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Jeff Claycombe Mar 2015
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, *****, parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
9/29/11
Meggn Alyssa Dec 2014
Children grow up
with jump ropes
barbie dolls
and suckers tangled in their hair

Children grow up
in daddy's shoes
and mommy's dresses
and Pixy Stix sugar in their laps

Children grow up
feeling the boom of fireworks
wading in the cold pool water
and pop rocks dancing on their tongue

Children grow up
with secrets kept from them
and told to them
and pockets filled with smarties wrappers as bribes

Children grow up
with dirt under their nails
and rain water soaking their clothes
and taffy between their teeth

Children grow up
with the wonders and horrors of the world
all on a sugar high
so they never learn the difference
alice Jun 2014
She was like a humming bird:
soft, light fleeting-
the perfect escape artist.
Speaking in riddles
that keep you up at night.

Face changer and witch,
she draws you close, holds you so
and then lets go without warning.
You can only get so close,
before she turns her back.
Every time a bit closer,
every time more sting
from the rubber-band of goodbye.

Sinking down further into her sea
she washes over you,
drowning you in the intoxication
of her salt.
She melts in your mouth,
Pixie Stix style;
sweet, but gone
before you can really enjoy the taste.

You press rewind
on your memory:
looking, searching for any glimmer
of her, any flash,
anything to keep her close;
even for only a moment longer.

She wears a mask:
masquerade half-faced,
with feathers and glitter,
ribbons hanging from the left.
She's perfected
this porcelain-painted facade.
Under the disguise
she defies the conception
of beauty.
Thinking her virtue lies
in the mask.
She lies in the mask.

She fades in and out
like the morning fog
over the ocean.
Rushing in
and falling away
once the sun rays hit the water.
The crash enfolds her;
she lets it.

Skin and bone she bleeds
for everyone who ever hurt her,
taking the blade to the skin
she lets them all win.
Playing a loser's hand,
all chips in,
she gives herself over
as payment for who she is.

***** and unworthy;
painfully aware of
her chemical circumstance,
she runs from the torment.
Into a forest of lost time
remaining hidden,
she tries to die
but ever-still;
she remains.
Females are magic. Inspired by the magnificence and madness of the miracle that is, The Woman.
st64 Nov 2013
TAKE  a tumble
breathe deep
take it slow
visit the physician - twice
pick up your axe
it's time to play...

1.
when ants take time to dream

I will knock on that door

and eventually turn left on the highway

find a bundl of stix

and just

stand on that pyre

maybe time to go up

in rainsleek ungloats

2.
hiding
is a pain
in a place
where only
insects dare thrive

3.
geranium and formic pleasings
in the bottom of a bucket fetid
rudimentarily there

now close that entryway
shut up and go quietly
into the night
where the wind howls a creature's harsh-cry


3.
and don't even ask where the key is
it's somewhere only in a scratched-desk
and the inkwell flows dry-air
made of god-blood

you can't cope with these lines
buzz off!







S T - 27 NOV 13
coo-wee.. neither can I.


sub-trap: pillow

smile a whiley-while
cos the dial goes to nine

don't forget
there's feathers in the pillow
some duck or other died for
do you sneeze at their passing?
oh.
it's only chikkens
Marie-Niege Mar 2017
the whole point of love is the heart break of it all. what a concept.
i'd rather not indulge.
Kewayne Wadley Jun 2017
She was four and I was six.
We held hands and ate pixie stix.
The big head little girl whom followed me around the corner. 
Soon we became friends.

 

We held hands with skin like bricks.
I cleansed her hands inside mine.
The words we didn't know how to pronounce until we were older.
The house across the street covered in thick brick.
Our parents always pictured us together.

 

I cleansed her hands inside of mine. 
The big head little girl across the street.
Her hair in a tight colorful scrunchy. Hair spread all over her head.
We both had to be in before the street lights came on.
Head full of dirt.faces darker than they were before we met each other outside.



