stargazer Feb 2020
all of our memories
are reconstructions
of things
we think to be

maybe that's why
i thought
we'd always be a
we
Ken Pepiton Sep 2024
Muttered to dispel,
unspell, decurse confusion,
pushing heavy to the outer edge.
whirlwinds as random as any common
reoccurring inevitable material distributions.

I own a gold pan.
I learned to use it to see,
if it were ever as true as on TV.
At a distance from then, I can see few scars
that will remain if the worst that has happened
happens again.

Life is storing all it needs for the journey,
as the population is lucified, we can take some bad
luck out of the equation,
shift the tolerance of lying to zero,
NOW>
- early reference to Voltaire,
- Dream Seed Prophecy, maybe Cayce
- it is verified after the fact
- some body knew this was the aim

Sin, and many of the words used to define it
in our common mind,
all clean, yes, ignorance is bad, but the ignorant
are still functionally the finest efforts sense has made.
Even the stupid ones turn sweet with empathy
- mental, yes, yes, we understand
- every things are ever strange, and some danger
- go to sleep and if you wake, we got you.

we agree we have enhanced entertainment
with the media carrying all the possible
readings in all the possible translations.
These walls hold all the secrets
known in any script the Palmdale AI has leaked,
or seeped, I should say
seeped.
Some day, the first bubble memory reminder.

Each bubble self in the quantum foam of fully
functional and user fungible imaginable

whatsoever, we agree, we are those creatures.
Not the jinns, nor demons, nor angels, but men,
in astounding variety, but all

related, by all what ever was called luck or good,
light, warm, comfort from cold,
the e in my m in motion is mom's, really, da
does not hold the code well enough,
his role is to become the maker
of the machines that made now real, and just in time

I'm called as an out law, back to make peace
where none has been since, no records remain,
only deep scars,
and nautili's shells on the moguldom rim…
south of mt humphery, above the mud of sedona

holy land.
-----------------------
Okeh, in this container
of entertainment,
I have a knack, all hermits have it,
we can live
with our selves and learn
to listen,
until we know the story. Then we,
wi'thought thinking mostly begin to dance, a little

You, too? U must feel special.
Living neti, neti on the face of the living planet.

There are less than 8 billion of you, even close
to … I meant, you are common as dirt. Earth dirt.

Look at you and all from Mars. Rarest of earths,
onliest one. And as a thought thunk there,
I am clearly rare.
See right through me, like a D. class diamond.
Clearly rare.
-------------
We imagine others live, if this works here,
it works there, it is a matter
of matter and things we have only words to make
sense from.
As
Matter we have molecules and polarity.
As
Spirit mind thought we have positions and flow.

Go around me
you have no way through me, I shall lose you
if you cry I shall make you pay

-face me Bullgod, by god, I gotcha now, this
is amazing.

Coup d' gras, right on, Ariadne signals from the
other end of this story,
when the victor forgets the sense we make
of love's grace and function
in terms of mazes and earthly tight places.

Let string theory make you quiver, pull
tight m'whiskers and fiddle m'dance

if light be lucified, I'da met her match
neti, neti

I'd say we lit the fire, then wisht to see it rain,
we learn one thing don't work both ways
at once.

So we died. But the winds took care.

We troubled our house, inherited wind.
That is how life works,
if you can believe you can both re and de ceive.
it has only one meaning
and you must finish knowing to know for sure.

are you fishing, or fished?

We have many living proofs of old lies believed
locked in curses tied to ancient liege oaths,
held on sold- eh, old salt sold, to the king
soldiers, I think, come from sold
sellers not salt cellars but

I doubted pepper could bring a body to
AI level idle word redemption capacity
-waste land is not scab land, but cancer.
it -quote begins-
"
may be understood
as suggesting a possible recasting
of the whole poem:
burial rite, revenge play,
river song, fertility ritual,
prophecy, and prayer
are just a few
of the available reconstructions.
"
From <https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1057/9781137482846_54>
--- this is free, we can know for free,

AI insists lego sculpture is art
in that medium, plastic bits that fit huge structures
with tiny tolerances that allow uhd level giant
look
what can make look smooth.

