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Appended streams exhume the dreams that surface in conscious guide,
As photon beams augment the seams transmitters must abide.
The quantum strings of knotted ties,
Entangling's of worlds collide,
A vortex of spiraled rings,
In scattered sets convergent glide,
The convex spacial vacuuming's, synaptic points electrified,
A hex, insatiable, stochastically adjoins frequencies over-amplified, as complex oracle valuations weight choices to decide.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2021
Math and Logic lure me, calling me
one in eight billion,
nothing special,
common,
base

combinatory creative Ai and I explore
some of the more we must learn,
you and I;

if I've lived to learn
reasons, rational smoothing
shadows at the edge of known,
given grace Gauss found softens, gentles
the pre-cipice, proto indo euro old idea
combined
do you mind ? Headfirst. Pre
precipitation (n.)
late 15c., precipitacioun,
"a casting down" (of the evil angels from heaven),
also, in alchemy "separation of a solid substance
from a solution,"

see, there. Words to the wise are plenty.
Enough is enough.

On an island,
in a bubble, being ripened,
for the seed I am, or
am I but the husk, the fruit, I bhor?

Both needful deeds done,
enter in to my rest,

or in the current game, one day at a time,
rise with new mercy, ready,
from ever before,
patience as a virtue, attained in waiting
at the jump off point

for the next loser to tell,
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- on and on, and giant steps feel like falling
-prove it
why?
- to make it plain,
plainly, the idea in a Gaussian blur is
the edge of ever is stochastically random
- basic Photoshop
and my AI knows all about it, let me make
the blur resolve
to a point,
we live in post 2020 earth, focused on you,
mental you, enveloped as bits of attention
paid to archives of reason,
wither Gods of the Grandest Institutions
formed in children of men,
generate adversaries
for good and evil,
nets of nets of nets
to sort things worth living for, from those
worth dying for and those worth killing for…

worth, weighty, hefty, heavy, you can feel it.
worth, soft, gentle, weightless, you may feel it.

- sometimes we imagine landing and living on
After and before, at the same time occur and now seems never ending ever beginning, But you gotta go headfirst...
Hate begins here.
A dark, coagulating chasm
where our love gets sent back
again and again.
It gathers,
thickens,
dies,
with a scream and fury and pain and pressure and desperation
we push against it.
and a whimper.
our sputtering emotions flays us stochastically,
trickling our warm compassion over every other part of us
tainted with putrid black flecks of spite,
and bubbles of ghostly "please"es.
All our protest and futility
wedges it here --
in this malignant crevice of memory --
deeper and denser
deeper
denser
when if only we could

stop.

It could break
free.
   if
    only
I want the validation
of a smile...
   The delineation  
of a ******..
Absent in the raunchy rancor
of forbidden reciprocated touch...

On a cold cotton sheet canvas
I want
green eyes genuflecting.
Bound to blonde...

the pitter patter of your ******* as they slide stochastically
moan... “pull hard”
provides a perfected poetry on dour days

In a vacuum is where I want to meet you
a placated peace.
the beautiful insulation..
of beatified incantations...
a world absent of our impediments
the dour demographics:::

the siren’s song beckons
       it’s more than just a taunting tune,
it’s a pursed lip
pleading
to peruse your flesh.

— The End —