Our clothes covered in dirt and grime.
Our fingers filled with splinters.
The chime of laughs and smiles.
The big headed girl whom loved pink and purple pixie stix whom followed me around until the street lights came on.
She always gave me the blue ones and called me her friend.



I remember the time I never wanted you to follow me around.
Often threatening to feed you to my dog.
Pushing you off the swing.
Stealing your turn sliding down the slide.
You never let me go anywhere alone.



Here I am, now older. Picturing the big headed messy hair girl whom always followed me around.
Truthfully I never minded.
Even now, ringing your doorbell in thought
Claire S May 2010
We Live in FORT KINLEY
that we fit in so thinly
It is a very dark house
And there happens to be a mouse
We sit here night and day
While eating candy, we play
doll house and pick-up-stix
running around eating chex-mix
We Live in Fort Kinley
in which we fit so thinly
My friend Emmy and i made a Swweet Fort that we name named FORT KINLEY. so we wrote a poem about our awesome fort
Abby Humphreys Jun 2010
i thought feeling good about myself for once would cure everything, but the cure is two steps backwards of where i am today. two tea leaves and a tail’s length from here; hop-skip the finish line like when i was five and didn’t know how big the sky was. pixie stix and a spotted dress that smelled like roses with a purple stain down the front and ***** knees and sweet sticky skin, sweetflesh and goldfish and ******* bears roaring about on the roads. inside my head there’s a phoenix fire, burning sand to breath silvery threads into the creature that thrusts its head into my mouth to scream alive.

mi lucha, preciosa, me vuelvo loco aqui. me estan volviendo por fin, eternamente.

dead and alive and spattered in paint that feels like his heartbeat... waking up on the floor with twelve stitches in my arm and a chipped tooth. the one that got away, the one with no name, the one that pretty turned her back on. the one that you hate, the one that is loved, the one that spends one minute thinking what takes them a lifetime. the one that will never be the next-door neighbor with the loud golden retriever and cold fruitcakes on christmas eve, the one that says ponytails are overrated.

the one that is me.

the one that is here

for now.
Dan McGowan Jun 2015
briney merl
incessant swirl
stix tite
smell of salts
yawn a sigh
fear makes you tired
anticipation wired
mind flashes past
appreciate what could not last
a mortal thump
a mental jump
the futures here
enemy near
no time to think, react
you hear the sound of attack
the thing you do without regret
you hope one day to forget
ah to be on a previous page
when youth demanded that i age
This is life sometimes when actions are based on reaction.
Butterfly Dec 2010
Your life's cut short- We sure had a lot of fun
When I think of you- I see the rising sun

Dynamic noise- The bass breaks the ground
Dance all night- Always ready for another round

Glitter is flowing- Like dust in the air
We were creatures of the night-We would go anywhere

As the crowds were forming- The lines were quite long
Of all the things we were doing- Nothing was wrong

Bright colors and lights filled each room-
We watched each other as our night began to bloom

Darkened corners- Upon the fluffy couches we'd fall
Our bodies outstretched- Our legs in a sprawl

The music flowing thru our veins- Me Pixie Stix- You Kandy Kanes
Oh the fond memories Ill remember all of my days- The fun times we had in the height of our craze!

The twists and turns our lives have brought us thru- We both have come out on top, and we now have clear view
C S Cizek Nov 2014
Like an outcasted stoop kid,
I sat glass-backed, bar-assed ten
feet away from the main streets
waiting.      Waiting
for some leaves to fall off treewires.
I waited for inspiration in the bitter
November chill biting at my ankles.
And I got funny looks from football
cap colleagues on this dressed-down
Thursday. The trees were practically
naked. Scarce blossoms and partridge
leaves crisped by the stagnant air.

The door'srustedhinges-aircrack-
waking ends a four hour sleep
short. I found out she was a lesbian,
and allergic to ****.