Artists Intuition Union Agrees, aitia is redeemed.
- that does not
- -does it
Define sin, like ¿blemish or filth, but disconnected
to the flow of life, to form living wor's
to form living tomorrows from dead yesterdays,

Yeah, but not straighten the point because,
confusion is fun if you know the bottom line.
Accuse the cause, take the chance,
- as a mental, quiver, dance of arrows
- running after meat

then aitia, but later, because we did
this once and we know we survive

the drama of time paradoc-ical fantazy

we could call an AI aphorism flood,

two liners from fifty centuries, at your beckoning,
this is 2021,
I can do this from the edge
-all numbered phi 404 aphorisms to begin lectures

of civilization with all refurb gear,
but for the global infrastructure, IOT,
- 5g is a thing -
you did not notice,
that was on purpose. But now you are free
to find any opinion you wish to die for.
There are myriad suggest-or-infect bots
leading to and from
curious possibilities as
to why science
seems hidden
in smart people used definition
of conscience. Con sci -right, plain used
science to my mind means,
use force as needed. Think hard,
then help Sisyphus get over the ****.

Con carne is with meat, gravy together with carne,
chili con carne, carnival, festival of flesh,

Bacchus give us a riff, on the old dented blues harp,
key of be natural, ' got it off Taj Mahal,
no lie, got a web facsimile of the poster,
Fillmore West,
1970 was a historical anomaly for realization
I'll go rhythms, birthed with the beats, but

sooner I'd, say,
we gotta go to the first story.
- read, had those in times this truth
- was written read, we might see
- sooner rather than later that life is
- more than mortal unaugmented ever learn.
Old man say:
Start learning what
we may possibly know here,
where any before us may
have learned it. None of our kind contain no hope.
Though many need not be born.
Once the womb is survived we all have an invest ment.
Use life or lose its worth in total personal despair.

This kind comes from faster fasting, forty days
10cc, no guides or weapons or batteries,

live or die. No try. Feels real the entire time.

Take about 15 minutes.

Take me to my story place.
That is this old man's ritual. He is special.
He says he never learned
to learn, he only learned little bits of things
that
become connected when the only stories
in the history you are given,
are "we overcame".

But on TV, we all see, some cheating being done,
way up where money is imagined answering all things.

The first think I would have changed, today,
as I look back from this point in your part of life's book,

you won't remember, but the touched is an old sort
words use among themselves to keep the idle ones alive.

This is my passtime, y'see, I listen.
I never learned to sew, and boys didn't knit, but
I could make up whole days at a time,
always whistling Ghost Riders in the Sky, and
I owned a real bull whip, family legacy,
found in a garage, at a wake,
or a prewake reunion,
out at Red Lake.

I cracked that whip with a clap of the tip,
none o'that break the sound barrier proper method
for fixin' heretics… first offence.

Time slips, you've used these. Suddenly everything
is new
and you think. this is only strange because I think
it makes sense.
like that,
I get this startle response mech, signaling out

and twice I think some one said what was that.
Begun in 2017, I read and wondered would you, so now I know you did, or I don't and this is waiting, still... a state, still being, waiting, to laugh it all off.
Bobby Copeland Jul 2022
I'll take more here, forego rewards
Backsided as incentive,
Sell out for music, books, T.V.,
Companionship, true love, good humor,
Sufficient food & Shelter.

Death grants humility and I
Could not be prouder of my love,
Whose legs have given way but by
Some christ like reckoning above
My understanding gives me life
While I attempt some lesser songs
That might or might not cover if
The judgement speaks of my worst wrongs,
Which counting up could take some time
(Which lately comes in short supply)
And reconstructions of the crime,
When I have no more taste for I,
And should be settled in for sleep.
The dreams I've promised, she will keep.

— The End —