My mouth tastes like plain Pixy Stix
and I can only swallow in short bursts
like a camera or pool water over-
whelming the filter hole. It's like
untreated brine that I'm swimming
around in, ******* in, trying to sweeten
it with my natural body oils,
but it's not working

because my pool is also a lesbian,
and allergic to ****.
Apachi Ram Fatal Sep 2016
fulfilled two hoax with one tree express
stix and stones upon greenest branches
high birth dwell assemble ducks straight
wood delayed bosomed under ****
hyperventilating incubated *******
red face blemished mild to wild ***
harassed plucked feathered a ram pecker
bird sext for just a tuppence second
***** ladies tweet ravaged scramble
long white tees unclothe eggshells
knocking hollow full of yoke hard
pounding ******* french
foreplay kisses ****** ***** in holster
expelling spermatozoa in suspension
accidents happen erotically
Andrew Tinkham Jun 2015
For the love of God
Make yourself easily
Remember Casey.
Call the kid
Heaven forbid
He should get too racey.
Sorcerers
Saccharin
These are fun to say again.
Pixie Stix
Valvoline
Simplify understanding.
Roisin Sullivan Jan 2014
The joy and happiness
Of my life are now gone
And yet, and yet, I'm scared.

I'm not ready to go
But I am already
Floating above this world.

I do not see angels
Nor bright eternal light
Nor Saint Peter's pearl gates,

I do not see darkness,
Nor the hot flames of Hell,
Nor the black river Stix.

I simply feel nothing.
My panic is smothered
By oppressive silence.

But this is not the way
I want to leave this earth;
Not feeling, not living.

I want to dance again,
I want to feel summer,
I want to laugh and sing.

But life is not perfect
And not all of us get
What we want in the end.
Inspired by a book I read
JV Beaupre Jul 2021
The Venetian Red fish
Slithers through the magentic sky,
Sniffing the violence of electromagnetic vibrations,
I, behind the branchia, spur her/him on,
Far away, the sight of thunder rumbling and static,
Feeling the inky indigo of the mirage of toothy desire.
Hearing cold textures of slippery fishy scales,
Tasting the black velvet Jesus, Elvis, and Nixon,
Our banner.

Oh, that can’t possibly happen said Jonah,
As he was enveloped by exactly that,
A piercing cacophony of clashing color
That resolved itself into the image of his ex.
No more, no more.

The red fish jumped the river Stix,
Halting at the 7-11 from hell.
A seventh circle infernal Powerball anyone?
A hellish scratchie tempts my soul.
But my lucky number is a binary: 1-oh,1-oh, 1-oh.
That’s hell for you, unsymmetrical.

Needed, perhaps a chance encounter,
with an itinerant puzzle person
Would they sort the senses and find truth?
Could that help or should it?
He winks and I don’t believe her.

A stolen kiss thrown
At the 2018 Little League Playoffs at Southaven, Mississippi
Still echoes in their brain pans and mine too.
The dull stylus of dangerous thrills
scratched my pancreas as Jim shoveled his lunch.
But I have better manners than that.

In the chaotic magentic atmosphere,
I mount my scarlet stead,
and move on-- as you should too.
Adieu. Adieu. Adieu.
Just a bit of nonsense.
The inspiration was a fish in H. Bosch's "Temptation of St Anthony" which hangs in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga in Lisbon
Let's cut to the chase
She was up in my face
Like the alcoholic eyes
And her bottle of mace

She lunged at my lips
But I was too quick
She fell on the floor
Smearing lip stix

Then she begged on her knees
"Why can't I fill all your needs ?"
She looked so pathetic
She was certainly not steez

Then when I had turned away
She grabbed the knife off the tray
And came at me
Before I could say ,"Hey !"

But she did stumble
And took an awfully bad tumble
And the knife point pierced
The heart full frontal

So the police were called
They arrived without stall
They asked "How did she die ?"
"Strangulation ! No lie !"
Debaucherous Jun 2014
Overcoming is going under,
like the diver and the pearl,
and like wishes gone asunder

Like No-one (repeated)

That will ever cross
the river Stix for you

And I will
Be Orpheus...
for you

I would never go,
to snow,
if it was up to me.
I'd try different ways...
different sways...
I would've sold my soul,
but it's not so old...!
Or valuable... at all.
And if you know, how
old am I... and cry and
try, to ritualize me.
death. beyond confession -
nothing's left... of me
no more. I've tried to
try;
I've realized I'll die...
So I will live every moment,
every bliss, and every kiss
like THIS! ! !...

Farewells have been said,
my friend, so stop the hiss...
Ken Pepiton Jan 2022
Rich in time, at the distant shore
of Stix, laughing with the ferry men
and pall bearers, all retired, the gig is up.

There never was a Santa Claus,
and there never was a hell… that is,
an everlasting grief for failure to know
what no authorities allowed known,
even grown to full stature,
the things we agree
1798 was for some reason, poetically
important
now 2022

I hear Cordelia. What? "nothing, my lord."

With graven mudpies,
patty-caking clay and straw, straw
another story creature, or
character, entity, yes, an ity-ness
some being, whether operator or
operand, all opera is
some minds presenting das gestalt,
nicht whar?
A we.
Heavy, cold molasses heavy, very
worthy, measured weight, shipped,
dripped,
sent, in hope, one day,
the effect of a message in a bottle,
occurs, as any reader
sees another knowing for a reason,
hidden
upto, perhaps a true 151st preposition
aiming at an upper limit,

How high can mind go after body,
augmented with nets of ordered signals,

is laid to rest, in my future, all the books
I never wrote, drip from my fingers, I am
the trained brained qwerty and morse guy.

Ghee of Auvergne. But for the e, I remembered,
though you may know now this is after
I paid effectual prayer through AI,
to ality of Rheality, all the knowledge in the tree,

in the nut, that falls to the ground and grows,
morpheus, makes it symbolic as hell
and the eucharist hoc es pokemonic -****!
you're a scannable canticle cannibals' cambial
allusion .
cambium (n.)
1670s in botany,
"layer of tissue between the wood and the bark,"
from Late Latin cambium "exchange,"
from Latin cambiare "change" (see change (v.)).

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=cambial>


Are we under your skin, slow think, we
is who
we are thinking. Let ter by letter stepping on

the compliants subsurface, softer than sand,
that cave - null arbor, tree of null-ity
annul - ah, "to make to nothing,"
that fine a dust,
a locale thought, linked, in a beautiful way
I may show you some day, these silken threads
that tie me to a wombed man,
in the land down under,
distant thunder, no sense of doom, this is happy
summer rain,
come to settle dust and fill all the puddles and ponds,
wells and cisterns,
gullies and wadis and broad sandy beaches,
visible from space,
any augmented eye may see, we live
on the wreck of a world.

One shell told Ben Franklin that, he said
that to many sons, many sons,
has Father Ben, the Humanist,

I insist, a hume-man ist, a human being
sapient, the action in the term sapience,
using that, knowing
I am thinking in terms any who read may define,
sift to the essential Eu-clade, literal
silence in time stop state, patient waiting if this
is why I live,
something I may have done, I did to dare the liar
smite me, many's the time,
cliché click heels snap

I salute my double mind minions, characters
set in array, as suits in a soap opera rich guy's
closet, close, close
always be
closing, set, the scene then changes and now
matters
- was Plato a big blue ox?
Why were poets banished? Truly, we are dealing
in common knowledge now, the sheet let down
from heaven, pick and choose,
you cannot or can not, wrestle with God,
and walk away,
without a limp.

Distillery stories, lotta sittin' around, drinkin'
spirits from former years,
we was young and in heat of the moment, tuned
to TV news, because we could know, what was
goin' on, after reality included knowledge
of fusion energy in seventh grade science,
right, when confusion was a word in spell-
ing bees, hmmm
ding
weedy insights, like first grass in fields burned
last fall, tender shoots for tiny kids and lambs
and calves and colts, and coyotes and squirrels
and cotton tails, and quails.

How rich are we?
JDK Dec 2020
The first five days:
a whirlwind of old friends in new surroundings,
indulging in old habits with the occasional mumblings of,
"I'm proud of you man,
this is nice."

On day six, back in the stix.
Kicking it with the fams up to their same old tricks.

It's hard to say where my heart is.
I've always suffered from being adventurer-sick.

All I know is that the planets have finally aligned in such a way as
to allow me to walk down the streets I grew up on in the way that I haven't done in such a long time,
the way in which I learned all their names.
The way I grew up attempting to escape their grasp.

Now here I am, for the first time in years,
rehashing the past
and its dreams,
and its tears.
Don't get me wrong, I'm having a great time.
I found the bag of Pixy Stix
I'd once so carefully picked.
I remembered the anxiety
From when you bought it for me.
I knew it would cost too much
So I used indecisiveness as my crutch.
You must've wondered who made me question my worth.
Who made me think $1.69 was something I didn't deserve.
sage eugene zumr Oct 2020
forbidden rituals comended sitch of stix
im the britches you place upon
so call your ***** inside the basment ****
take along a hit you snake a song
hate the wrong right flippin tight
hit the mic with a statement strong

convince no other like the fitz
fritz fizzy lickin nips
seconds latent intwixed thats
furry flip burried bitz pix hurry
quick youve made them silent kits

scitz inside the ritz ive eatin too many
all these souls convoyantries
im boyant in the poetry i clip
no butter cup could kick
lick the mother dusk of nix
yall never heard those names

im the sane inside your dame scit
wont claim another aimed in
ill own every tame dinner
like a kitten quickly drips
theirs a moment full of bliss where
no one understands the hungered man

lightning in the thunder can
blunderbus ive underland
wonder what the summer has
another laps im tousk
musk elighhn mine sight
wolf amongs the sheep of fifths

never was it ray who hadent his
i see the shades of gray into fray
this the day admists those munchkins
double dutchin hush hundred
fourth ladder that i summon this
is nothin like a buimpin biztks

dunce i loved the days
other plays hey talk of tay
you get them ditches diggin
quick i know the cards behold
the hardest roll to play im
goin motions slowin till i play
alpha told me stay at bay
i come from places youd have missed
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
I heard and thought i saw use of little i
as real a right as any ever,
mess mass after all
Cheeriest, seen icy and cold cold cold
Scenic went on, ah, sin qua non, ai is
mechanical- sylabbic it can fail
to comprehend the sense
said so eloquent, ly lyl
ly
"The resulting cloud
is probably still up there
— more proof that it pays
to shoot for the stars"
https://hellopoetry.com/JohnnyPanic/
From <https://hellopoetry.com/>
- time immeasurable now
- and more
- again

Peter Thiel, I hear
speak from a height so lofty,
he may as well be royalty,
as earlier investor in
now, now being after the investment
in the past, a bet
on better later
if
if
ever can occur in time to soothe
the troubled soul of man,
gardener, and user of the source of life,
earth,
as we know it, the place in ever
where we are free to live as parts,
involutionally evolved beings

--- e-vol
- time immeasurable now


vivia covideonic

Nonsense speech

t
was called gobbeldy ****, as far as I knew

et
lies were, simple *******.

A day when
lone is the state, no, not alone

lone
state, l'one, I, me the one
been in ever since,

Me, the wannabe
loved for being
a lone example
st…ranger
lost in wishes and prayers
for strength to
believe being me was ever
worth
the effort

To effectually think fervently, this

Future from then
is now, you know, the at home viewers,
all nested in us-ity, we
the attenders to the feed, enter-tain mental
if-ity, we dom
dominating the ratings, everybody who counts

counts social normality as that which we lost,
when we lost
the thread that stitched the neighborhood, in town,
as all out near farmers, gathered to work
dawn to dusk, with seasonal adjustments

to use the sun, more efficiently, lightenment wise.

- time immeasurable now

Right. Say we agree,
right may be, elementally,
first thing I could do to fix
a piece of reality,
the matter bits, no the mater
bits, see, the t, does alter sense
we see or take as a handle, a little
hand, reaching toward me, to get
hold
grasp the point, and feel the point

knowing pain in time. lost, time,
shifting
back to prayer, yes ever per
happy-worth of knowing I have

a deal, only lieve being true, this
word
with which all we think we share
timespace, whole go play,
go, play, use the e availed of, up
re tire to the source of e, the e
in mcsquared away all we know
or need to know, about the matter
we were formed from,
curiously.

Say, or imagine, make a mental scene\

time immeasurable now

knlynptn'tis a name, a named thing,
Any named thing is a thing

scenes seen at timespace points past
hence
then
when that famous painter, whose
work is praised, while
many paint better, but few paint more
and I wonder
at the power, once, not so distant

whenwhere we


hey, I may argue
time immeasurable now
with an expert, in all sorts of stories
studied, but
I feel he never lived as one who lives
by cotton being cultivated,
to clothe the naked in warm places,
as is
imperial edict, no naked people,
but of the very lowest caste,
those who clean the grease traps, and
haul away the grease, to sell
to the chemist, who hires

karmic richmen to sift his ashes
time immeasurable now

Fifty false starts, years,
celebrated as new years about
to begin,
when
some knowing finds me seeking
answers, any
answer
sworn to match the oath
on me,
I must never forswear the oath,

ah, and what
if I did? Is the danger I might be killed
for swearing to believe,
an unbelievable arrangement of duty
ever
servant class, never higher class but

as we know
among the hens, there is an order,
and only one **** rules the walk
beyond the cage,
where eggs are laid, but what
do we know
nobody in here, but us chickens.

we weeders of the hardest rows, volunteers
by god, you best be

thinkin' like a freeman, if you everwas one,

beguiled by the shining thing
urging merging, with a passion

new,
some way,
she sees me now,
is new, she sees the
reason, for the ban on knowing
this sooner
than now.

this is how, we prosper, knowing
I am bare, and made,
for the warmer climates,
let's go back
south.

Just about then there was a star,
it felt new, there, see, watch
to the next
night, as the world turns, watch, see
there, that is what I once saw and learned
killed almost all life above chthonic subsapient.

Comet, some times they are pulled apart
so they leave a trail of craters someday
ai will notice, then,
there were survivors, sapient sapient, mortal
survivors who were south of
that snow ball,
from dreamtime
to time of internet usurped for peace of mind,
easy, easy, rest and learn a new thing

that is a ***** snowball remnant of
some several years at light speed,
often days, at attention taking thought speed,
instant
we discover our system of so rare a set of random
chances working together, not to gether
yes
to gather the stuff, to make what we see,
that took some imagination,

who would imagine salt? Or, me, or any thought

ort-sphere sized bubble planetesimal clumps
of
what ever mustablown to bits, that hit
gravitational equilubrium
ha, yes, if we may stretch the wonder there

the ort-sphere in outer darkness, accessible
at thought sped gravi-totality wave,

you got it. feel the shiver, now
call bs on the butterfly hurricanes, ok.

You are the smallest differ'nce maker, to me.

I thought of my wife, but
she is not my muse.
I thought of you, and you know
you are not my muse.
Who?
Whist-le
Use of the musical muscle, leaves me
aching to be rich,
and anonymous, in i-postilion to plain anonymous/

left hand, anonymous ruler of the letters used
most often to re-call forces, at the glance
a fit finger left-handed forces, may useful to right
read
the things the left brain, wishes to hold,
so laced up
so pro, onward on track in groove rifling winds
and polished lands, on  down range, aims
have changed, some notice now, that wisdom has
changed the worth of certain seeds sown
for profit, whither rains fell mainly,
as in Kansas or Serengeti,
or the steppes and pampas
grassy deserts- dust bowls, watered in circles
so, so, subtle, far, far more so
than any beast, eh, sub-sapient thing, used to till
the dust and rock,
grinding great icy teeth, over half a planet at once,

time and again, the chance of a hit,
happened as if the shell of outer Ice
is there

to make the air on the bit of ever we live on
breathable, by the time, the mitochondrial virus
finds an amoebias trip spring green twig

aha, are we breathing now? Can we lower O abit

OK, FIX IT TO CARBON, DOES THAT WORK?

no, shouting, we don't know, but we do know,
we shall know, does this work.
by way pre-Jur-an-assic time. Way pre oath
.
In the future, for, as you are aware, you do live
and read and have your being, long after
the final qwerty stroke, seals the yoke,
and the ox begins to walk,
bound to the thread, thought
linking all that is to all that ever is
round and round a mill stone spindle,
waste not, the labor
of laxity, seen as best, for me
who wishes this rope to finish winding
so I my pull
with all my might
twisting the spring, for another shot.

Up river, without a paddle,
this is how we fish for men, in the Stix.

Row row row, no no no
now we run a vintage superseahorse johnson

and go where few, prior to drones

and job experience that leaves a clear impression
of pre-monetization revelation being
need-to-know
secret
ah
hidden from…{wondering softly} who do you hmmm
whom to squeeze for more creative
try
umphshitoops.

so coming out of stealth mode, moments prior
to the closing bell on April 4, 2001,

when the call for Jewish Lightning rose from the
ashes of the Hud loans pre-savings and loan
dive in '85.

Does this corelate with the color of prisons, inside?
We could repaint.

-- and that much time, once more

Auture autisto o artisto did you think, ai, art
I
was autistic, but Newton, and certainly
Cavendish, were not? I may not say
but
what
were such odd ducks as we find leading to now,
a mansion made for me,
the well spring hot and cold in six rooms in my home
and four fonts with flexible courses,
water as needed, science detected dryness, which no
King ever imagined in his wildest bouts of now what
post puberty in a time when his teen boy word
was law,
imagine, prince charming, becoming Archie Bunker
after all
and you looked the other way,

there were fools planning bombs, yes, I know,

I did
have the experience, on occasion,
to blow a rock that may hold minable titanium
to dust. And, once
to watch an ARVN, fishing in a peasants pond,
for a laugh,
with frag grenades. yes.

I saw. As my dopefiend buddy descrived the night
VC frogmen blew the bridge

bv be very
sure, before I am lying and not, merely
prospering in purgatory,
purging stories I may have told, but offered up

do you know, the idea, sacred? can we make some,
out of respect,
for the dead you know, I know, I know, you always

and so, on we went, intent on touching some thread
of might have been that went
elsewhere, when you did not
read this far.

But this happened, and that did not.
Sacrifice, mortals never know the worth in reality.
I guessed.
I guessed you might, know.
Derrick Mar 2020
Mist born wings through forests old. a light ahead like stories told turn hearts ablaze when memories fold. all that’s lost is not yet gone for the light you seek dwells at dawn. Come what may the forests song shall paint old hearts anew with flowers and honey dew. Stay not long In your honeyed state for there is life to live and things to taste. Bitter be they may, the choice is yours to go or stay. Wings of mist and birds of prey are not the only dangers in this place. So know the brook that bubbles down through cavernous mountains with rocky crowns. Fills your destiny on winds of fate. With roots so strong they are iron bound caress the rocks and all they found. Let not your troubled mind worry, for life is short and we are in a hurry to meet the roots in our graves so merry. carried across the river stix by the boatman and his boat of twix. Listen now, when you seek that golden shore. all that is lost is not yet gone, the light you seek dwells at dawn.

— The End —